Blood Stained Tranquility (8 page)

But there were flashes, detailed enough to sicken him. He had killed with his bare hands. He had killed with his infernal powers of Vengeance. The things he had done to thousands . . . the horrid, merciless deaths he had caused with his stare.

No. He was not that thing anymore. He was Zeniel now, and new powers had begun to awaken within him.

The new energy inside him was the polar opposite of the brain-splitting roars he had once been a slave to, and as it expanded, so did his relief. Yes, he would succeed and beat back the atrocity within him. He had a new purpose now, one that blanketed his every breath.

Protect.

Exactly. He could not remember
who
he had to protect, but it didn’t matter. That didn’t make his need to fulfill his purpose any less pressing. He would remember who he needed to protect later. For now, simply knowing of his purpose was enough to motivate and satiate him.

With deep, slow breaths, he focused on only quieting his mind, until silence became second nature.

He had not moved from his position on the stone floor of his cell in what must have been days. The gods had imprisoned him for only they knew how long. He had been starved and tortured. Several days ago, however, he was visited by a small female surrounded by light and the torture had stopped. He did not remember her from before, yet she apparently had known him, and had promised to send someone to remove him from the prison.

Tired, he closed his eyes and let the calm suck him back in. Eventually, the sound of the large stone door sliding open dragged him back into awareness. The light that shot into the cell came close to blinding him.

“The prisoner is within, and as you shall see, docile as a little pup. We have ripped his will from his bod—”

The guard gasped before he could finish his comment, sounding like someone had choked him into silence. There was a strained groan, then what sounded like a body being flung into the cell with Zen.

“Now wait a moment!” Zen recognized the sound of the second guard’s voice. “I shall have words with the overseer. We were following his direct ord—”

The second guard went silent right before he too, was thrown into the cell.

An unfamiliar voice echoed inside the stone walls. “Bastards. They are lucky I do not separate their spines from their fucking bodies for what they have done to you.”

The male speaking slowly came into focus. He was white-haired and wearing at least two bodies’ worth of dark blue and silver armor. His black leather boots gleamed in the light. He walked over the hands of the unconscious guards, destroying the bones with a loud crunch. He continued onward, uncaring, and did not stop until he was kneeling next to Zeniel.

“Are you all right?” he asked, looking Zeniel’s body over for injuries.

They’d healed days ago, each one resealing thanks to the female who had visited him.

“I am fine. Are you the one they sent to get me out?”

The white-haired male stared at him, his silver and dark blue eyes sad.

“I am Dyletri. Although the last time you saw me, I was still called Salicyar.”

Had he too started out as a different being?
 

Zeniel blinked when clothes appeared on his body. Black leather breeches, boots as tough as the ones Dyletri was wearing, and a long sleeved, white tunic materialized out of thin air and onto his form.

“We cannot have you walking around balls-out. The females out there might appreciate it, but that is not a sight for my eyes. Agreed?” Dyletri gave him a small smile. “Do you truly not remember me?” he asked when Zeniel merely continued to stare at him.

Zeniel shook his head. “Forgive me, but I do not remember anything . . . except the things I brought to pass.” He moved to stand.

Dyletri extended a hand to help him. “None of it was your fault.”

Zeniel started shaking his head once more. He was having none of it. If he was learning to control it now, why couldn’t he have learned before killing so many?

You were not Zeniel then.

No, but what he had been was an abomination. Nothing would change that.

“I do not wish to speak of that at this moment.”

A wave of dizziness made the walls around him spin.

Dyletri placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have not eaten in centuries. You might not need sustenance to survive, but you have gone too long without. You will not regain full strength until you eat.”

Zen nodded. “I do remember that.”

“Well, I hope you remember this as well.” Still holding onto his shoulder, Dyletri dematerialized them.

Zen’s feet touched the ground so hard he was almost brought to his knees. He looked around, realizing they were in a clearing. In front of them stood two mountains, a waterfall cascading between the peaks. It ended in a round basin surrounded by large flat rocks. All around, human males moved back and forth, some tending to fires, others going about their daily business. Small huts were scattered throughout the clearing.

“We read all their minds before deciding on this place. They are pure of deed, every one of them. This group is a new religious settlement. They are determined to live holy lives,” Dyletri said.

“They are all male.”

Dyletri smiled ruefully. “This specific group is, but over time we can find you a female pure of deed and bring her to you.”

The idea bothered Zeniel on a level he could not understand. “That is not necessary. I am in no need. Why did these men settle here?”

“They are one of only a hundred or so small settlements left on the whole planet. They settled here to live lives of penance. Even if civilization were to spring back rapidly, these men want to stay away from it all. They want to appease the higher powers that punished them.”

Dyletri’s dual-colored eyes had darkened.

“What happened while I was imprisoned?” Zeniel stared at all the men below, relieved when no visions came at him. No sins. No roars.

“There was a war, Zeniel.”

He turned sharply and was met with the furious scowl on Dyletri’s face.

