Book 1 – Chris: The Dream Walker (Part I)

Chapter 1: The Vicious Cycle

“Hurry!” Tristan whispered, his voice rough and urgent. “They’re coming! Dad, I’ll stall them, you get my wife to safety.”

“No!” the man said his voice was deep and commanding. “Tristan you leave with Fidel. Atzura and I can handle this.”

“Atzura was wounded,” Tristan replied harshly. When his father started to protest, Tristan interrupted, “I won’t listen to you.” Tristan’s face was hard and eyes defiant as he turned and burst through the door, leaving the man speechless.

He knew that Tristan was dead. There was no way he would be able to win against the monster advancing on them.

The man ignored the feelings threateningly to build within him. The past was gone. There was no use dwelling on it. He turned and ran back into the living room. There was only one thing he had to do now. He looked around the room and spotted her in the corner—small, light, and supporting herself against the table. Obviously her four month pregnancy was starting to take a toll on her. The woman’s usually lively light brown hair hung around her face, dead looking. Her eyes once a brilliant green now dulled.

“You’re leaving. Now.”

“Where’s Tristan?” her voice was desperate, urgent, scared.

“Dead,” he said harshly and with no sympathy. “Tyler has betrayed us.”

She shook her head vehemently, causing her whole body to tremble and then collapse to the ground. “No! He wouldn’t… Tyler wouldn’t do that to Tristan and me…”

“I never should have trusted that scum,” the man snarled. “But believe me, this is not the end.”

The woman looked up at him, her eyes desperate. He knew she was going to continue protesting so he signaled forward his most loyal guard, Fidel, who had so far stood silently in the corner of the room, a few feet from the woman. The man looked deep into Fidel’s eyes, letting an understanding pass through them: he would be back.

The door flung open and the evil, green Morte-Mano entered the room, blood dripping from its hand. The man charged forwards to create a diversion as Fidel jumped into action raising his hand which was followed by a cascade of light aqua sparks. “Telecinetico,” Fidel murmured the name of his power, using it to transport himself as well as the man’s daughter-in-law out of danger.

The Morte-Mano hissed in rage and the man smiled smugly. Before the man could make a single move, the creature hissed “Forza,” summoning its magic energy. Black light surrounded the creature as it activated its super speed to evade the man’s attacks and then counter with its own, crushing the man’s larynx with ease, and ability to use his power. As he sank to the ground, clutching his severed windpipe – taking away his ability to cast a spell.

But despite that, he had still won. He had gotten her to safety. He smiled.

The Morte-Mano, realizing its error, made a lung for the woman but she had already gone.

Roaring in rage the creature advanced on the fallen man, standing over him. “That was useless,” the Mote-Mano hissed. “Resistance is futile. We will find her.”

Coldness. It was so cold.

The man reached into himself, using the ancient spell only he could use. Praying that it would work without his ability to utter the words he recited it, gathering his strength, his magic. He let his beautiful sky-blue magic surround him.

“What are you doing?” the Morte-Mano growled.

He ignored the creature. He gathered together his strength, his magic energy, and locked it away, and he forced his entire being into making the one leap that would instigate his rebirth.


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