Four Horsemen

Book 1: The Four Horsemen

by Michael Chatfield

Genres: Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

Four resurrected souls. One Devil’s Pact. One final chance.

Famine, known as Petor in his previous life, joins forces with the legendary figures of Conquest, Death, and War.

Together, they form the resurrected Four Horsemen, their lives reignited by a devil’s pact. Resurrected in the bowels of a forgotten temple, buried under a city in the midst of a siege, they’ll have to find a way out.

The devil’s deals are always double edged, while they breathe once more their cultivation is gone. To recover it, they’ll have to use all of their skills to craft and fight.

Beyond the city’s walls the devil’s contracts await them. Promising gold and access to their devil’s wares. Gear that could change their fates.

If they fail, there is no devil waiting to snatch up their souls—no chance for them to rewrite the last line in their stories.

 

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Release date: January 23, 2024

Print pages: 490

Sample

CHAPTER: 1 

Petor let out a shuddering breath, the cracking burning sensation no longer tore through his mana channels.

Not how I thought Yasseen would greet me. His relief turned to wariness. He hadn’t been turned over to a lifetime of penance—yet.

He rubbed his chest, wearing simple clothes, his armor and the arrow that had ended his life were gone. And no medallion.

The light of a campfire flickered, he rose studying the place. Beyond the flame’s light, fog twisted and danced, leaving hazy impressions of what might be trees.

His eyes turned upwards, not a single star lay in the sky.

No food, no water, no weapons or gear. “And no fucking idea where I am. Doesn’t look like the afterlife.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “Though our esteemed goddess could have been lying about that too. Like she did everything else.”

“No!” A woman raged at the heavens, rising from the ground she reached for a weapon that wasn’t there and stumbled forwards, realizing her new surroundings.

She reached toward the campfire and stilled. Her eyes darted around as she lifted her other hand from her stomach. She wore form-fitting clothes. A frown spread across her face as she rose to her feet. She opened her mouth to talk to him.

Her hair was raven black, purple pupils faded into black. Her face held a severe beauty to it, of a person of focus.

“--oing to kill--” Another woman flopped to her side, catching

herself before she landed in the dirt.

The twisted smile on her lips turning pensive as her eyes, filled with a ghostly smoke, flicked between the raven haired woman and Petor.

She rose, pressing a hand to her stomach, tilting back her tri-corn captain’s hat.

She wore loose-fitting sailor gear, filled out by her curves, her hair a shock of red pulled back into a ponytail under a wide-brimmed hat. “Well this is not what I was expecting this morning.”

An armored man grunted as he caught himself on the ground. He got his knees under himself and looked up at them.

His eyes were the color of lava, his armor was dented and scarred, lines and runes carved into it glowing with the same power.

“What the fuck is happening?” Petor asked.

The man rose from the ground, a full head taller than Petor and nearly twice as wide.

“I think I died.” He scanned the area around them.

The glow faded from his armor. Petor squinted, seeing through the armor. Not wearing—he is the armor. Well apparently, I’m dead too, this fucking day I swear.

“I have to agree,” the black haired woman said. “Though I do not adhere to a religion or a god.”

“Well, I shouldn’t be dead. I fixed that awhile ago,” the sailor woman said. “I’m Mya Asmani. And I still don’t have your names?”

“I’m pretty sure my old goddess wasn’t going to let me go. I’m Petor--” Paladin-in-training no more. He cut off his usual address bitterly.

“I killed my god, I’m Valter.”

Silence spread as they all looked at the armored man.

“Well, yeah that wins,” the red head said.

“Desari…Haker.” The black haired woman muttered her last name, while watching the others for their reaction.

“Where the hell are we?” Petor asked.

“Once a soul reaches the Celestial Plane they are drawn into their pledged Celestial Realm or picked between gods,” Desari said. “This must be a Plane between."

“There are other planes?” Petor asked.

