A dark fantasy about the land’s oldest foe, and the family that is tied to it.
The land of Kallandin has suffered for centuries under the shadow of the wizard Acasul’Ra: never truly defeated, never truly banished. Convinced that Acasul’Ra’s most recent defeat almost a century ago was final, Kallandin has relaxed its guard.
Justin Detrier was there when his brother defeated Acasul’Ra, but Justin also knows that Acasul’Ra was not truly killed because the wizard has a terrible secret to his survival. The kingdom’s complacency has put everyone in danger, and no one wants to listen to the warnings of a man cursed by an evil wizard.
The magic that has sustained Acasul’Ra for centuries binds him to Justin’s family, but years of pain, suffering, and death have decimated the Detrier bloodline. Now, only Justin and one other remains, and together they’re Kallandin’s only hope. However, for a kingdom steeped in tradition, the idea of a female warrior saving the kingdom is not just laughable, but blasphemous.
The time draws near for Acasul’Ra to rise once again from his grave and come to Kallandin, and this battle will be the last for one of them. Unlikely heroes must find a way to do what countless heroes over centuries could not: kill Acasul’Ra. Permanently.
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Keep reading for a glimpse of Reborn.
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Torches flickered in the Black King’s hall. They did little to dispel the night’s chill. Great pools of shadow cloaked much of the room in darkness, though what was illuminated was the fabric of nightmares: human skulls hung on the walls; twisted, macabre statues of bodies intertwined in sex and death; and a makeshift bed of cloth stained with blood. Chitinous corpses of corrupted humanoids and dead men littered the floor.
Morgan wiped sweat from his brow as his labored breaths crystallized in the air. All of his training as a child and a young man culminated in this moment. He stood triumphant over Acasul’Ra, the Scourge of Kallandin. The vile wizard, the kingdom’s millennia-old foe, lay on his back, covered in cuts and blood, the corner of one lip turned upward.
Morgan had not escaped injury. Blood flowed from several wounds on his face and body, but he paid them no heed. The burning cut on his chest, where the wizard’s sword had cut through his leather armor, did not matter now. This was the moment he had lived his life for, and for the fraction of a second he would grant himself, he would revel in it.
His excited heart slammed against his chest. Morgan only saw a defeated Acasul’Ra, and his own shining destiny, before him.
Blue flames danced along the blade of Morgan’s sword and he tightened his grip. Without further hesitation, he thrust it into Acasul’Ra’s heart. Blood welled around the blade. Morgan ripped the sword out and raindrops of blood flew out in an arc and spattered on the ground around them.
The tyrant gulped in a breath and turned his gaze up to Morgan. The life in his eyes was already fleeting, almost gone, but a smile touched his lips.
“So foolish.” Acasul’Ra spoke quietly, his voice little more than a rasp. Morgan leaned closer, his grip on his sword still tight. “Like all of the others before you. You think you know, but you don’t. This is far from over. This is only the beginning.” Blood flecked on the tyrant’s lips as he let out a laugh that sent a shiver through Morgan’s body.
Morgan jumped back in response, sword pointed at the dying man. “It’s too late. You can’t perform the transformation when you’re dead. I’m beyond your touch now.” Morgan smiled.
“As they all said. This is beyond you, boy.” Acasul’Ra laughed again, bloody spittle spraying wildly.
Morgan quick-stepped back and held his breath. He scanned the chamber, but all was at it had been. Morgan released his breath and managed a smile. So much for the tyrant’s threat.
Acasul’Ra laughed again, finality in the mocking sound. He took one last breath and shattered Morgan’s life with four simple words: “I name you Acasul’Ra.”