Darkstrider, p.1
Darkstrider, page 1
Darkstrider
The Blades of Heaven and Hell
Book One
Aaron Hodges
Contents
About the Author
Also by Aaron Hodges
The Seventh Realm
A Rift in Time
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Aftermath
A Note from the Author
Help! My Wizard Mentor Had A Heart Attack And Now I'm Being Chased By A Horde Of Giant Spiders!
A LITRPG Adventure Fantasy
Prologue
Through the Looking Glass
Hell Is An Aussie In Your Head
Monsters Sighted In Your Area
Murder Most Foul
The Chosen One
Local Delicacies
Tutorial
Also by Aaron Hodges
Edited by Genevieve Lerner
Proofread by Sara Houston
Cover Illustration by Lauren Richelieu
Typography by Miblart Covers
* * *
Copyright © April 2023 Aaron Hodges.
Second Edition. All Rights Reserved.
* * *
ISBN: 978-1-991018-182
About the Author
Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelors of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Masters of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of office work and decided to quit his job in 2014 and see the world. One year later, he published his first novel - Stormwielder.
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Also by Aaron Hodges
The Sword of Light
Book 1: Stormwielder
Book 2: Firestorm
Book 3: Soul Blade
* * *
The Legend of the Gods
Book 1: Oathbreaker
Book 2: Shield of Winter
Book 3: Dawn of War
* * *
The Knights of Alana
Book 1: Daughter of Fate
Book 2: Queen of Vengeance
Book 3: Crown of Chaos
* * *
The Evolution Gene
Book 1: Reborn
Book 2: Havoc
Book 3: Carnage
* * *
Descendants of the Fall
Book 1: Warbringer
Book 2: Wrath of the Forgotten
Book 3: Age of Gods
Book 4: Dreams of Fury
* * *
The Alfurian Chronicles
Book 1: Defiant
Book 2: Guardian
Book 3: Conquest
* * *
The Swords of Heaven and Hell
Book 1: Darkstrider
* * *
The Four Circles
Book 1: Help! My Wizard Mentor Had A Heart Attack And Now I'm Being Chased By A Horde Of Giant Spiders!
* * *
The Untamed Isles
The Path Awakens
The Seventh Realm
A Rift in Time
Dagon of the Elohim, Watcher of the Barrier, drifted through the void between worlds, the infinite of the cosmos stretching about him. Senses beyond the comprehension of mere mortals extended into the ether, listening to the silent whispers of infinity, strumming against the ripples in time, seeking the tiniest of changes. Anything that might hint at weakness, or that rarest of possibilities: a fracture in the Barrier behind which hid the Enemy.
For time eternal he had served this role. Dagon the Watcher, he who hung amongst the stars, waiting for the inevitable betrayal, for the Enemy to break the ceasefire. All amongst the Elohim knew that day must come, that the horns of war would sound and their warriors would once more do battle with the demons of the abyss.
But it would not be this day, it seemed. Nor any of the infinite days through which Dagon had stood his watch.
How it vexed him, knowing the Enemy hid beyond their great barrier in space and time. That a thousand, thousand worlds suffered beneath their demonic rule. He caught whispers of their torment on occasion, screams snatched from the ether, cries of help whispered over eons. Like every Elohim before him, Dagon felt their suffering as if it were his own. He yearned to answer their calls, to free them from control of the Enemy.
Instead, he kept his vigil, conserving his power for the glorious day when the Elohim would finally smite their demonic foe. For was that not why he had ascended from his own world? Why he had set aside his mortal name and sworn himself to a greater purpose? Let the Enemy play its games; the day would come when all the might of the Elohim fell upon them.
Dagon’s energies churned with old, mortal emotions. It was a fickle foe they faced. The Enemy—or the Satana, as they liked to style themselves—had learned through the millennia, adapting to the superiority of the Elohim. They had become cunning, corrupting many of his brothers, even turning sisters with soft words and softer caresses.
But not Dagon. Not the Watcher. He did his duty, the silent scout, observing the fabric of the cosmos—
Suddenly in the abyss, Dagon felt a change. A pulse of energy, a surge of power as the Enemy’s shield rippled and swelled. He tensed, a burning blade shaped from his Will appearing in his hand. For a second, he thought the moment had come. His power gathered, ready to sound the alarm and summon the full power of the Elohim to battle.
