KHAOS Beyond The Veil

By Laban Carvalho

Bullets and bloodshed did not scare Emid Khaos;

his father, Alexander, did.

 

Alexander never wanted to be the bane of Emid's existence, but if your sixteen-year-old son just robbed an evil syndicate instead of attending his anthropology class at Barenforge Academy, you would ground him too. Punishing Emid, however, has always proved fruitless, as trouble follows him everywhere, even Beyond the Veil.

 

With a thirst for adventure and an aim to prove himself to his father, Emid sets off to trifle with forces unknown.

 

In the face of numerous trials, Emid defies reason and continues to tempt fate, only to find himself in predicaments that put his mortality to the test.

 

Will being armed with his rebellious nature and teenage angst be enough to keep Emid alive? Or will Khaos consume him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laban Carvalho
• Release date: Aug 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9789310000528

Book preview

KHAOS

Beyond The Veil

By

Laban Carvalho

This novel is a work of fantasy created by the author to allow you to immerse yourself in a world other than your own.

Every dialogue, line, sentence, and scene encompassed in this book is a work of fiction, and they all draw substance from the author's imagination.

Being a work of fantasy, the author dispels any legal liability that one may initiate in pursuance of the contents of this book.

With that being said, nothing in this book is meant to hurt the sentiments of anyone or any particular community. However, at any point, if you do find yourself hurt, offended, or dissatisfied, it is the author's humble request to you to QUIT WHINNING AND GROW A PAIR.

The author has provided this e-book to you for personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way.

Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading in any way infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the author at the contacts mentioned in the last page of this e-book.

To Br. Anish John, the one who taught me the importance of a good story. And Chris Gonsalves, who wacked some sense into me when I was astray and guided me to my true potential.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Meddling in The Middle East

A Commander With The Touch Of Death

Castle Khaos

Meet The Kaitiaki

CLAUSTRA MUNDI VINCITIS

Ring...Ring...Unexpected Calling

Mission 1: Babysitting!

Broken Promises: An Unhappy Mother

The Fluffy Cavalry Arrives

Yay...An Academy Trip, Big Whoop

Foes Of A Feather Flock Together

A Stowaway’s Odyssey

Covert Op Begins!

Hands Tainted Green

Storming Castle Urquhart

Free-Falling Nessie

Taming The Storm

Tardy In Times Of Hurry

Sparks Blaze By The Campfire

An Unexpected Return

Bloodlust-Filled Corridors

Your Secrets Safe With Us

Two Moons Later

Acknowledgements

Let us begin…

Prologue

Your time has come my child, fulfil your destiny a gentle voice as sweet as nectar urged Daiki.

Daiki looked down, past his blurry vision to find his hand heavy with a blade crafted of what could only be a massive rib. The weight of the blade had gone unnoticed to him until just now. He couldn’t remember when it came into his possession nor where he was.

He lifted his distorted vision to scan his surroundings, it was a place unknown to him. He found himself in the middle of a stone chamber overrun with vines and saplings growing through the cracks that added personality to the already ruin-looking environment. The ruins were covered in inscriptions that were as old as time, a tongue that Daiki had never known nor seen.

Perched around him, were five thrones all crafted into the stone, overrun with flora with a promise that the ones who once sat on them had been long gone, maybe even for centuries if not millenniums.

Daiki rubbed his eyes, careful not to pierce his retina with the sharp bone blade he held. He struggled to focus his misty vision on to the five thrones, on four of which sat piles of bones, the fifth throne sat by its lonesome, unoccupied by any bones, unlike the others. Each pile of bones was charred and ashy topped with a thick skull that looked too large to be human.

‘One…Two…Three…Four. Four skeletons, who could they be?’ Daiki thought.

‘Gods. True Gods. The oldest of their kind. Much older than the false Gods you humans worship’ the voice in Daiki’s head answered.

‘False Gods?’

‘Yes! Zeus…? Buddha…? Jesus…?  Need I go on? They were merely crafted in our images’

‘Our…image? Am I… a God?’ Daiki let out a slight grin as his eyes widened full of liveliness for the first time in a long time.

