Worlds Apart Read online

  The Road of Rune and Ruin

  Part 1: Worlds Apart

  Jay Aury

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  This book and its contents are copyright 2018 by Jay Aury. All rights are reserved and no portion may be reproduced aside from brief quotations for review purposes. Cover credit to the talented DCLZexon at https://twitter.com/dclzexon

  All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of parody and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.

  The Altar

  “Fool!”

  The word rolled down the broken steps, picked up by the wind which tore up trees and shattered pillars ancient before the seas receded. It crashed like thunder. Roared with the storm, sundering what little remained of the broken pyramid.

  It came from the man at the top, before an altar, smoke rising at his back from braziers where the bones of sacrificed maidens still sizzled with heat. Robes flapped about his frame like black wings, the huge horned skull of a dire ram perched atop his head and a twisted staff of black metal clutched in his hand. He was handsome in that cruel, hard way of men of power. His eyes were red and skin pale as chalk. The whirling winds rose about him, climbing up into the twisting, tortured sky. Swelling with every passing moment, fed by a spear of light rising from the altar. Twin spheres of brass and onyx spun at the base of this blazing pillar, magic crackling across their faces, feeding into the vast swirl of clouds above with a keening sound that set the teeth on edge.

  “Fool! You can’t stop me now! This is my hour. My ascension!” The sorcerer ducked a chunk of stone as it was whirled away. He swung down his staff. Marks flashed red. Magic crackled down the steel, stabbing through the air and blasting another piece from the stairs.

  “Damn it all Edgar! Get down from there!” Felix Gravere shouted. Crouched behind a mass of masonry once a stature of a severe looking man, he raised his sword warily and risked a peek. “You’re not going to win this!”

  “Don’t call me Edgar!” Another bolt of eldritch lightning ripped off what was left of the statue’s head. “I’m Tiberius! Tiberius! Warlock of the Black Ring! Master of Magics! And you’re already too late!” the warlock snarled. He threw his arms wide as if to encompass the madness around them. “I’ve won! Look at the sky! See how it whirls! See! See how the very world trembles at my power!”

  The jungle below did sway. Pieces of the earth cracked, fissures radiating from the pyramid’s base. Under the shadow of the sprawling structure bodies rolled against each other. Men in armour hacked at hulking beasts spawned from twisted sorcery. The two armies battled in a desperate brawl to decide the fate of a world. For the moment, the forces of the Twin kingdoms held the stairs. The sign of the two-headed eagle flapped from tabards and pennants of the desperate men and women warring with the howling host.

  “You’ve not won yet!” Felix barked, snapping another six rounds into the chambers of his arc pistol. The runes which ringed the heavy piece of steel flashed as they activated, and twisting out of cover he fired. Three shots screamed through the air in a hail of sparks, exploding against a barrier conjured by the sorcerer.

  “Ha!” Tiberius cackled, sweeping aside the smoke. “You’re an idiot Felix! Your bullets can’t penetahhh!”

  Tiberius jumped back as Felix, having rushed forward under the cover of the smoke, cleaved the magic shield with his sword. Runes flared blue along the blade as they countered the foul magics of the sorcerer. With a shout Felix rushed through the breach, striking the sorcerer’s staff raised in a hasty parry.

  Blue and violet sparks crackled between their weapons. Felix, bolstered by strengthening runes which flared all across his armour like veins of light, struggled against the whispering darkness which shadowed the warlock like a shroud.

  “Son of a bitch!” Tiberius snarled. “Get off my pyramid!”

  “Never!”

  Felix pushed his sword forward, up, catching the wizard’s staff on the guard and jerking the weapons aside. He kicked Tiberius in the chest, sending the warlock sprawling atop the altar, staff clattering away. Felix advanced, bringing down his sword, only for the black robed man to roll aside. With a crackle of blue lightning the blade struck deep into the stone. Felix cursed, yanking at the weapon stuck fast.

  “Ahahaha!” Tiberius cackled. “Look at the mighty knight! Bested by a piece of rock-brghu!”

