Ten years ago the prosperous kingdom of Hundiriik fell. Not by war, famine, or tyranny. Betrayal and fanaticism crippled the Royal City, but dark, forbidden magic delivered the killing blow with a hateful curse.
Seeking revenge on the royal family after almost being eradicated a century ago, the blood cult Leselus Dusang unleashed a great beast of myth and legend upon Hundiriik. Havoc, terror, and death followed in the curse’s wake. The surviving citizens fled the Royal City, abandoning their homes and land to the monster trapped within.
Michael Imitar, a mage of The Blood and stepbrother to the crown prince, was the last to escape the city with his life, forced to leave behind the man he loves. He vowed to one day return to end this nightmare. Now, after a decade of searching the known world for means to break the curse, he has come home, ready to slay the beast and free his lover from his torment, even if it means he will have to lose Percy to save him.
At the top of the stairs Michael stopped. The phantom smell of smoke was infected with the sharp metallic odor of blood. Freshly spilled. It lined his nostrils and his throat. He held back from gagging and swallowed hard. With care, he pulled free his sword, his palm damp with sweat on the leather grip.
He followed the scent. It drew him to a sickeningly familiar room. Large heavy chains hung limp from either side of the door frame from where they had been torn free. Bones lay scattered around them, startling white against the ash covered floor. Michael identified deer skulls and other’s belonging to various livestock like sheep and pigs. Among them were others, older, blackened by the fire which had consumed their flesh. Others skeletal frames were adorned in the colors and armor of Joletian soldiers. Human eye sockets stared blankly at Michael as he passed.
Ash along the floor was disturbed as though something had been dragged over it. Great gouges were scored into the wood. These marks were mirrored on the door with great chunks missing from its frame.
Drawing closer, Michael strained his ears. His gut clenched at the wet sound of tearing flesh. He pushed on the door. It gave way and he was met with what he had feared the most: a monster, the beast haunting Michael’s waking dreams, tethering him to this ruin.
A mass of thick once white, but now stained and dirtied fur shuddered and heaved. Soft growls sounded between the snapping of jaws and slick lapping of tongue across lips. Low deep grumbles, growls straight from the pits of the underworld vibrated through the air. A long tail with trails of mud and ash clinging to the matted fur, whipped lazily at the floor as the monster tore and chewed. Michael had expected the stink of wet dog and rank, monstrous carnivorous breath. Instead, blood and smoke choked him, bringing with them the remembered scents of clean, bathed skin warmed by the sun.
The beast’s head rose, its throat bulging as it swallowed. Great pointed ears twitched atop its head. Michael held his breath. It sniffed deeply. Michael stood frozen. After a strained moment, the beast returned to its feast.
Michael swallowed, fighting back pain and nausea, and drew closer. He caught sight of a leg, bloody and torn. Michael had never been so relieved when instead of a foot, a cloven hoof dragged along the floor as the beast tore another chunk from its carcass. He dared to tear his eyes from the beast’s back and took in the rest of the room. It was no longer the sumptuous dwelling of a royal, but the burial place of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dead animals, their bones and skulls scattered about the once luxurious rug. The mirrors covering most of the walls, emulating the design throughout the rest of the palace, were smashed to pieces. Their glistening shards shone like glass rain upon the ground. The curtains which had been made of the most lavish purple velvet were just as ruinous, hanging in teared scraps or pulled down completely, the rich color faded to grey and powered with dust. The bed however, stood in sharp contrast. Its sheets, though obviously slept in at some point, were orderly within the room’s chaos. The folds and creases the servants had so diligently pressed into the sheets were still evident. Michael could almost smell it, fresh linens bought back from the wash with the scent of honey tallow soap clinging to them. He swallowed, pushing back the memory. But there was also a pile of dirty blankets and flat cushions on the floor, arranged almost like a nest.
Michael knew what he had to do as he looked upon the bloody mess and ruin. But his sword was impossibly heavy in his hand. He swallowed and hefted it, raising it high, ready to strike before he lost his nerve. He whispered, barely above a breath, with tears welling in his eyes. “Forgive me, Percy.”
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