‘You? A God? Haha…Do not flatter yourself, child, you are merely a pawn in the release of my four siblings. They who await their freedom from their unjust imprisonment’ the voice spat, sharply humbling Daiki.

Daiki’s body could not muster a response, the voice that otherwise was so kind and nurturing had gone cold and shrill. His grin, faded into nothingness and the sudden burst of liveliness in his eyes was no more. The one support system he thought that he could always count on through trials had just revealed that all she saw him as was a pawn in a grander scheme of things.

Daiki took a step back and shook his body clear of the trance he was put in through her mellow and charming voice. His vision was no longer blurry but his fate remained the same. He was still stuck in the stone chamber surrounded by the stone thrones and piles of bones. His fist clutched the bone blade, now tighter than ever.

‘I must get out of here’ Daiki thought as he looked around for a route of escape. But to no avail.

Just then Daiki’s head began to ring like a flood of migraines began to surface in his head. His ears resonated with the following words, ‘Your only escape is death’

Daiki fell to his knees in agony, his hand clutching his head in a helpless attempt to have some sort of relief from the pain that wanted to burst through his head. The agony that he was in didn’t allow Daiki to notice a figure that began to morph behind him.

It was a woman, her skin pale as cotton with markings etched all over her body in the script showcased all over the stone chamber. She was covered in robes made of what could only be described as smoke, that moved fluidly according to her every move. Her face remained hidden by a hood crafted of the same material she had wrapped around her body. Her strides were slow and graceful yet oozing with authority.

Daiki hadn’t noticed her arrival, but to say that his body didn’t sense danger would be a lie. Daiki’s body had been taken over by an ungodly population of goosebumps that had never showcased themselves in such fashion before. With his head still ringing and every follicle on his body standing upright he could only conclude one thing, ‘danger’.

At the wave of the woman’s hand, Daiki’s head stopped ringing. But before he could catch his breath, Daiki felt his body being taken over.

Playtime is over, use that blade and spill your blood to awaken my siblings the woman ordered, she then gently raised her hand and almost mimicking her, Daiki’s hand began to rise against his will, the tip of the blade pointed straight to his gut.

NO! I don’t want to die. I want to go home, Daiki protested with all his might.

There is nothing for you in this accursed world, Daiki Sato. Maybe I should refresh your memory the woman said as she snapped her fingers.

Daiki’s mind began to race, he saw a vivid memory that had been buried so deep in his mind that he did not recollect its existence. He saw a fire, the orphanage he once called home set ablaze in the middle of the night, lighting the dark black sky with hues of orange and red with screams of torment breaking the night's silence. He saw his friends, boys and girls he lived with, and ate with, burning to a crisp as they wailed until they were finally burnt to nothing. He saw the priestess who took him into the orphanage and treated him as her own flesh and blood stabbed to death, lying in a pool of her own blood as everything around her burned to nothing. All Daiki could do was watch as every shred of familiarity burned to the ground right before him.

Who could do such a thing? Daiki asked as a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek.

Look closer the woman replied.

Daiki then dug closer into his memory, that’s when he saw it, a silhouette of a boy standing over the priestess as she bled out before him. His whole body was covered by flames, that didn’t seem to faze him. The flames moved to his command, adhering to his every will. With one hand the boy would control the flames, burning down everything in sight, in the other he held a blade, crafted skillfully out of bone.

No…It can’t be Daiki cried. The woman began to smile through her hood.

"It’s true, you Daiki Sato are the murderer responsible for that massacre. Of course, you did have some help…haha" laughed the woman before him.

Daiki couldn’t believe it, he would never have done anything to hurt the priestess or his friends that he shared shelter with, but thinking back on it. This was the first time in a long time that Daiki felt in control of his mind and body.

For the longest time, Daiki’s thoughts had been clouded, his judgement non-existent, incapable of thinking for himself. He saw the world as pale and muddled. The air he breathed felt toxic like all the oxygen he would take in would morph into Sulphur. His exhales burned him, like the flames that burned down everything familiar to him. This was all thanks to the voice in his head that appeared one fateful night on his sixteenth birthday, after which he seemed to have lost all memory up until he awoke in the stone chamber.