  Tiberius wheezed, clutching his gut which had just intimately met Felix’s armoured fist. The knight drew back his hand, runes of power blazing along his knuckles. “You talk too much, Tiberius,” he said before taking a second swing.

  The warlock ducked, but his gaudy skullcap was struck from his head and sent clattering down the steps. “Ah! Bastard!” the warlock snarled, raising hands crackling with violet magic. “That! Was! My! Favorite! Hat!”

  Felix grabbed for his blade but too late. The warlock’s spell slammed into him, sending him bouncing back across the stones. Protective runes along his armour buzzed, violet magic crackling across his body as he forced himself with a groan onto his back.

  Metal scraped on stone as Tiberius snatched up his staff and approached the prostate swordsman, grinning savagely in the eldritch light blazing from the screaming twin spheres, his red eyes gleaming with hate and terrible triumph. “You should have stayed out of this, Felix. Found yourself some barmaid with fat tits and a plush ass to fuck. Then at least you might have been happy as the world ended!” He swung up his staff, magic gathered in a thorny swirl at its tip. “So long!”

  Felix jerked up his arm, arc pistol primed. Tiberius’s smirk faded and the knight pulled the trigger. Shots slammed into Tiberius, rippling over the warlock’s barriers with waves of blue fire, staggering him back with every impact.

  He hit the edge of the altar with a groan, amulets and charms ringing. Felix scrambled to his feet and grabbed his blade, yanking it free with a terrific heave. He swung it round before him and advanced grimly on the warlock. “Give up Tiberius. You lose. Again!”

  “The hell I do,” the warlock gasped, groping behind him. “Aha!”

  Felix hastily brought about his blade, expecting some spell. He was not, however, expecting something as crude as a bunch of ritual powder. He sneezed, blinded by the gritty dust, and swung wildly. Tiberius jerked aside, forgetting there was something behind him. Steel forged in the halls of kings struck the twisting ritual stones. Magic black and red blazed from both ends, struck each other.

  The resulting explosion blasted both men away. Black and silver rolled. Slammed into one of the curving sculptures rising from the cardinal corners of the pyramid. As one, Felix and Tiberius raised their heads, staring.

  The orbs, once ringing clear with a song of power, screamed like a thousand voices in agony. Cracks crawled across them from a ragged wound in the black stone. The storm above them altered, the beam of light wavering, the whirling clouds shuddering like something was hammering at the other side. Pulsating black and violet and a lurid red.

  “That’s not good, is it?” Felix said.

  “You have no idea,” Tiberius whispered.

  The orbs crackled, cracked.

  From the ground the two armies paused, turning about as a sudden boom echoed from atop the pyramid. A pulse of light shot up and into the sky, struck the apex of the whirling clouds. The clouds inverted. The impact rippled across the tortured sky in a wave, the air shuddering.

  The storm stabbed back down into the pyramid.

  And then things became strange.

  A New Land

  Felix wondered how long he had been staring at the sky.

  A while he thought. A very long while.

  He shivered as a breeze passed over him. Groaning, his body feeling like a single great bruise, he slowly sat up. He looke
d down at himself. Blinked. Looked again.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  A sudden fear gripped him. Frantically he looked around but his weapons were gone too.

  “Shit.”

  He took in his surroundings with a far different feeling than before. Ancient trees closed around him. Towered over him, their interlocked branches nearly blocking out the darkened heavens and casting down a gloom. Roots clawed at the loamy earth and thick trunks crowded around. Starkly different from the steaming jungles of Cavisar. Certainly different from the broken steps of the pyramid. Felix gazed about blankly, slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers in the grass. Real, that was for sure. Probably a good sign.

  “Am I… dead?”

  He didn’t feel dead. He was led to believe that if one died in battle, they went to Gravar’s Hall where they joined their ancestors in feasting and celebrating until the end of time. The lack of sizzling beef and festivities was telling. But then, he’d never been dead before.

  “Where am I?” he wondered softly. But the forest kept its own council, whispering with the rustle of branches in a cool breeze.

