Page 1 of Oracle of Ruin

Chapter1

Prologue

Everyone always talks about death from a distance. They say you’ll be okay with time, but they never talk about what happens when you aren’t.

They tell you about the moment it happens, and if you’re lucky, what comes next. They never talk about those of us who get left behind. Wherewego next. Nor about how someone can go from warm and breathing in your arms one moment and then the next, you never see them again. Death is final. The poets never seem to consider that. Nottrulyconsider it, anyhow.

The gods never give me enough time to think upon it for long, not with death coming for me next.

“How many do you think there are?” I shout towards the blond mercenary to my right.

His long legs match mine stride for stride, his chest rising and falling quickly beneath his leather vest. He turns his red face towards me and stares incredulously. “Less talking, more running,” he barks between breaths.

Behind us, the growling grows, its guttural sound somewhere between a moan and a raspy cry that sends terror curling around my spine.

“I am just saying, if there aren’t too many, I would prefer fighting to running.”

“Dammit, Vera, there’s at least five too many to fight, so shut up and run!”

By five too many, he probably means five total, in his signature Rowan way.

The snapping of tree branches grows closer. They’re practically on our heels at this point. I bite back a groan of frustration. These things are nearly impossible to kill, let alone five of them. Then again, when have we ever shied away from the impossible?

Up ahead, a clearing promises a fairer fight, and we both double our efforts. The wind whispers around us, chanting and pleading to not shed more blood in their forest. I cringe as my legs burn. With each inhale, I focus on pushing the oxygen through my muscles and calling on my pureblood strength to last me just a few paces more. Three more. Two, one…

We enter the clearing at the same time they do. Rowan dives to cover my body with his own, but I am quicker. Leaping around him, I turn to face the beasts with my hands raised.

They pause, sniffing the air as if looking for something—no, not something.Someone. Their gaze stops on Rowan.

The Kijova. A creation of pure death.

The five of them form a circle around us, oddly calculating, considering their usual instinct is to dive headfirst into the attack. My stomach drops at the implication. They’re evolving. He is getting stronger.

The largest one rears its ugly head, its elongated fangs dripping with blood, silver and gold alike, its rotting gums speckled with human flesh. It stands on its hind legs, bent backwards like a horse’s, its lengthy arms brushing against the forest floor. At the end of each of those arms are spindly hands with claws that were made for no purpose other than death. I’ve watched their razor-sharp points skewer a man in under a second.

The worst is the eyes. Their eyes are the only remaining human part about them, despite being completely soulless. From their black rotting skin to their form, nothing on the Kijovaeven resembles a human anymore, save for their eyes.

The creature of dark magic has an insatiable hunger for blood and whatever purpose their master gives them. Luckily enough for us, their creator—the man I once called Father—has decided he wants them to find his son and lover. That means we’re running for our lives daily.

The first Kijova lowers his nose directly towards Rowan and takes a slow step forward.

I step between them and stare into its eyes. I nearly sob when I see that they aren’t hers, that so far, she hasn’t been made one of them.

All we know of the Kijova is from the banned ancient books of dark magic and our own experiences. The most pressing concern when dealing with them? They’re nearly impossible to kill. Nearly.

Much like a blessed, who can only be killed by dark magic, the beast cannot be killed by anything other than light magic. There’s just one problem—all the blessed mages are dead.

The monster opens its throat and screams, an ear-piercing sound that is all too familiar. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision. My own scream comes from its throat, reverberating through the air, the sound of their creation—the day they were born of my best friend’s blood. My Tanja, who gave her life for mine.

“You sick bastards,” I grind out, digging my heel into the dirt.

It mimics my action before charging. Its trap opens wide to bare its teeth, planning to clamp down on my throat once their claws finish the job. I wait a moment longer until I can smell their distinct reek of death before I open my palms.

White light shoots forward, burning the creature straight through. It screams again, but I tune it out as the others advance. I pour every ounce of rage and grief within me into the light. The searing stench of burning flesh grows more bearable with time, and before long, I’m surrounded by six dead bodies.

“You miscounted,” I say as I offer Rowan a hand up from where he still lays in the dirt.

He rubs at his hip where he made contact, but says nothing as he pushes himself up off the ground and starts towards our camp. I follow close behind, my eyes staying trained on the dead beasts around us.

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