Daiki’s body was no longer his own, it moved to the tone of the calming voice in his head. The voice that promised that his life wasn’t all awry the way it seemed. The same voice, turned him into a brainless foot soldier who was in a constant trance, paying heed not to morals but the orders delegated to him. The voice who had complete control of his body, the voice of the woman claiming to be one of the five true God before him.

The woman was right, Daiki had nothing left for him in the world. Even if he somehow did manage to escape the clutches of a god he would then be hunted as a sixteen-year-old murderer back in his home country of Japan. The only thing honorable for him to do was end his life.

Daiki’s face began to turned a bright red as his eyes grew watery with tears for the only family he had ever known. All those who perished at his hand. His hand heavy with the weight of the blade rose through follow through, straight into his gut.

The woman shone a smirk, the kind that no moral person would shine when seeing someone so helpless about to kill themselves.

Just as he was about to puncture himself Daiki stopped, His eyes pitifully looking at the woman before him.

I can’t do it, I can’t kill myself Daiki dropped the blade as his eyes grew blurry once again but this time filled with tears for his fallen comrades.

The woman’s smile faded. Her pale skin grew vascular as her heartbeat could be heard reverberating inside the chamber.

The woman said no words, with disdain, she walked past where Daiki lay kneeing and dragged her arm over Daiki’s body. In a flash Daiki’s body burst open; flesh, blood and bone flew across the entire stone chamber coating the grey ruin with splatters of red and white.

Filthy, this is going to take a while to clean up the woman added.

Just then the stone chamber began to tremble, its cracks within its walls glowed a blood red and the skeletons atop the thrones began to rearrange themselves into shape. But just as quick as the tremors began, they met an abrupt end and the blood-red glow of the cracks faded away. The skeletons fell back atop the thrones into piles of bones.

Another failure the woman spat as she slammed her foot onto the ground, spiralling the ruins into another tremor.

She then took a deep breath and raised her hands to the thrones, Fear not my kin, I will find the key to your release. The blood of our Father will set you all free.

CHAPTER 1

Meddling in The Middle East

Bullets whizzing past him under the blazing noon sun was not how Emid had planned to spend his day in Baghdad, but considering his luck, the repercussions of his detour weren’t entirely unfamiliar. Absconding from the academy for a day shouldn’t technically be classified as a detour, and if the news of his secret voyage were to ever reach his father, which it probably already had, Emid planned on using this technicality to his defence. It’s been said that the walls have ears and to Emid's unfortunate fate, the walls have always snitched on him.

Eight sharply-dressed men in emerald green suits wrapped in an infinite supply of bullets stood before him. Steering clear of them was evidently the only option, so Emid bolted through a tenebrous alley sandwiched between two mud-caked mounds that barely held themselves upright. Despite the sun’s mischievous efforts to creep its way through the top, the alley was cold, damp, and barely lit with the pungent stench of sewage and rat faeces; the whiff of which had left Emid's nostrils constricted. Although, he was reminded that his inability to breathe some fresh air was the least concerning ordeal.

In moments the sounds of mucky footsteps had taken over the alley, engulfing the squeals of the rodents that called this alley their home.

​HEY! YOU IN THE CLOAK! STOP RIGHT NOW AND WE WON’T LAY A FINGER ON YOU! one of the green-draped pursuers yelled.

The offer seemed tempting and with his escape window closing in on him, Emid did consider taking them up on it. This consideration was soon met with an instinctive gag that grew on him as soon as he felt a chilling splash of the foetid alley slurry seep into his shoes. Seemingly enough to jolt reason back in his mind. After all, Emid knew better than to comply with the insincere demand presented to him by one of the grunts who was the reason he was on the run. He knocked down haphazardly-placed trash cans and boxes around the alley in an attempt to stall them as he scurried away. Although his efforts were futile, they did manage to buy him just a few seconds to slip away.

