The Fourth Secret
A. F. Kay
The Fourth Secret, Divine Apostasy Book 4 by A. F. Kay
afkauthor.com
Copyright © 2021 by A. F. Kay
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law or in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. For permission requests, contact the publisher at blackpyramidpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Black Pyramid Press, LLC
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Cover by trifbookdesign.com
Created with Vellum
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Epilogue
Appendix
Acknowledgments
Special Thanks
Author’s Note
LitRPG Links
LitRPG Facebook Group
Dedication
For Megan,
You’re the moment my life became living
and joy became real.
Prologue
Jagen approached the temple spire wearing his favorite medium armor. Created from the scales of cloud drakes, it looked like a rainbow made of diamonds. Two stone golems stood at the temple’s entrance, their bodies bathed in the red light that emanated from the roof. The scarlet glow let the people of Malth know that their god occupied the temple and made everything in the city appear covered in blood.
Izac had summoned Jagen shortly after the city had turned red, and Jagen had immediately started toward the temple. It never paid to keep a god waiting, but Izac had been in a terrible mood since Jagen’s return, which made offending the deity even more dangerous.
For the third time in as many minutes, a deafening boom echoed throughout the city. Izac was venting his anger on the distant mountain the people had aptly named Izac’s Wrath.
The golems recognized Jagen as he climbed the temple steps and let him pass unharmed into the spire. The shakers had all dimmed, and the scarlet light from outside didn’t penetrate the spire, leaving the interior dark. This suited him just fine, as the darkness mirrored the awful loss he felt.
A loss with no explanation.
Striding down the central aisle, the Necromancers he passed didn’t stop him, not even when he climbed onto the raised dais. Two Overseers, armored in distinctive blood red scale, guarded a dark portal that hovered behind the altar.
Jagen paused a moment to admire the armor, which he desperately wanted for his collection. The armor absorbed blood to repair itself, but only Izac’s personal guard could wear it, a rule they wouldn’t bend even for a Champion. He sighed, stepped through the portal, and exited onto the temple’s tip, two hundred feet above.
Izac stood at the edge of the spire’s roof, looking down at the vast expanse of Malth, and the darkness of the Breathless Sea beyond it. The mountain, Izac’s Wrath, stood fifteen miles out to sea, the twenty thousand foot peak glowing in the moonlight.
An Ink Lord hunched at the roof’s center, probably to keep himself as far from the edge as possible. Jagen had little fear of heights, but standing on a thirty-foot circle two hundred feet in the air made him cautious. A Bone Sculptor lay face down on the floor, and blood leaked from his ears.
The fresh blood retained much of its power, and Jagen almost tapped the blood out of habit using Blood Tithe, an Overseer ability. But his Health and Mana were full, and Izac might have plans for the blood himself. It was safer to just ignore it.
“My Lord, how may I serve?” Jagen asked.
“This Mage failed to keep control of my sister’s lost temple,” Izac said without turning. “These are the ones responsible.”
The glowing images of four teenagers appeared in front of Jagen. Scarves covered their faces, only leaving their eyes and hair visible.
The tallest one looked around six feet tall, with an athletic build, and a serious face. He had short dark hair and light blue eyes. His mismatched armor looked pathetic, and only the cloak caught Jagen’s attention.
The remaining three had lean builds, and their armor at least matched, although none of it looked very impressive. The other male wore what looked like Cultivator attire. He had brown hair, golden eyes, and no visible weapon. The woman wielding an interesting metal staff had brown eyes and blonde hair pulled into a braid. The last woman wasn’t much taller than five foot, but her fierce eyes made her seem larger. She had dark hair that brushed her shoulders, and her leather armor looked well used. Jagen spotted eight daggers just on her tunic.
“Do you recognize any of them?” Izac asked.
“I do not,” Jagen said.
Like a snake sliding into a pond, Jagen felt Izac enter his mind yet again, searching for Jagen’s memories of the Spirit Realm. The violation pained and angered Jagen, but he let the emotions go. His purpose was to serve Izac, even when his Lord didn’t trust him.
Izac turned and walked toward Jagen. “Nothing has returned?”
Jagen bowed. “I’m sorry, my Lord, no.”
“The dark-haired male is her newest Champion. I’ve studied the Bone Sculptor’s memories, and that boy clearly used two Classes.”
Izac’s thorough search of the Bone Sculptor’s memories explained the body. Jagen wondered if the Mage had survived Eiru only to die here and if Jagen might be next. He knew Izac wasn’t patient and certainly didn’t care about his subject’s discomfort. Maybe Jagen