“To every world, there are at least seven Planes. The Mortal Plane its mirror, the Abyssal Plane, then the adjacent Earth, Water, Air, and Fire Planes and finally the Celestial Plane, where gods create Celestial Realms.” Desari’s words trailed off, focused on something behind him.

Petor followed her gaze. A red line cut through the darkness, spreading down and around, creating an archway.

“The hells?” Valter muttered. “I can’t summon my gear.”

“Not even a pinch of powder,” Mya turned her pockets inside out.

“I don’t have my storage device and all the gear I was wearing was taken,” Petor turned his head, while keeping his eyes on the forming archway.

“If we are in the Celestial Plane, we are but souls. The only power we have is that of our own souls,” Desari said.

Magic, actual freaking magic spiraled around her hand in purple

lettering.

Mya balled her fists, looked at them both and sighed. “Ah fuck this.”

Petor grunted. “Well at least we have pants.”

Valter started glowing again like the goddesses own statue.

A mage, a pirate and set of armor and a veteran walk into the Celestial Plane. There’s a punchline somewhere in there.

Twin mounts pierced the red-lined inky darkness. They were larger than most horses, armored hides of midnight black and stone gray, with yellow eyes of captured lightning. They snorted heat as they plodded forward, pulling a carriage. Lamps at the four corners illuminated its black wood, purple paint, and gold filigree. Matching crates covered the roof and back of the carriage. Warm light spilled through the windows.

The portal closed as the carriage came to a halt. The door opened, stairs unfolding to the ground.

A humanoid stepped onto the stairs, pointed ears sticking out of either side of his top hat. A monocle highlighted

his yellow eyes, identical to his mounts’. It was attached by a golden chain to the left breast of his doublet. It was a fine thing of golden stitched patterns. A cloak hung over his back, red-lined and as dark as the wood of his carriage. Black pants and boots filled out the man’s wardrobe; a fine blade hung from his hip.

“Friends!” He laughed, spreading his arms as he stepped down from the carriage, the light of the carriage back-lighting him and his impish smile. “I heard that you four were dead. Ah, it has been a rather large pain to find you and gather you all here!”

“Who the hell are you?” Mya asked.

He took off his hat in a swinging bow, his other hand countering behind him. “Interplanar trader Limos, at your service.”

He rose, his yellow eyes dancing in glee as he affixed his hat back upon his head. “It is truly an honor to meet you all.”

“What do you want and what’s going on?”

“Mya Asmani, even I have heard of the stories of the deals that you brokered. Truly a woman merchant after my own heart.” He let out a content sigh, resting

resting a gloved hand upon his breast. “I’m looking to start a new entrepreneurial endeavor. Adventuring.” He slowly waved his hand with the word.

“You want to take up adventuring?” Petor frowned at the beasts. Anyone who could tame them should be fine to deal with most adventuring missions.

“Oh no, dear man, that is so boring. No, no, I am in need of others to go on adventures for me. I am a purveyor of many fine items, but alas, supply is always a problem. People are more keen to break rather than make.” He let out a suffering sigh and swirling hand wave. “I have need of people who can get jobs done. Rescue items from a hidden wizard’s tower. Or can protect an item from one place to another…maybe save a few people who would be indebted to myself.” He shrugged, even as his eyes shone.

“You wish for us to be your band?” Desari asked.

“Yes.” Limos smiled widely. “And I will be your interplanar merchant, purveyor of fine goods and services.”

“I’ve done enough fighting for a lifetime. I’m tired, and my family are waiting for me in Akadia,” Valter said.

“For now.” The fire danced in Limos’s eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” Valter ground out.

“Xander’s followers look to revive him, started to piece him together already. Akadia will come under his rule again, as will the Veldian kingdom. The dead do not get a say on the lives of the living.” Limos held up a finger. “But a new mortal coil…a chance to change fates to decide the future of your family and yourself—instead of tearing a god’s soul apart, one with the right motivation and strength, could kill them.”

Valter was very, very quiet and still. He crossed his arms and grunted, the glow of his armor fading.