The alley bifurcated into paths with completely opposite personalities, leaving him yet another decision to make with the grunts just moments away. However, the glowing warmth to the right was promising enough to convince him, and like a moth to the flame, Emid leapt for that promise. Once again, his luck only slowed him down and his judgement led him into the chaotic crowd of shoppers at the Al-Shorja market. It was just an ordinary day here; hecklers butting heads with traders under the scorching midday heat, pickpockets eyeing their next heedless victim, and groups of loud, energetic women rushing to make the first grab. With the eight grunts hot on his tail, and no room for second choices, Emid propelled himself into the deafening mass of people. His short yet lean physique helped him slither through the raging horde, causing no commotion. Although it did very little in holding off his pursuers. Unlike Emid, the eight of them stirred up the bazaar of already annoyed people by hastily bumping into the locals and pushing children out of the way while spitting shouts at Emid to stop.

Unsure of whether he was safe or not, Emid continued making his way through everyone and let out a sigh of relief as he reached a possible exit from this mess. In a fraction of a second, Emid felt something yank at his cloak almost revealing his face from under the hood. One of the grunts had successfully navigated through the mess and caught up with Emid.

With a jolting move, Emid managed to break free from his grasp, sending the grunt's arm crashing hard into a woman covered from head to toe in black satin. She bellowed in shock, loud enough to bring everyone in the market to a standstill. With their attention already diverted, they found the young woman, wide-eyed and flushed; you could almost feel her horror through the eye slit of her niqab.

For once, it seemed like this market had taken its first break in over a century. Everybody took a sudden break from their busy schedules to the caterwauling of this random woman. To the grunt’s ill fate, his palms were still cupping the woman’s bosom, almost as if he were trying to check her vitals, sending the local men into a frenzy over his supposed actions. A shove came flying his way, causing the grunt to lose balance and meet the sand-trodden cobblestone beneath him while the locals poured in on him for the pummelling of a lifetime. That’s when the rest of the man’s allies pushed their way through the raging mob and began waving their handguns around. The grunts were under the impression that brandishing their power would be intimidating, but heavens were they wrong.

​The locals were not easily threatened, and if tried, they’d do exactly what they did here. Scouring around to find any object that would serve as a weapon, they unleashed their wrath on these gun-waving imbeciles who thought they were elusive. The sheer size of the mob seemed like an unfair match and the events that followed left the men in green horrified. Stones and mud balls were pelted toward them, caking their emerald suits into patches of yellow-brown clay. The angered throng had one of the grunts go crashing into a fruit stall where its vendor cracked open a watermelon on his head, having him knocked out cold. With the series of unfortunate events, Emid found himself not doubting his fate as much as he did. Seeing the commotion, he seized the presented opportunity and used it to his advantageous escape. Nevertheless, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His black hooded cloak was anything but camouflage in this sea of niqabs, thoubs, and leather jackets.

​Upon assessing his options, Emid walked into a clothing store that stood unattended as its nosey employees partook in the rioting stir in the middle of the market. He took off his cloak and scarf, revealing his glistening fair skin, the sight of which pierced through his all-black attire. The boy had just infiltrated a Syndicate warehouse to steal a relic, hence black was a fitting choice of apparel. After a couple of neat folds, he snugly stuffed his cloak into his backpack and proceeded to invoke his deeply suppressed sense of fashion. He picked a brown leather jacket off a mannequin, almost twice his size, and watched his jet-black t-shirt disappear as he wore its hefty brown counterpart. He scanned himself one last time, threw the backpack over his shoulders, and headed out of the store, dusting any traces of the previous turmoil off his black cargo pants. While doing so, he caught another glimpse of himself in a mirror and couldn’t help but appreciate the outfit he was sporting. ‘Simple yet functional’ he thought as he rubbed off specks of dirt from his jade green eyes, fixed his black wavy hairdo, and smirked approvingly at his reflection. He slid out of the store, sure not to draw anyone’s attention, leaving behind a couple of hundred Iraqi Dinars on the counter for his recent shopping. spree Emid may have been a thief on certain occasions but he did have principles; by that I mean he only stole what was meant to be stolen.