  A scream split the air.

  Without a thought Felix bolted in the direction of the sound. He winced as his bare feet scratched the earth and branches slapped his bare form.

  He slowed as he heard harsh voices ahead. Suddenly aware of both his nakedness and lack of arms, he moved more warily, crouching behind the cover of trees. He slipped in behind a bush and peered through.

  A long trail cut through the forest. A wagon had been halted, horses nickering in distress. Felix spotted the driver fairly quickly, owing to the fact the man was face down in a rapidly expanding pool of blood while the men with the swords were not. There were four of them. Rough looking men in crude leathers and scattered armour typical of outlaws. One, a rather pudgy fellow with a leather cap and sloping brow, was gripping the arm of a young woman. Felix stared in surprise at her. Her skin was a dark violet and she was tall as any of the men around her. Her ears were long and ended in points, and her furious eyes glowed with blue light. She was shapely, her clothes, little more than filmy wisps of cloth, left very little to any imagination, baring long leg, ample breasts, and a slim midriff, as if she were annoyed to hide any inch of her body. The only oddity was a heavy iron bracelet wrapped round her forearm.

  “Idiot girl,” the leader of the band said. Dressed somewhat better than his compatriots, he wore a horned helmet and had a tattoo of a number of rings on his cheek. It was not a rune Felix was familiar with, and it lacked the glow of magic most did. But then, he wasn’t familiar with many of the sorcerous signs.

  “Let’s have some fun with her,” the pudgy one said, grabbing the woman’s lush breast, making her gasp. “We deserve it after what she done to Gregor.”

  The bandits turned to look at a smoking patch in the ground. Another bandit, one whose face had the unfortunate resemblance to a rat, chuckled. “Hm. We may as well. Not often you get a fountain witch to play with.”

  Felix had heard enough. The bandits swung about as he stepped out of the bushes.

  “Let her go.”

  The four men stared at the naked man, jaws slack.

  “What the…” the fat one stammered.

  “Who the hell are you?” the leader demanded.

  “Felix Gravere. The Runed Knight,” Felix said with appropriate gravity.

  “Never heard of ye.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “No.”

  “…Are you sure?”

  “Yes!”

  Felix arched a brow. He must have travelled far indeed. “Well, regardless. Let her go.”

  “Buggery that!” the leader said. “I don’t take orders from strange, naked men walking out of the woods!”

  “Maybe you should make an exception,” Felix said.

  “I don’t know about this,” the fat one said nervously.

  “Shut up Tommen!” the leader snapped. He gestured at Felix with his sword. “Riesh! Gut ‘im.”

  One of the idling bandits hefted his sword and approached with a grin. Felix watched him, catching the telltale signs of a man whose training in the blade consists of ‘stick the pointy end in the other guy’. The bandit lunged, putting all of that training to good use, only for Felix to twist out of the way and punch him in the throat. The bandit gagged, falling to his knees and clawing at his crushed wind pipe. Knowing the man was out of the fight – few men turned such a shade of purple and picked up a weapon any time soon – Felix swept up the bandit’s dropped sword. He staggered a little under the awkward, ill made heft of the thing, and grimaced at the signs of rust and neglect on the blade.

  “Hey! He can’t do that!” Tommen cried.

  Their leader didn’t bother to refute that. Instead he gave Tommen a scathing look and jerked his sword to sign for his rat-faced companion to join him.

  Felix watched the pair approach, on guard. The rat faced one looked to have about the same experience as the man choking by Felix’s feet, but the leader held his blade with a readiness that showed at least some skill.

  Felix swung his sword between the two, slowly advancing. As they fanned out about him he suddenly turned, quicker than they could respond, putting his back to the cart. The pair paused, realizing they were not up against their usual terrified prey. The leader grimaced, then glanced at his companion. “Well! Go on!”