“So the stories were real? When one dies, they are judged by the gods and allowed entry into their lands?” Desari asked.

“Something like that. As with most things, once you see it for real, it is rarely as magnificent as what you believed it might be.” Limos never looked away from Valter. “Would you like to know the fate of your family?”

Valter clenched 

and released his hands, his figure wrought with tension. “Tell me.”

“Your wife and daughter reached Akadia.”

Valter’s armored shoulders dropped.

“Though its ruler is being re-assembled, and he’s…Not. Too. Happy. With you.” Each word was punctuated with a wag of his finger.

“He’s dead…shattered.”

Limos’s smile spread, sickly sweet. “We both know that what might be broken may live. No?” He looked pointedly at his armor.

He turned, almost a dancing pirouette, taking in all their visages. “Oh, to change worlds.” He waggled his fingers like an artisan limbering their hands to hold a new tool. “To kill gods.” His face turned to a smirk and a tone deeper. “To make them.”

He waved his hand, dismissing his words casually. “But we get ahead of ourselves.”

Limos held out his left hand as if weighing something. “Time is with us.” He held out his right, mirroring the left. “And against us, here in limbo. The place where souls are reformed, before they transition to the halls of the gods and goddesses. Similar to your chests, Mya.”

She peered into the

darkness, studying it.

Limos slapped his hands together, holding them pressed together, as his eyes skipped to each of them. “There are several gods on your world who would trade something to acquire your soul. Though they are waiting for you to show up. Once you appear, then they will barter for your essence, your devotion, and in return, they will accept your family. Sound familiar?”

“And you offer a better deal? You, too, offer to change the fate of my family,” Valter growled.

To escape the judgment of Yasseen. Petor had devoted his life toward causes—for the kingdom, for the goddess. Such once-rousing words were dead and dry upon his tongue. He screwed up his nose at the thought.

“Yes, I do, but at least I am telling you directly. Although I wish to trade with you, I will not make you bound to my will…much too old-fashioned and barbaric to me.” Limos grimaced and waggled his fingers as if finding something displeasing upon them.

“Why us?” Mya asked.

Limos’s mouth spread

 to reveal his too-sharp teeth. “The law of give and take, my dear. Supply and demand, mutual benefit!” He bent his left leg behind his right in a half-seat and opened his hands, head tilting to the side and rose again, walking around them all, forcing them to follow him with their eyes.

“Each of you betrayed, each of you with vengeance in your bones!” He pumped his fist in declaration. “Each of you with a fire in your guts and the skills to use it. A man who wants to save his wife and daughter and kill the god that would kill his one living son.”

Valter’s armor creaked with his tightening fists.

Limos’s gaze snapped to Desari. “A woman who turned on her own nation for the love of one closer to her heart. That very nation now lost and hidden by the interjection of gods leaning on their vassals.”

Her eyes thinned.

“Traders betrayed by the very people they freed, by the gods who grew jealous. Their dead unable to rest.”

Mya’s eyes flashed white, turning almost skeletal; her clothes were in tatters, her hat with holes as if cut by blades and pierced by arrows, so fast that Petor swore he’d only blinked.

Petor’s hairs stood on edge, feeling the tang that came right before

 a fight to the death.

“A man who wished to be paladin. A man who saw the true face of the gods.” Limos walked behind a tree.

“Vengeance—”

And appeared behind Petor, making him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Against a god who laid waste to his own home. Who used war and misery to fuel her divine power.” Limos tapped his fingers on Petor’s shoulder and appeared across from the group.

“On the one hand, I can release you to the gods who will set upon your souls with endless lifetimes of pain, tearing your mana from you as soon as you gather any, nothing but mana batteries for their aims.” Limos sighed and shook his head. “Most wasteful, but…” A smile lit up his face with a gleeful edge. “On the other hand, I could return you to the Material Plane once more, but as my band.”

Mya opened her mouth and closed it.

He had them, and he knew it.

“What is the nature of the deal?” Petor asked.