Emid exited the store only to find that his sole escape route was still trampled by the ongoing ruckus. The grunts, now profusely begging, were met with merciless bashes causing more than trickles of blood to ooze from their fresh wounds. Their apologies and cries were all in vain. Emid made his way through the enraged flock that was hurling Arabic insults at the goons. He walked past his pursuers with inconspicuous strides, careful not to get caught. As he walked away, a careful grin spread over his young face, and the relief of having gone unnoticed was evident. He gathered his thoughts, fixed his composure, and made his way toward the market’s exit.

​After having escaped the Al-Shorja, he unzipped his backpack and pulled out his foldable, matte-black skateboard that had a striking neon arrow running along its length. It was a gift from his dad, which he received on his twelfth birthday. It’d been his companion for ages, helping him through numerous escapes. You could tell it had taken a beating from the lacerations all over its deck. He hastily made his way toward the Mutanabi ferry terminal, still grinning at his close escape. After all, it was the Middle East, and he was quite lucky to have made it out in one piece.

​As Emid reached the terminal located on the bank of the river Tigris, he spotted a row of docked ferries swaying in sync with the rippling water, but unusually there was not a tourist in sight. Although suspicious, he didn’t weigh in on this bizarre scene since he was yet to find a way to the nearest gate to the Veil. He pulled out his cell phone hoping to retrace his steps back to where the chase unfolded, but its mirroring blank screen was of no help.

​After running into a couple of cul-de-sacs and almost getting white-washed by the droppings of a murder of crowsthat watched him from the electric cable lines above. The boy managed to find ‘Izad’s Kebab Shop,’ a rundown, nickel-and-dime hole in the wall that had clearly not fed a customer in a while. Its bright, neon sign made of burnt-out light bulbs had fallen off its mantle and was hanging on for dear life with a fine copper wire barely holding it up. The bleak structure was nothing but an invitation for a million health code violations. Passers-by would pinch their nose and pace up, trying to avoid it. The warm, rotting stink from the kebab shop would undeniably make a skunk flee for some fresh air. Izad’s Kebab Shop was just one of the many fronts that the ‘Bureau of Balance, Liberty, and Unity’ had set up around the globe to hide one of the Veil’s many entrances. Of course, they had to be unobtrusive to avoid attracting laymen, and a disgusting food corner was ideal to keep them from gaining that attention. After all, an unwanted discovery of the gates would be a global threat.

You see, our world is crowded with mysteries; some are ancient, some are on the rise and some still waiting to be found. However, no matter their age, they’re kept away from the knowledge of the faint of heart, and in this case, it was unknown to most. What if I told you that the fabled creatures, Gods, demons, and angels, portrayed in fairy tales and folklore live among us? They exist in plain sight but are hidden away thanks to the short-sighted and unquestioning minds of feeble humans. It’s a no-contact policy to keep hell from breaking loose. So, do you believe me? Well, you probably won’t, but I can only do so much to explain the sequence of events from where it all started.

​Aeons ago, every creature lived united and peacefully among one another. The Gods watched over their designated territories, and religions didn’t separate individuals; species weren’t at war and the planet was inhabited without malice. However, greedy humans and their lust for power led to the fall and enslavement of many cryptids. Humans obliterated the ones that didn’t agree with them or seemed perilous, causing the cryptids’ numbers to dwindle and hide from the torturous gaze of mankind. The mysterious disappearances of the Gods left no choice but for the leaders of the ten most powerful cryptid clans at the time, who were masters in various arts, to unify and come to an agreement over a barrier called the ‘Veil’. In a more descriptive sense, the Veil is like a protective shield separating the two worlds; one with clueless mortals and the ‘Otherside’ with its hidden creatures and their mysteries. It was this decision that birthed the first Council and its ten deserving leaders. Today, the Council is at the helm of the Bureau and is the foremost authority of the Otherside. Each Council member managed a wing of the Bureau until their demise or retirement followed by the cycle of being replaced by their clan's successor. Every legitimate activity on the Otherside is carried out in the name of the Bureau or under its orders.

​The Bureau and its agents have been the primary survival force of the cryptids, and a successful one at it, for centuries later, men have forgotten about their mystical existence and proclaimed the human race to be the most powerful. It's safe to say that their self-consumed attitude has worked in favour of the cryptids, leaving them undiscovered and allowing the Bureau to expand its powers to restore cryptid numbers. Although the Bureau works diligently, every once in a while, a cryptid finds its way into the Humanities’ side of the Veil where their sightings have fuelled stories of fantasies ranging from the bigfoot to the tooth fairy.

