The Children of Zegandaria by Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov (top novels to read .TXT) 📕

spent her entire conscious life like this - unloved and pitiful, remembering only the filthy sectarians. She'd been trying to get away from the pathetic semblance of a life she'd led, and now she was involved in fighting demons. It seemed grotesque, but she wasn't doing it for love of justice, but to find the inner strength within herself to carry on. To convince her soul that she was getting up and that she would survive, even if she had to drag her guts along.

Zorin fell the first victim. It was pointless, and she could feel how scary it was going to get very soon. Kazuk Mon might be a little cranky and quirky, but if he died, or if they killed him, the whole colony would go to hell. And many lost souls trying to escape their curse of being losers in real life had found hypocritical solace here. Because, frankly, they were walking corpses, good for nothing. And here in the colony, they were getting their daily rations for just a hypocritical show of respect for religion.

There was something even more disingEnuous. Kazuk Mon realized that without his role as leader, which he had fought for for years, and without the wavering support of the Higher Powers, he would be nothing but a bitter and rejected old man begging for a piece of bread. So prosaic was it that you could almost guess.

Before she left the underground room full of so many novice corpses, she hung the locket around her neck just in case. The hydron door closed behind her.

KAZUK MON

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: KAZUK MON

 

Kazuk Mon felt that his end was all too near. Death was stalking him and it was just hopeless to play hide and seek with it. There had already been several assassination attempts on him, but unsuccessful. So far - but he could almost feel the blade of the laser cutter around his neck. Soon he would be left alone and abandoned on his hill, like a hapless king who was not capable or shrewd enough to save his own skin. And this time the demonic forces would gloat! And rightly so! He'd fucked them up plenty of times! Too many times!

The Archivist had to choose between Ending his own life, or straining to prolong his agony just a little longer. Even by a few days!

He was so exhausted and knew he would be consigned to the darkest recesses of Hell.

There was still no word or bone from his novice Emborian Zontul, but Kazuk Mon knew the boy would need at least two weeks of complete seclusion to step into his role as Mag Tu. No less! That was why she didn't harbor any suspicions towards him!

The novice would be wherever he wished, but still, Kazuk Mon was worried.

The demonic forces were playing with him like a small and ridiculous rag doll. He was trying so many different things. But in vain! It was just that his power was weakEning, and soon all his enemies would be aware of it! And they were going to take advantage!

- "When your whole life has been nothing but a string of evils and turning circumstances," Kazuk Mon spoke to himself, "this is the most logical ending."

- "Ah, do you at least repent?," a cold but hypocritically friendly voice asked him.

- "For what?," the enchanter whimpered.

- "For your deeds!," the voice pronounced somewhat commandingly.

Kazuk Mon thought and clearly realised that he had only dealt with trash. With horrible criminals and brutal psychopaths. He had confessed and accepted them into his sect to gain their loyalty, but he had to pay the price with his own soul. Many of them were even sentenced to death by the supreme Om Gur Nal of Zegandaria.

- "Where are they now?," the voice asked him snidely. "Will they come to deliver you from the infernal pyre they are preparing in your honour?"

- "Who or what are you?," the archivist turned to nothing, shivering.

- It's early for you to know that yet. All I can tell you is that I have already visited your old and not very loyal friend the Archivist, but he did not even acknowledge my presence. He preferred to greedily finish his dinner. You at least detect the whiff of my voice. Perhaps there is still some hope for you, however much you may not like to believe it!

Kazuk Mon looked down before him with bitterness:

- It seems like it was yesterday when we were jumping like boys on the roofs of buildings. It was all childish and full of romance.

The voice was in no hurry to interrupt him. Kazuk Mon had sat down on a very high boulder by the ziggurat and was secluded. There was plenty of time until the new Mag Tu displaced him for good. Say, two whole weeks.

It had been an old ritual to slowly circle the enormous ertal[18], which was a giant piece of obsidian inscribed with intricate symbols to soak up all of Mag Tu's remaining powers as they were traditionally supposed to flow into the new one, which would in turn circle the stone.

- "The Archmistress," the voice began again, quizzically, "has a more miserable fate in store for him than yours as well, if that can comfort you at all, of course."