Limos snapped his

fingers and pointed at him, stepping forward with sure steps. “So forthright! I like a man with direction! I am glad you asked. I wish to make a trading contract with you all, that I get the first pass on rare gear that you gather. I will give you lists of jobs to complete as you see fit. As you complete missions, I will give you credit that you may use on my humble wares.”

He opened his jacket, showing all manner of vials, a dagger, and jeweled items, and then closed it with a snap. “Or you may trade them for information and transport…across the realms, the planes. To the things your heart desire.”

He clasped his hands together and looked over them. “You may accept or reject my offers. I will also offer you different jobs based on where you are.”

“And we must carry out these jobs?” Valter asked.

“You are welcome to, but I will not force you. I hope to work with you for a long time, and in business, both parties coming out happy is for the best.”

“We are dead—how will you deal with that?” Desari asked.

“Well,” Limos opened his hands without unclasping them, looking up to the sky with a shrug, “I happen to know where there are a few bodies. Might be an improvement for you.” His eyes touched upon Mya and Valter.

“All of this for the chance to buy some gear?” Petor asked.

“Each of you is powerful in your own right. With the right backer and the right motivation, I am thrilled to see what you may be able to do.”

“Why not just force a slave contract upon us?” Valter asked.

“While you might come to agree to such a thing, you would hate me until the end of days. It is in my interests to make sure that you are powerful and you aren’t pissed with me, my dear Valter.”

“What of my gear?” Mya asked.

“All soul-bound items and their contents will be returned to you.” Limos waved her off.

“Does that include my mount?” Valter asked.

“Mounts are a little

 harder, with regard to their size. I will return all your mounts.”

Petor caught Mya’s frown out of the corner of his eye.

“Though, they may be altered. I will give you a map that will have the local area and a location where your mounts will be waiting for you.” Limos’s head swiveled from side to side.

“These new bodies. Whose are they?” Desari asked.

“Currently, they are unused. No soul has ever inhabited them. Don’t worry—I’m not doing some demon ritual to put you in the body of an innocent.” Limos grimaced and tilted his head from side to side. “There is one small issue with the bodies you’ll get.” Limos held his fingers just apart from one another. “You see, they’re brand-new, so pushing you into them, you’ll open your mana channels and form your essence core, but you will be at the White core stage once again.” Limos shrugged.

“And my shards?” Valter asked.

“Your armor will be returned to you in a fixed state, and you’ll be as you awakened.”

“So you’ll put us in new bodies, offer us jobs, and we’ll sell our

gear to you,” Petor said.

“If you complete some jobs for me, then I’ll give you what your heart desires.” Limos smiled. A purple marble cane veined black and red with golden caps twirled in his hand. “What say you?” He planted it and leaned on it with both hands.

They looked at one another. He had them all.

“I agree, though only if I can make the contract,” Desari said.

“As she said,” Mya ground out. “I hate being on this side of the deal.”

“I agree,” Petor said.

“I will not take on any jobs that will harm innocents, anything that will go against my personal code of honor,” Valter said.

Limos held up his hands. “I can live with that, dear knight. I care about the end result. How you get there is your concern.”

Desari breathed in and waved her hand. Mana flowed from her finger; runes and symbols overlaid one another to create a floating page of blue light. “You will give us bodies and our effects. You will have the first pass of any goods we wish to sell.

If you do not appear within three days, we will assume you do not wish to buy them and have passed on them.”

“Agreed.” Limos inclined his head.

“You may only offer us jobs. You will not force us to take them on. If we are to complete one of your jobs, anything not otherwise stated in the job is ours to keep. You will pay us a fair and equitable amount for each job and transacted upon completion. The cost of information will remain the same price and may not be withheld.” Desari looked up.

Mya wandered over, looking at the contract and speaking in her ear.

Desari added in additional information. The duo nodded to each other and turned to Valter and Petor.

“We should swear an oath to one another.” Desari’s eyes slid over them, watching the impact.

“What you want to make an oath about?” Petor asked.