However, most humans label them as myths thanks to the cover-up protocols the Bureau has put in place. Considering the Bureau can only function on their side of the Veil, conducting operations on the Humanities’ side is no easy task. In 1735, a decision was made to smoothen these procedures and they began to recruit humans into their ranks by granting them special access. Today, these humans are referred to as ‘cryma’. After all these years, humanity is still considered a threat to the existence of beings residing on the Otherside because their activities have often come close to exposing the Otherside. However, the Veil has been fortified with advanced cryptic technology from the Otherside, making it the cryptids’ pride and joy. Although they do have a more powerful, functional, and unique weapon, the cryma, who often helps save the day.

I’m sure the pieces are starting to align right about now. The cryma are the chosen bridges between both sides of the Veil.Cryma takes up the Bureau's oath and their bodies bear the Bureau's sigil, mystical enough to stay invisible to the naked eye. This sigil also grants them passage through the gates of the Veil; and as you have probably guessed by now, Emid is a cryma.

On finally nearing Izad’s Kebab Shop, Emid kicked open the door, and splinters spread around as he waltzed in.

Izad, I’ve pulled it off, now to pay up! his voice echoed. When no reply came, Emid looked up to scan the room only to find it, even more, run down than usual. Not to mention Izad was clearly missing from his usual post behind the cash register. Without him, the gate would not open for Emid, and travelling to the Otherside would be impossible.

Down here, kid a faint, muffled voice arose from below the counter. As Emid peeked over the counter, he saw Izad bleeding from his right nostril with a fresh gash on his left arm. A blooded bandage lay on the ground next to him along with an empty vial that was slowly rolling away; signalling a failed attempt at first aid. As it rolled, it left burn marks on the wooden floor where the droplets made its trail.

Ah, you made it, Izad said with a calm smile that made its way through his hairy ungroomed beard.

I take it the theft was a success? or else those uninvited guests wouldn’t have visited me and left me with this parting gift, he added as he pointed to his wound which gave off a whiff of ash and sandalwood, the smell of phoenix tears definitely from that vial, thought Emid.

The sight of Izad’s thobe painted deep maroon by the gash filled Emid with a sense of woe.

I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this Iza-. Nonsense kid! he exclaimed.

The Syndicates are corrupt people, Izad added as he struggled to grab the counter and lift himself off the ground.

"They should not get their way; foiling their plans is an important part of being a cryma," he continued.

The boy grabbed his frail arm and helped him to the nearest seat in front of the broken cash register. Emid began bandaging the gash with his sight pinned on the gate.

I’d like to apologise in advance, they coerced me into opening the gate, said Izad as he patted the boy's shoulder upon following his gaze.

The boy couldn’t help but think about the swarm of terrors that were awaiting him. He knew that his survival from here out would enormously depend on his careful decisions and wise moves, for there was no room for error.

Before you go, can I see it? Izad requested as he struggled to prop himself in his seat.

Of course, that's the least I could do for you, Emid carefully pulled out a worn leather pouch from his backpack, the one that harboured the stolen relic. Izad's eyes gleamed with excitement as the seafoam green rays pierce through the pouch. Emid pulled out the carved relic that glistened through the entire room, blinding Izad who now palmed his heart and began reciting a mumbled chant.

It really is beautiful! Izad whispered as his fingertips caressed the relic.

"A sixteen-year-old stealing the Taz Nak relic from the Cezar Syndicate, this news will definitely create an uproar on the Otherside," he further tittered.

​Izad then gently handed the relic back to Emid who safely tucked it into his backpack. While he was doing so, Izad entered a code into his cash register and a huge monitor sprung out from below the counter. Consecutively, other monitors propelled down from the ceiling and began to boot up. The boy gasped in awe. This stinky drab hole in the wall had suddenly transformed into a mechanised enchantment that would make advanced tech scientists shy away.