But no, this was something different. Already he could sense the barrier pulling back on itself, though not before his senses touched upon…
A breach.
Dagon’s mana pulsed, excitement drawing energy from the cosmos and sending it racing through his ethereal form. His mind reached out, caution lost to the thrill of discovery, and touched upon the tear in the Enemy protections—
And was struck by the full agony of the souls trapped within!
It was like a blade to his heart. Far worse, this collective pain, this suffering, than anything he could have imagined. A shudder swept through his soul. He felt a screeching within, as of something breaking. He was commanded to Watch. But he had also vowed to Protect. The command came up against his vow—and lost.
The mighty blade in Dagon’s hands began to shine as mana burned along its length. His grip tightened upon the weapon as he gathered spiritual energy for his first working in a millennium. He might not match the power of the Elders, but he could still make the heavens tremble. Hopefully it would be enough to free at least one world from the torments of the Enemy.
Dagon shifted. Or rather, the world shifted around him, and then he was galaxies away. Beneath unfamiliar stars now, he contemplated the Opening. It hung before him, a tear in the universe, pulling inwards. Almost as though the code of the Enemy had been corrupted by something within.
Already it was closing.
The dark magics of the Enemy were working upon the tear, shifting the barrier back into place, repairing the damage done by whatever force had been able rip open a barrier that had known no equal in a thousand years.
There was no time now to alert the Elohim, to muster an army to enter the abyss. Time only for a single Elohim to fulfil his ancient vow— to guard the weak against evil, to free them from torment.
With a final pulse of energy, Dagon of the Elohim, Watcher of the Barrier, vanished from the minds of the Elohim and entered the realm of the Enemy.
1
Darkness.
Absolute black. A never-ending emptiness stretching out to eternity. It should have been terrifying. Horrifying, to know he was a part of it, that the infinite had swallowed him up, made him a part of the nothingness that was the universe.
But there was no terror in this place. No fear, or anger, or love. Emotion had no place in the dark. At least, not at first.
Not until something broke the perfect void. A light. A spark.
With it came the fear. An unspoken, unknown terror for what it represented. Life. And more than that. An awareness. A consciousness that probed the dark, seeking, searching for something amidst the black. Something that did not belong.
Him.
He felt himself separate fr om the void. Expelled for his own conscious thought. For his fear. Suddenly he was exposed, adrift in the infinite, alone.
Except…
…he was not alone.
Error. System failure. Breach imminent!
Boom!
Mikael Heaton’s first sense of awareness was of burning. A fiery heat and energy, sizzling, crackling, condensing, as though his own physical self were being dragged from some unexplainable ether and shoved back together piece by piece. It was the most unpleasant awakening he could have possibly imagined.
The next thing he noticed was the warm stone beneath him, pressed against his cheek. Not hot enough to burn, but still hot enough to suggest it had just been licked by flame. Already it was beginning to cool.
Then it was the cold. Icy air flowed over him, raising goosebumps across his naked body and leaving him trembling. Shivering. Cold. He did not like it. Blinking, he struggled to get his bearings, to find the source of the sensation.
Instead, brilliant light pierced his eyes, drilling a pair of agonising circles deep into his skull. So bright, as though he had not used his eyes in a very long time. Instinctively, he scrunched them closed again, though that hardly helped with the pounding. He felt as though someone had struck him in the head.
His ears were ringing as well, as though he’d just been playing Beethoven’s ninth symphony several notches of volume too high through his…
He paused as the thought met…emptiness. There was a gap in his memory. What…what had been that image in his head? It was already gone, floating away like a child’s stream of bubbles in the noonday sunlight.
His skin crawled as he lay back against the cooling stone. He drew in a breath and his nose twitched, tingling as he smelt burning ash. And beneath that, something less pleasant, like…the stench of a boys’ changing room.
Confusion claimed Mikael. He drew in his next breath through clenched teeth. His stomach churned, as though something inside him yearned to escape. He forced it back down. Another breath. His heart slowed a fraction, panic retreating as his mind took hold.