“Trust—that we will not lie, that we will not attack one another, assure our trust in one another.” Desari pushed on, talking faster. “We don’t know what we will learn, what might change in

the future. The oath will allow us to remain faithful to one another and if someone isn’t, then the others will know.”

“I agree, an oath protects us all. The whole is stronger than the individual,” Valter said.

“I miss a good old haggle,” Mya grumbled.

“I…” Petor pressed his lips together, his face hardening. “I agree.”

Desari kept her relief from showing on her face, but Petor sensed it like some sixth sense.

“What do you need?” Valter asked.

“Some of your soul and some of your power. Here it is the same thing.” She formed another page from mana. “The contract will be that we will not lie or attack one another. Simple but powerful. We swear to not betray or visit harm upon one another. If we do, then might our cores be destroyed.

“There, read it over and check it.” She held her chin as if studying it.

That took more out of her than she’s willing to say. Petor might not know magic but as a lifetime soldier, he knew fatigue.

Mya made a hole with her thumb and forefinger; the space between shimmered as she looked through

it at the contract. “No hidden bindings in the sides, nor woven into the fibers of the parchment. I’m almost offended.” Mya lowered her fingers.

“What’s the spell?” Petor asked.

“Lets me see through illusions and other trickery.” She handed the contract to Valter.

“Looks good to me.” Valter raised his head from studying the wording and passed it to Petor.

It outlined their agreement with one another and with Limos. Nothing appeared to be written to trap him.

“Fine by me.” Petor shrugged and handed it back.

“Limos?”

“Ah, joy.” He stepped forward, studying it through his monocle. “All looks to be correct.” Limos pressed his finger to the contract. Purple, veined in red, black, and gold, spread through the contract, solidifying it. He passed it to Desari.

She nodded to him and turned to the others. “Okay, I need you to hold a corner and infuse in some of your power.

Usually we would need blood, but in our soul forms, there’s literally no other way we could make a stronger binding contract.” Desari’s finger glowed as she grabbed the contract, becoming more material.

Petor, Mya, and Valter held their corners.

“How do we put power into it?” Petor fidgeted.

“Reach into yourself.” Desari’s eyes became unfocused. “Reach for your core in your chest. That ball of compressed essence. Around it is your mana. Weave it through your channels—don’t disperse it through your body as you would when trying to enhance your body, or heal it, or connect to the nodes as you would create a spell. Just slow and steady, draw from your core.” Her veins danced with colors—green, red, blue, and white mixing—and spread down her arm. “To your finger.”

Valter’s eyes glowed as embers in a fireplace, rising in brightness; lines of magma traced through his veins into his hand.

A shimmering gray fog coiled around Mya’s arm and flickered in her eyes, her eyes becoming milky.

Petor’s green flames ignited in his eyes; a snake of green flame weaved

down his arm.

Magma spread across the parchment like cracks in the earth, from where Valter held the contract. Mist left gray lines from Mya; Desari’s rainbow lines and Petor’s green flames joined the others in the middle of the parchment. The power mixed together: by blood, by soul, by contract. The page burned apart; a tether and oath a binding in four parts ran back through the paths in the contract and up their arms.

Petor couldn’t release the page as it shot up his arm and into him, joining with his core.

It dug out a part of him and stretched it in a way it was never meant to be stretched as other things connected to him.

It was like having someone tear out his heart with a piece of glass and then shove a piece of straw into it.

They grunted, holding their chests. Desari held the contract.

“Mother of a hornbacked whales uncles fucking arsehole drunk shitpan,” Mya cursed. “I need a fucking drink.” She rubbed her forehead. “Shit a fucking anchor.”

Desari had bent under the oath’s strain, raising herself slowly to

be kind to her body and brain. “Soul oaths are rough.”

Valter grunted as if to say, no shit.

“Fuck.” Petor tried to quell the feeling in his chest, the wrongness.

“Very well.” Limos raised his fingers.

Petor studied the others. Guess I’m part of a band now. “So what are we going to be called?”