“A war?”

“The Aviraji, as they are now known, turned on the rest of us. The very ones who had you imprisoned decided that all of us—including the humans—should be punished as well.”

“I deserved what was done to me,” Zeniel reminded him calmly.

“What you did was not your fault. You had a sensitivity—a justified one considering the universe is full of shit. You should have been helped, not tortured for five hundred years.”

That’s how long had passed since he’d been imprisoned?

“And I, for one,” Dyletri continued, “would have loved to have had you on the battlefield against the Aviraji on that day. With what they had just done, you would have ripped them all apart in one second.”

“And any allies, as well,” Zeniel said. “I was helped. I am much different now.”

Dyletri studied Zeniel. “You still resemble the God I knew before your sensitivity took over. Except your eyes, those are different. They used to be red and black.”

“What color are they now?”

“Blue and gray.”

Zeniel liked that. He liked that a lot.

“Humanity is just starting to rebuild. You can settle amongst these men while you get accustomed to your new powers.”

Zeniel turned back to stare at the village below. “You said that they are living lives to appease the gods. Who is their main god?”

“You are. Or, you will be.”

Had the male before him gone mad?

“I am a god no longer.”

“That is not true. You are getting new powers. You feel it.
I
feel it. And Nylicia has already seen what you will become.”

That
was the name of the female that had visited him in his cell. He remembered pieces of his conversation with her, but not all of it. One of the things she had told him had been of extreme importance. He felt it in his chest, felt the pressure growing by the second.

Why couldn’t he remember what she had told him? Why did he feel as if there was something he needed to be doing, but he didn’t know what?
Protect . . .

“What will I become?”

“God of Tranquility. You wanted the opposite of what you were. Well, you got it, my friend.”

He had to admit, he
really
liked that part. “Is it even possible?”

“You have awoken with few memories of yourself, and battling back your old powers with the new ones emerging. I would say that it has already happened.”

Did he want to be a god again? Of any sort? That word whispered through him, reminding him of what was important. Why it was important that he not return to being Mavrak.

Protect.

His gut hallowed out, the cramp painful enough to make him grunt. He felt so empty suddenly, as if something was missing. Something he needed desperately to find.

“Fine. Introduce me to these humans and let us get this started.”

“This part hurts the most,” was the first thing that Eve heard.

Then came the exemplification of that statement.

She realized she was awake,
aware,
and with lightning fast immediacy, her mind sucked her back into the dream she’d had, the one with Zeniel and Dyletri.

But it wasn’t a dream. Oh Gods, no.

Reliving what she had seen made her desperate to have Zen near, to be able to touch him.

“Help,” she cried out in a tiny voice, unable to move due to the ache slicing her body.

“Evesse, breathe.”

Impossible. Yearning hit her body, kicking her in the gut. Her body arched. Everything hurt, her skin hurt, her heart hurt.

“Please . . . make it . . . away . . .”

“We need to find Zeniel.”

“He’s fallen off the grid. Even my own. For some damned reason, he isn’t meant to be here.”

Eve inhaled with a broken sob. Logically speaking, she knew her reaction was more than a tad pathetic. She tried to do as she’d been ordered, but the deeper she inhaled, the tighter her ribcage seemed to be squeezing down on her lungs.

She was heartbroken. Maybe she had every right to be, maybe not. Didn’t matter. She felt like she’d just lost everything in the world, and the memories of both her past and Zen’s were colliding inside her.

“Evesse, please, we’re here. Try to calm down,” Ismini said, sitting on the bed and grabbing her hand.

Eve shook her head, unable to explain.

“I can imagine what you’re going through. It was painful for me, too. We’re going to find him for you.”

“N—now. Need him now.”

Ah fuck, she sounded like a whiny kid demanding its toy. Although this went much, much deeper than that. She was alive and Ismini was alive, even though they’d both died. She should’ve been happy, fucking ecstatic even. Instead, all she could feel was the gaping wound in her chest, the emptiness from all that was missing in her life.

Her dad was dead. Her mother, wherever she was, needed some sort of freaking shock therapy. Her brother had been gone from her life for ten years.

Zeniel was off the grid.

A long sob left her, the tears multiplying. She ended up on her side, grabbing Ismini’s arms, her chest shuddering with each massive sob.

“She’s heartbroken. It’s normal.”

Evesse tried to listen to the conversation, hoping it would distract her.

“I felt a little loopy days after being brought back, but this?” Ismini asked.

“You weren’t exposed to a cosmic mindfuck
and
the awakening of your
R’mannev
all at once.”

Oh, hell no. That’s so not what Evesse needed to hear right then. She needed hope. She needed a promise that this was going to get better—or that they were going to haul Zeniel’s ass to Enzyria right away.

Ismini moved her arms so she could hug Eve. “So what do we do?”

“She has to ride it out. I have to leave to take care of something important, but help is on the way. They’ll be able to alleviate her enough to give her relief.”

“Nylicia, wait—”