Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

something—some one —who gleamed like emeralds in the corner of his mind.
    He‟d finish it in the next several days and then perhaps gift it to one of the native children.
    No point to keep it. No reason to carry it back to Atlantis.
    After all, fancies of emeralds aside, it was just a fish.

Chapter 6
    Present day, the Void
    Sound grated through darkness to ears grown unused to listening. A distant bellow, a nearness of shambling sighs. Something large stirring in the dark.
    The Void. Justice knew those words held meaning, meaning he could not decipher. He was Justice of . . . of Atlantis.
    But what Atlantis might be crouched slyly under the mist inside his mind.
    The geas was broken—he had broken it. Centuries of being bound by a curse never to reveal the circumstances of his birth unless he immediately killed anyone who had heard him do so.
    Cursed forever to be separated from his two half brothers. He‟d shattered that curse in those final moments when . . . when . . .
    But the memory was lost in shadowed histories of pain. Sanity had waved its final farewell so long ago. Now duty and revenge beckoned to his consciousness, called out to what was left of Self. Isolated Names that carried weight and resonated with ravaged emotion, both light . . .
    Ven.
    Conlan.
    Erin.
    Riley.
    And dark . . .
    Anubisa.
    Justice flinched, wheeling backward in the blackness of limbo. Anguish battled rage in the murky confines of his mind. Anubisa. Better not to think of her.
    The sounds again. Something large moaning wetly in the dark as it lurched closer and closer.
    But the face. The light. Her. The name. He fought for it; screamed silently into the endless emptiness of Night. Failing, always failing to achieve it. Her name.
    Her.
    The beast—beast? Monster? The nameless evil that approached him grunted out a series of growls, growing louder in its eagerness.
    Focus. A name, not hers. Ancient wisdom passed down. Archelaus. A voice in his head.
    Use all of your senses. Never rely on your mind alone. To underestimate your enemy’s potential to create illusion means death. Focus, or die.
    Death. Was it his time? Would he even regret life‟s passing? Philosophical thoughts unsuited for the eternal dark of Void, perhaps. Why not let death approach and conquer?
    End the ceaseless pain.
    An arrow of golden light shot through the dark, blinding him. Light after eons of darkness, burning through his retinas and stabbing into his brain, trapping him in its glory. Refusing to let him retreat.
    The light centered around a face. Her face, surrounded by a flaming corona of red hair. Green eyes alight with a fierce intelligence, yet shadowed by remembered pain.
    She was a conundrum. She was hope personified.
    She was his .
    Justice knew, and he was transformed. He roared out a challenge to the monstrous creature that approached him, even as the golden light seared through him again, nearly doubling him over with its heat and flame.
    She was his . And her name was Keely.

Chapter 7
    Archaeology Department,
    The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio
    Keely folded her arms, realizing that both of the men in her cramped office could read her body language like a red warning flag, but not giving much of a damn. “I don‟t care how prestigious it is, or what an honor, or which government is asking. I need a vacation.”
    The powerful-looking man in the black suit opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Look, Mr. Liam—”
    “Just Liam,” he said, a trace of impatience in his voice.
    She studied his chiseled cheekbones and the waves of silken black hair that were just a shade too long for him to be a standard-issue government flunky. The breadth of his shoulders and chest combined with his towering height didn‟t add up to cubicle jockey, either. Not with that kind of muscle. But since when did civil servants start looking like ancient warriors?
    Ancient warriors? Where did that thought come from?
    Keely blinked, and suddenly she knew. The carving resting against her chest seemed almost to burn her skin. This Liam looked like him . Like her warrior. The one who had carved her fish. Something about the angle of the cheekbones, or the arrogant command stamped in the planes and angles of his face.
    They could have been brothers . . . no, cousins, maybe.
    Then again, jet lag could be making guacamole with her brain waves.
    Almost as if he could see through her skull to her thoughts, Liam‟s midnight-blue eyes