“Oh, that bit’s easy.” Limos grinned. “The Four Horsemen.” Limos snapped his fingers.

Darkness consumed them.

Not this shit again.

 

CHAPTER: 2 

“Four Horsemen? But two of us are women!” Mya yelled as Petor’s hearing went from distant and snapped into crystal-clear.

The light was blinding.

“And who put a sun in my skull?” Mya groaned.

The light dimmed into runes along the four walls that angled into a square roof way above. The place was massive. Their pedestals were nearly next to one another, while the walls were a hundred meters away.

The runes ran down each of the walls, spread through the floor, and centered on the pedestals each of them stood on.

Mya was rubbing her head and blinking into the fresh gloom.

She and Desari were unchanged, other than the togas they wore.

He looked down. Not what I died in, that’s for sure. He turned to his right. “Valter, you have a face.”

Petor had been the tallest in his village, but Valter was built like a low-lying hill, twice as wide, made of packed muscle and a head taller. He had short salt-and-pepper hair that gave him a sense of gravitas instead of aging him. His eyes burned like magma, slowly fading into brown.

“Of course I have a—” Valter grabbed his head. “I have a face,” he said in quiet wonder.

“Right.” Desari raised her eyebrow.

Petor could see the thoughts forming before she disregarded

it and looked around at the inscriptions scrawled up the walls.

“Some kind of teleportation formation? Lots of focusing going on here. Then drawing in power from somewhere, a lot of power.” She sunk into mutterings and her own thoughts, holding her chin.

Petor stepped off his pedestal, coughing from the dust that came from the toga. He nearly fell, his strength disorientating him.

Petor turned his gaze inward. His core reformed—a steady, simple, white sphere at the heart of his small web of mana channels. No golden Celestial power tearing him apart from the inside.

He circulated his mana through the channels and into his body, his strength flaring through him. It didn’t diminish. No wounds.

The others moved oddly and slowly, unused to their bodies. A glint caught his eye and pulled on his neck.

He grabbed his medallion underneath the toga.

“Got my storage device back.” He said to the others.

They began patting

themselves down.

Thank you for the gift, Kalix, you fucking bastard. Looting was a soldier’s livelihood.

He checked inside, his armor, abused from his fight and the final arrow, his gear, as well as all of Kalix and the other paladin’s gear.

Valter was studying his upheld hand. His head snapped to the ceiling, the sudden movement pulling Petor’s attention. “The mountain’s shaking.” He nodded to himself and ran for the only door in the room between him and Desari.

“Well, this day is going great!” Mya grumbled and started after Valter.

Petor felt it then: a subtle shaking through solid stone.

“Are you trying to eat the backside of your toga, or you just holding onto it between your ass cheeks like it owes you a month’s worth of dock dues?” The redhead cackled, turning her head. “You coming, Petor?”

“Gods.” Petor cursed, chasing them.

“I was going to get a nice quiet beer down at the Swinging Lass and Lad, then those fuckers had to shoot on my ship

 Now I gotta deal with some devil trader, and end up in some pyramid temple. What a fucking day, huh? Good view, though.”

“Door!” Valter’s words were a frustrated snort.

“The light is going out.” Petor noted the runes down the hall were dying.

“Move.” Desari flicked out her hand, conjuring a small flame and using it to look over the door.

“So you can control fire?” Mya asked.

“Yes.” Desari focused on the door. Her finger traced over sections as she spoke in tongues and languages that passed over Petor’s head. The tone of someone looking for, searching for, and learning something.

“Here.” She stood back into a stance, grounding herself as if a monk, and slammed a palm into a collection of runes.

The runes flared, stuttered, and died.

“No you don’t.” Her voice deepened into power. The runes flared to life, spreading across the door, through the runes, cracking them.

“Umm, Desari?” Petor’s voice rose.

“Break.”

The door shattered and blew outward into another hallway. He could hear distant shouts as the remains of the door settled on the ground.

Ah, fuck. Petor winced as Valter ran into the room on the other side.