Kazuk Mon nodded dejectedly. He had almost stopped caring, but it was only apparent. His soul burned in the flames of helpless hatred for his enemies. He would die without being able to strike a blow at those of them who had stood in his way all his life.

- "Look, I know what your last wish is," the voice began again, "but Hell has very different plans for you. You might even feel flattered," he finished with a mischievous giggle.

At that moment footsteps were heard. Kazuk Mon turned around. Behind him was Emborian.

At first, the archivist had even thought of snarling at him, but he soon guessed that this boy now formally had his life, even though the final two weeks had not expired. He had to be at least a little friendlier. At least until he felt where the wind was blowing from!

The boy bowed politely to him:

- Master, here I am.

Dignity exuded from the boy's posture, and Kazuk Mon was initially taken aback. He could feel his voice whispering, "The key to solving the riddle is the boy!"

THE SUPREME OM GUR NAL

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE SUPREME OM GUR NAL

 

The politics of the planet Zegandaria was determined by none other than the Supreme Om Gur Nal, who was above absolutely everyone. Such a leader, had to possess extreme moral purity and devotion to the idea of being a universal father. Om Gur Nal could not be any religious leader or business tycoon, but the most perfect inhabitant of the planet. Of course, perfection was too relative a concept, so there was a long list of requirements built up for the potential candidate. Elections for Om Gur Nal were made once every twenty-five years, making the period of his reign an excessively long and drawn-out process.

This was only the second Om Gur Nal who had performed too successfully and satisfied everyone. It was not easy to handle such a huge responsibility. Moreover, the leader was fully aware that assassinations against him would be a daily occurrEnce. This did not surprise anyone.

Om Gur Nal's richly-arranged chertos were filled with the skins of Seburnag tyrphans and impressive hunting trophies brought home from both Seburnag and Ossonia. No one held it against him that this was absolutely against the law, for he was the highest embodiment of morality. In the very etymology of the word Om Gur Nal lay the key to the dominion of the sovereign: he was not a mandated governor, but had, as we have already said, more than twenty-five years at his disposal for ruling, like some king of the remote past.

One of the first things that Om Gur Nal restored was the cult of Midriel, and also Ertuk, his son. Like any ruler, he had imagined that it was all too well to have some sort of continuity.

Durnyam Shetstone had contributed immensely to the imposition of the new gods among the laity. He made a doctrine which gave privileges to those of them who worshipped both gods at the same time - so the power of the new Om Gur Nal was more than secure. But there was some danger of his being killed by a follower of Arthusson, for the sectarians were more than fanatical.

Somewhere in there the situation was beginning to heat up.

- "How do you know Ultrasithian?," he asked Durnyam the first chance he got.

- "Someone asked me exactly the same question once," he replied quietly.

- "I'd like you to work with that someone," said the High Sovereign, who seemed interested in the development.

- "Mark has always supported me, even when I haven’t been up to it," Durnyam smirked.

- "Well, everyone had their bad days too," Om Gur Nal encouraged him, "That's perfectly normal. So what?"

- "Do you know how few people I can really trust?," the sovereign turned to him. "I count them on the fingers of half my hand. But maybe that's the way it should be! Someone needs to help me a little, honestly. Someone like you!"

- "You know, Om Gur Nal, I don't believe there are any true friends in this world," snarled Durnyam. "I've been alone as a dog all my life. Before Mark and I went on that Great Journey across the desert, I was a researcher at an institute on the planet Ufur Gan - where I learned too much about human nature."

- "I don't mean to be indelicate," Om Gur Nal began gently, "but I'm interested in what you learned."

- "That I would like to keep to myself," Om Gur Nal said sadly. "You know that each of us has a limited time on this world. It would be better to use it to complete our mission to serve others."

Om Gur Nal looked at him questioningly:

- Well, in that case consider yourself appointed. I will not be a hindrance to you. But let me tell you something, dear Durnyam, the cult of Arthusson is something too different from your guarron battles. It's not like twirling a laser cutter or running wildly through the desert. Something serious tells me that certain forces are trying to sweep us away, and if we're not careful, we will be irrevocably destroyed.

- I know this well, Om Gur Nal, and I appreciate your confidence,