"The Bureau's budget cuts haven’t reached the Middle East yet" Izad sang as he began to check his camera feed to make sure no traps awaited the boy through the gate. No funny business here, he thought as he motioned a thumbs up at Emid to suggest the coast was clear.

They’ve probably gone ahead in search of you. You need to get back to safety before your father’s aware that you’ve gone missing, he said as a concerned frown spread across his forehead.

Emid nodded as Izad waved and opened the gate. Before the boy could pass through it, Izad yelled, Kid! and tossed Emid a vial. "You may have won a bet but a greater challenge lies ahead of you, be brave. AllahHafiz."

A fuzzy warmth suddenly grew through Emid’s chest. After all, a few words of encouragement is just the push anybody can work with in times of need.

Thanks, Izad the boy replied as the Bureau'ssigil on his neck began to glow and he passed through the gate waving goodbye.

CHAPTER 2

A Commander With The Touch Of Death

The gate through Izad’s shop led Emid into Sahar bazaar which was more derelict than usual. Shops had been thrashed, scattered unicorn hoof prints marked the paved streets, exotic fruits smashed to a pulp in the dust, and shopkeepers were in tears as their wails echoed through the bazaar. Even the rampage of a Colchisbull would have left the bazaar spotless in comparison to this visible shamble.

As he walked through the streets, Emid overheard an argument unfurl in the distance. He crept behind a pillar to get a better look and spotted a troop of Cezar Syndicate lackeys in their distinguished green attire. Like sheepdogs, they herded the area's occupants to the centre of the bazaar square. Posters with descriptions of the cloaked figure who had been stolen from their warehouse were being passed around to the trembling crowd. Every dwarf, elf, goblin, fairy, and cryma rounded up in the middle sheepishly shuddered as the goons whipped them to find any clue.

Emid spotted some of the grunts rummaging through the market, hoping to uncover the stolen relic. He made his way under a toppled spice cart to avoid their watchful eyes and proceeded to study the situation to make a swift escape. As the Cezar goons continued to rough up the bazaar folk, the piercing clang of a cane instantly resonated and swept a shocking silence through everyone. The goons instantly dropped to the ground in a shallow bow. The clang grew louder with every second. Huddled under the spice cart, Emid noticed a leather-cloaked form with a rickety stance and a very impressive cane to aid his travels. The figure steadily limped past the spice cart to the gathered crowd, hitting his cane, harder and harder on the bazaar floor. The goons, now in utter terror, even more than the beings held captive at the bazaar square. The figure circled the troops while emitting a low growl that made the boy’s skin crawl.

"Commander Nasir! A minion cried, We have failed to locate the thief and the relic."

The figure's growl grew louder. Useless! Every one of you! This may be the first active mission of this squad but I will tolerate no incompetence. If you screw up, prepare to be exterminated, warned the baleful figure who Emid now knew was a Commander named Nasir.

As for the boy, didn’t you learn that one need not walk into a sewer to trap a rat? One may merely light the sewer on fire and the rat will crawl out to his entrapment at his own will.

His words spread confusion not only in the minds of the general populi but also among his own squad’s underlings. The goons shared dissipating looks of confusion as moments passed.

"Excuse me, Commander, but what will you have us do?" one of the brave goons, or likely the dumbest one asked as he shakingly stood up.

MUST I DO EVERYTHING MYSELF the Commander barked. The goon retraced his steps back and returned to his foetal bow.

Line up these low lives Commander Nasir ordered as he slammed his cane so far into the ground that it rooted itself in the paved floor.

If the thief is as noble as he portrays himself to be, he will crawl out of the hole he is hiding in, he added.

Emid knew that he had no time to waste, if he wanted to escape from there alive he had to hurry to the nearest WITS [Worldwide Instantaneous Transportation System] stationthat would carry him home at the speed of light. Despite the risk, his conscience drew out the better of him and he couldn’t let the people of this land suffer because of his actions.

The minions whipped the folk into a single file before the Commander with their weapons drawn. Fear had taken over the bazaar like a dark cloud on a stormy day.

"People of Sahar," the cloaked Commander Nasir screeched. "A thief has stolen something from our Heiress and he has either come through here or will be making an appearance quite shortly. I expect your full