“Nice work, lass.” Mya patted Desari on the back and ran after Valter, with Petor right behind.

He glanced back, Desari followed as a section of the pyramid crashed into the ground, breaking it and disappearing below.

“Great, pedestal room with a big ass hole underneath,” Petor muttered as he checked his storage. He pulled on his vest, still roughed up from his last fight. His armbands and helmet followed.

Desari threw a robe around herself and pulled on a wrap that covered all but her eyes.

Mya threw out boots, stepping into them somehow, and pulled on a vest covered in tube-like weapons, followed with a falchion and her wide-brimmed hat.

Valter’s feet thudded on the ground, in a toga that was about

three sizes too small for him. He led them through the corridors and halls without pause.

The shakes and shudders were getting worse, dust falling from the seams in the ceiling.

He charged down a hall that ended in a wall.

“Valter.” Petor’s voice rose in warning.

“It’s a false wall—there’s air coming through it.”

Petor felt the wisp of air swirling down the corridor.

Time seemed to slow, Valter’s breastplate wrapped around him, the rest of his armor appearing down his arms and legs. Runes and lines lit up as they connected and locked into place. Pieces of a single deadly puzzle.

Mya drew a falchion and moved behind him.

No time for the shield.

Petor drew his spear from his storage medallion as he circulated his mana through his channels and into his body. Time dilated, his senses sharpening, everything heightened to new levels.

“Get ready.” Valter slammed his shoulder into and through the

wall.

“Room,” Valter said in a rising tone that could have also yelled “Enemy!”

Mya followed with Petor right behind.

A dozen men wearing identical armor, were caught the group by surprise, ducking and turning to face the new opening and horsemen charging right into the middle of them.

They stood in a bisecting corridor, twice the width of the one out of the pedestal room stretching at least twenty meters in either direction. Torches illuminated simpler murals running down their length.

Valter’s blade shimmered with a molten edge as he cut it through one man’s helmet, reversed his grip and then drove it through the helmet of his fellow, he turned, tearing it free.

Essence slammed into Petor, staining his white core with flecks of red.

His core’s growth, entering a new stage spread through his channels, too small to contain the power. Like burning roots they expanded and spread through his body changing him as his strength and speed

took another step up.

Mya yelled hacking through one man’s neck, sweeping the leg of another her blade ending them. Valter moved with deadly efficiency, Mya practically danced through them.

Only this morning, Petor had died; by midday he had made a deal with a devil, and now he was reborn. All had passed quickly as if in a dream. Things he barely had control over.

He might not be good at dying, and wasn’t intending to update that skill, nor was he good with contracts or dealing. But fighting… He was good at fighting.

Petor landed, two short jabs brought recovering fighters low.

Their mana slammed into his channels recovering what he’d expended.

The third got his blade out.

Petor grinned smacking a blade away and drove the spearhead through the attacker’s throat, turning and tearing it out.

Spinning his spear, he cracked another man’s knee. A jerk and the spear came back; a thrust and it went through the man’s eye. Mana refilled him, essence empowered him.

It wasn’t just from those he was killing, but those they were all

killing. Petor’s mana kept him fresh and alert as he adapted to the increased strength and reaction speed.

He’d trained himself to sip at his mana, flaring it in the most necessary moves. Now he had an abundance. He eagerly and lazily enhanced all his actions. Need it to keep up with these bastards. They were strong, but they were reliant on their strength over their technique.

Mya, Desari and Valter’s skills were honed well past what Petor expected. “God its nice to deal with professionals.”

His core filled halfway with Red, no longer just flecks but a solid growing color bordered by white. Like roots, or veins, his channels spread again. Petor let out a yell, relishing in it as he kicked a man’s knee, breaking it. He jabbed at the opening between helmet and shoulder pauldron.

The mountain’s movements were getting more violent, dust fell from seams in the ceiling.

“Demons!” One yelled.

Petor rushed forward using the panic and fear to his advantage. The other horsemen added their own attacks. The defenders didn’t stand a chance.