He needed to open his eyes. To figure out where he was. And…and what else he was missing?
Pull yourself together, Mikael.
Light. Bright, though it cut less this time. It still felt like fists were crashing against his skull, but he could cope. Just. With a groan, he commanded his body to move. It took time, as though the connections in his mind had somehow forgotten how this went. His fingers twitched. Then an arm. Finally, with a groan, Mikael pushed himself to his knees.
By now his head was truly pounding, his stomach churning. A thought came to him, along with the image of a hideous green beast.
Better out than in…
He needed no further encouragement. His stomach convulsed as he hurled acidic bile onto the smooth rock beneath him. He was crouched in a strange indentation in the stone, and a distant part of his mind found itself thinking how it had been formed. The way the rock dipped where he lay, crystal veins twisted into ripples, almost as though it had been heated to melting point and flowed together…
Shaking himself, he dismissed the idle thoughts. The strange memory had provided sage advice and he found himself feeling slightly improved. Physically at least. His mental discomfort only increased as he tried to recall how he had come to be lying in a stone indentation in a…was he in a cave? How…
There was nothing.
It was with rising panic that Mikael scanned his memories and found his mind completely, entirely blank. No memory. Not a single recollection of a life lived. There was only…knowledge? Like for some reason, he knew the layers of rock in the cave wall had been formed over millions of years of heat and pressure.
But he could not remember a single face, not his mother or father, not even the goddamn barista at his local cafe. Which…okay, apparently, he only had some knowledge. For while he could remember the words, his mind pulled a blank as to what exactly a barista was.
Letting out a long breath, he tried to calm himself. His head hurt, so he must have hit it on something. This was obviously some kind of amnesia—which his ever-so-helpful mind told him was a disease of the brain. He needed to be methodical about this. There must be some clues about how he’d arrived here. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he found that the cave was gloomy, though he could see the distant light of day around a bend in the stone.
Mikael was just readying himself to look around, when he glanced down and was struck by a realisation.
He was naked.
Naked.
That was wrong. Just as he knew his name, something instinctual inside him screamed that that was wrong. He needed clothes, though the little voice of intuition didn’t offer a reason. Because he was cold? That seemed logical. What other reason would there be to cover himself?
Certainly his body did not seem anything to be ashamed of. Small, with a beige tint to his skin—which the helpful part of his mind informed meant he probably spent time outdoors. His arms were skinny, but his legs seemed to have plenty of spring in them, and the digit between his legs…
Warmth flushed his cheeks and he felt a strange sensation of discomfort. Embarrassment. Ah, so it was about more than just warmth. Strange. Without the context of his own memories, it seemed a somewhat pointless convention.
Though it was obviously not as bizarre as a naked man sitting alone in a cave, with no memory of how he had come to be there, who he was, or what manner of world might exist beyond the walls of this stone tomb.
Solutions, not problems, Mikael.
He focused on the first of his problems. Clothes. The last of the uneasiness in his body had left him now, though there was still a sense of clumsiness as he began moving about the cave, like his body didn’t quite fit with what his mind remembered.
Thankfully, the cave didn’t appear to hold any immediate danger. His eyes struggled in the gloom, but it was clear from a cursory glance that someone had been living here until recently, because their belongings remained. Leather-wrapped bedrolls were scattered across the stone floor and several pieces of clothing had been draped on wooden stakes set in the ground around an empty firepit.
Following instinct, he crossed to the circle of stones and tentatively pressed a finger into the ashes. Cold. So they’d been gone some time. Though not long enough for the stench of their unwashed bodies to dissipate.
His bare foot nudged a discarded dagger as he stepped away from the pit. He paused to pick it up. The blade was tarnished and speckled with rust, the leather strapping on the hilt crumbling. He let it fall. It would probably break the second he used it as a weapon and he’d already spied several more promising items. Another dagger, several swords, a rusty hatchet…
Mikael paused, already halfway across the cavern to the first of the swords. Why had his mind leapt to seeking out a weapon? What manner of man had death on his thoughts upon first waking in a strange cave?
An intelligent one.
