Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

under the sway of whatever dark magic that had compelled his rage to the surface, was no match for Alaric. Sparkling light surrounded the warrior and his captive and inexorably lowered them until they hung, frozen, inches above the floor.
    Alaric inclined his head, and Alexios rushed forward to lift the human from Brennan‟s arms.
    As soon as he pulled her away, the frozen state of her muscles relaxed into limpness. He carefully placed her on the couch and pulled the fabric over the rounded curves that had been revealed when he moved her. She was lovely, and she was trouble.
    Why did the two always go together when it came to women?
    “What happened here?” Alaric demanded.
    Alexios brought him up-to-date. “So, this Tiernan claims to know a way to find Justice, but it requires black magic,” Alexios concluded. “What do you think?”
    Alaric closed his eyes for several seconds then slowly shook his head. “Poseidon offers me no guidance on this issue, although I do know that only death magic will open the Void. We must decide on a course of action, but Conlan and Vengeance will not rest until they have rescued their . . . brother.”
    “I still can‟t believe Justice is their brother,” Christophe said. “Some seriously incredible secret he kept for all those years.”
    “It is the nature of the geas that was cast upon him,” Alaric said. “He was cursed never to reveal the truth unless he then killed every living being who heard it from his lips.”
    Alexios shook his head. “But he didn‟t kill any of the ones who heard him during that final battle with Caligula. I never thought to ask you, in all this time we‟ve been searching for him.
    What happens when you break a geas ?”
    Alaric‟s eyes darkened, all the green bleeding out of them until they were purest black. “You die, Alexios. You die, or you become utterly, irreparably insane.”
    “Then what are we searching for?” Christophe asked, all traces of mockery and humor gone.
    “What will we find if we ever do locate him?”
    “That is the answer that even I am afraid to give,” Alaric replied. “And Poseidon will not answer my queries on this matter.”
    A brittle silence filled the room for several moments, while time and terrifying answers hung suspended between them. Then Alaric shook his head and gestured to a space in front of the shattered window, and an iridescent oval shape began to form. “Now we return to Atlantis, where I can attempt to discover what dark force has overtaken Brennan.”
    “And the woman?” Alexios asked, staring down at her.
    “She comes, too, and we will determine exactly what she knows.”
    With that, Alaric stepped through the portal, and Brennan, still frozen, floated through it after him as if pulled on a tether.
    Christophe took a last look around the room and laughed. “Wonder how they‟ll explain all this to themselves when they wake up?”
    Still laughing, he leapt through the portal, leaving Alexios to lift Tiernan into his arms and carry her through it with him. As he entered the magical doorway to Atlantis, he looked down at her pale and bruised face. “Lady, I hope you‟re telling the truth. Because if we don‟t find Justice soon, only Poseidon himself will be able to help him.”
    As the portal swirled shut behind him, Alexios‟s words—words he knew to be sacrilegious—echoed in the dark. “And gods? Just between us, they‟re not always all that reliable.”

Chapter 9
The Void
    Use all of your senses, the forgotten voice from an ancient past repeated in Justice‟s mind. He struggled to comply, marshaling formidable will to defeat surrender.
    Took inventory:
    Sight—useless in the blackness of the Void.
    Scent—providing nothing valuable, no new information. The rankness of rotted carcass. The rusted coppery aroma of primordial blood.
    Sound—the grunting and moaning grew louder, closer, more and more eager. Dark‟s denizen gaining on its goal.
    The memory of a voice. Mocking. No, not mocking. Affection underlying camaraderie. “So, Justice, you gonna sit there and think about this monster, or are you gonna kick its ass?”
    Facial muscles long atrophied moved in a parody of a smile. Bastien . Friend. Brother.
    Home.
    A harsh croaking noise rasped from his throat. Speech after unrelenting silence. Defiance after near surrender.
    He was Justice, and he was going home.
    “Kick. Your. Ass,” he growled. As battle cries went, it was lacking. As a directional beacon to the