Petor whirled around, blood painted his armor, his spear, the walls and floor.

Desari flicked her sword, sheathing it and withdrawing a purple book. “Can’t even form a proper spell weave.”

White flames burned Mya’s sword clean as she slid it back into its scabbard. “That feels better.” She drew two of the tube looking weapons.

Petor opened his mouth to speak as the edges of his white core turned red. Like water across dead ground his channels expanded a third time, much stronger than the first two. They’d extended through his chest, down his arms and now with the third expansion they expanded, reaching the edge of his skin and running through his hands.

They said the entire time that we were filled with Yasseen’s essence. Petor scoffed. A whole new world was opening in front of him. Have to ask the others later. Magic, something that only her paladins could use was within his grasp.

“More coming,” Valter pulled him from his thoughts and discoveries.

Mya and Desari stayed back, Petor and Valter advancing down the corridor in the direction of the noise and the

flow of air.

Four men charged him, small shields at the ready.

“Petor, move right,” Desari ordered.

He moved to the side at Desari’s call. She held the book open in her hands, her eyes purple as mana passing through her hand, and into the book.

Lightning appeared ahead of her, arcing between him and Valter to spread out and hit the four shield bearers.

It slapped them backwards. Essence flowing into Petor as he spat to the side at the smell of burnt hair and seared human.

A man turned the corner.

Mya’s weapon went off in a cloud of smoke, nearly as loud as the lightning if Petor wasn’t half-deaf.

“The faster we get out of here, the better. Less time for them to get organized,” Desari said.

“And there’s the fact that everything behind us is falling apart.” Mya stored the two weapons she’d fired and replaced them with ones on her back. She started in the direction Valter pointed.

“True.” Desari

 followed her.

Valter took the lead once again, Mya behind him, with Petor and Desari trailing.

They advanced into a corridor littered with broken stone, opening into a room with a grand altar of carved silver in the middle. Big enough for even Valter to lie on.

Fighters in the room turned to face them. Their armor was different, and they held their weapons in their hands. Several bodies wearing armor similar to the ones they’d already fought lay around the room.

“Ah, just what I need,” Mya said.

Her eyes turned milky white with a blue flame as cold as glacier water. Her fingers withered like a corpse’s. She flicked two fingers; pale-blue flames shot out, boring holes through two of the attackers’ necks.

She clicked her ring-covered fingers, and the bodies rose and fell as if under one heartbeat. A moan reaching from beyond the pale veil carved a shiver up the base of Petor’s spine, to the back of his head. Hearing it made him feel like a sharpened skeletal hand was scraping against his vertebrae, spreading

goose bumps along its path.

Excitement, not fear, filled him as that tense energy ran through him.

He let out a yell. He was alive!

Valter crashed into the fighters. Runes of molten iron ran through his armor like the fires of the underworld, flaring as a shield appeared in his off hand. “Ahh!” He threw back three grown men with a yell, his sword killing one before they could escape his reach.

To do or die.

Petor’s blood sung in his veins. Bringing his spear to the ready, he lowered himself, power coiled in his muscles and a treacherous smile plastered across his face as he surged forward.

A fighter wielding a runed hammer connected with Valter’s shield. The resulting shock wave pushed Valter back several paces.

The dead rose, white fire in their eyes.

“Too slow, old man!” Petor laughed, passing the burning monstrosity. His spearpoint thrust out at the man with the hammer before he had time to wind up another attack, forcing him to shift his bulk to avoid

 his spearpoint.

Another fighter slashed down with a halberd. Petor fell backward, his spear cutting back out. The halberd owner’s eyes widened as Petor’s spear cut through his leg.

Essence spread through his Red core, adding flecks of Orange, like embers floating on the sunset’s last breath. His mana capacity surged as his mana channels spread downwards through his stomach.

That initial heady rush of killing those above his own core level abated now that he was at the same core strength as them.

It’s about how you use that power, not just how much you have! ...