  Rat-face gave a nod, then rushed forward, slicing at Felix wildly. The knight waited until the last moment, then parried with a clash of steel. Immediately the leader was on him, blade swinging to take Felix’s head off. The knight kicked Rat-face in the chest and swung about quickly, blocking the leader’s sword. He pushed forward, striking at the other man. The leader parried the quick overhand and tried to regain momentum, but Felix didn’t give him a chance. He forced the other man back while Rat-face hovered uncertainly nearby. Felix worked them around until he stood between them, then feinted a trip.

  The leader grinned savagely and lunged, only for Felix to twist aside. Blocked by Felix’s somewhat distracting body, the bandit never saw Rat-face until his sword plunged into the man’s belly.

  Shock registered on both men’s faces, though the man with the sword in his gut had the worst of it. The leader snarled, yanking out his blade, his companion falling to the dust, but the distraction had proven costly. As the leader turned, Felix’s rusty blade met his neck. The bandit never even managed to scream. His body collapsed like a sack of potatoes, his helmeted head bouncing through the dust.

  Felix glanced at the three corpses, then at the fat bandit still standing. The man stared, then shoved the woman away and ran for the woods.

  The woman staggered and pulled herself back to her feet. She twisted back towards Tommen, but for a fat man, he ran with stunning quickness, his crashing flight through the woods soon fading.

  For a moment the woman stood there, shaking with indignant anger. She bit her lip, spread her hands, breathing slowly out. She gave her head a quick shake and turned with a stunning smile to Felix.

  “I suppose a thanks is in order,” she said. “I am Auria Dalamas, magus of the Fount. You have my gratitude for assisting me.”

  Felix snapped back to attention. “No need, madam,” he said. “I couldn’t let something happen to such a lovely lady.” He bowed respectfully. “Felix Gravere, knight of the Runic Order.”

  “Yes,” she said, eying him. “You mentioned that…” Felix, with the battle done, began to become aware once more of his nakedness. He felt her gaze wander down his body, focusing on his groin. Something sparked in her eyes and she smiled almost hungrily. He flushed a little and crouched down, beginning to strip the bandit leader of his clothes. He looked about the right size.

  The woman watched him in silence for a moment. “I cannot help but notice your state when you arrived,” she said. “Are you a forest spirit come to claim my virtue?”

  “Wh-what! No!”

  “Oh,” she said, leaning agai
nst the cart, wisps of cloth stirring around her long legs. “Pity.”

  Felix flushed. “There was something of an… incident.”

  “Ah,” she said. “What kind?”

  “The arcane kind.”

  “I know few spells to strip a man,” she said with amusement.

  Felix blushed harder and hurried on his efforts. Soon enough he rose, wincing at the creak of his new clothes. The bandit’s dress itched with grit like it hadn’t been washed in a year which, actually, was rather likely. They didn’t fit too well either, but better than being naked he supposed.

  As he took in the bodies, he again found himself focusing on the dead driver. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  She followed his gaze and anger flashed in her eyes like steel in the night. “Ah. No need. I had hired him under the understanding he assist me through the Dusk Woods. Apparently he intended to add me to his stock, considering I woke up with this suppressor on,” she said, rubbing the iron bracelet viciously. “He intended to sell me across the border and have some Hassian slaver break my spirit, sell me to a warlord or some fool.” She kicked the corpse. “Worse than any orc,” she said.

  “Suppressor?” Felix said.

  She waved her bracelet for him to see. “This. How am I supposed to summon the power of the Fount if I am restricted by cold iron?” she said.

  Felix looked at her. He had never heard of spellcraft coming from a Fount before. But then, he was in a strange land. “Here. Let me see.”

  She scoffed as he took her hand. “Don’t bother. The fool kept the key hidden. I’d hoped to get the location out of him, but his interests lay…” She grimaced. “Elsewhere…”

  “Hm,” Felix said, flipping out a dagger. Her eyes widened and she tried to pull back, but Felix held her steady and carefully carved a simple opening rune into the manacle. He let a twinge of power flow into the mark. It flared blue, and the manacle snapped open.

  “There,” he said, taking the iron bracer back. “Done.”