YAY! I finally updated after 9 months. I wasn't happy with this chapter and it took me forever to finish it. So, here it is. The Karel chapter...with lots of flashback. Enjoy!

Chapter Ten: Katpatuka

Three Days Earlier

Karel paced back and forth in his tent. She found the scroll, he thought. This could cause some problems.

Earlier that day, he had stumbled across Kaylay researching in various books and scrolls, and the scroll he referred to was the most important one he owned—it contained a spell to send a Nephilim back through time, and it was only to be used in dire situations.

But he had a problem: the workers were getting closer to uncovering 'The Doors' and once they were revealed, he couldn't have mindless workers snooping around. Also, 'The Doors' were locked—as they had been for the last three thousand years—and he could only open them with the guardian present. The only problem with this was, he killed the guardian shortly before the locks were built on the doors. And he wouldn't be able to succeed in opening them without the last guardian present, but the last thing he wanted was to have this 'protector' around.

He sighed and sat down heavily on the bed, contemplating what to do. He needed to get the scroll away from Kaylay—true, she didn't know how to read the Nephilic text, but he knew she would find away. She struck her as the type that wouldn't give up on a task, and that meant he had to work at keeping her curiosity level at a minimum—answer any questions she may have and make sure he doesn't do or say anything that would warrant more. Karel stood and began pacing the tent; one hand stroked his chin as he thought of a solution to his current situation.

Late that night, once everyone—with the exception of a few guards who were standing watch—had gone to bed, Karel emerged from the shadows behind the tents and approached the entrance to Kaylay's tent. One of the guards that were standing watch noticed him and lifted his gun, but Karel simply raised a hand and waved the guard off.

He kicked off his shoes and pulled back the cloth door and stepped inside.

He expected it to be dark inside the tent, but to his surprise, there was a candle next to the cot, burning softly. The flame flickered for a moment and then resumed a steady burn. Karel looked from the candle to the cot where Kaylay was asleep, the blankets pushed down to her waist, and book lying open on her stomach, glasses on her face. He gently lifted the book and closed it, setting it down on the small table next to the cot. Then, he carefully removed her glasses, placing them atop the book before he continued his search.

After returning to his tent, Karel knelt beside the cot that served as his bed and pulled an old briefcase out from underneath the mattress. The fabric on the case was torn at the corners, exposing the plastic underneath. He set it on top of the perfectly made linens and flipped open the latch. He placed his hands on either side of the cases lid and lifted the top, revealing a case full of tall white candles and intricate incense holders, along with ornately carved candle sticks.

Karel gently removed the items from the case—handling them delicately as if they were thousands of years old—and rested them atop the bed linens. He gathered the candle sticks and placed them in a circle on the ground around his favorite Persian rug. Then he retrieved the candles from the bed and placed them atop the candle sticks.

He then placed the two incense holders at opposite sides of the circle, and inserted a stick. Once everything was in its proper position, he lifted his index finger in the air slightly and all six candles lit with a green flame, then slowly burned orange.

Karel pulled the scroll from the inside of his coat and unrolled it; his deep, secret-baring blue eyes moving back and forth across the old, wrinkled manuscript.

He began to read aloud, hesitant at first as if he almost wanting to forget his entire plan, and then—with a deep breath—he continued on again.

The flame of the candles began to flicker, slowly at first and then gradually picked up speed. A breeze of air ran through the room, expelling the candle flames. Smoke rose into the air and surrounded Karel. He was soon surrounded in complete darkness, and began to wonder if the spell had worked. As if in answer to his question, a bright white light exploded throughout the tent nearly blinding him. He shielded his eyes from the blinding light and when he opened them again, he found himself surrounded by rock walls and sand around his feet. He took in his surroundings; he had to be in the tunnels—that was the only place in this remote desert that was fully surround in rock. Maybe it backfired? He thought, taking a peek around the wall nearest him. To his surprise, the spell had worked.

Asia Minor, 480 BC

There before him, in the distance, stood 'The Doors' in perfect condition, as they should be considering that they were only two dozen years old. They were open and people—no, Nephilim, and in their true form—passed over the threshold. The tunnels, back in this time, were more than mazes connecting to the sacrificial chamber (the twists and turns as well as the chamber were added during the 12th Century). They were the housing for the Nephilim—or the ones who chose not to take human form and blend in with the 'Children of God'.

And there she stood, off to the side of the right door, her composite bow resting against the wall, the pack of arrows slung over her shoulder. And on her hip was her disc—an ancient weapon used only by those who could wield it, or those that held special abilities. This weapon could do more damage to the human body than any other weapon ever created.

Karel closed his eyes at the sight of her; her long flowing blonde hair rolled over her shoulders and her green eyes sparkle with the same passion he had remembered for centuries. This was the first time he'd seen Arianha since that fateful day many years ago.

480 BC

He breathed heavily and rolled over onto his side, running his hands over her soft, warm skin. He kissed her neck as she stirred from peaceful sleep.

"Good morning," he said, a smile stretching across his face. For once in his life, he was happy, and he didn't want that happiness to end.

She rolled over and linked her hand in his, as his other ran slowly through her hair. "I can't believe you're leaving today. What will I ever do without you?"

He kissed her forehead then rolled out of the bed and quickly dressed in his armor—he thought it absolutely unnecessary that he was forced to wear such ridiculous items in war. Humans were just weak.

"Your job." He returned to the bed and kissed her once more before he left, picking up his sword by the door before walking out and leaving her there.

479 BC

Xerxes was a fool to ever think that he could defeat the Greek—Joachim had told him that; told him he was a fool just like his father before him. He warned the king of Persia that they wouldn't make it through Thermopylae in one piece—going into battle there was a suicide mission. He informed Xerxes that they should go around the valley, but the king was too stubborn to listen and half of his army was slaughtered by 300 Spartans. 10,000 against 300. And that was nearly a year ago.

Despite the loss of half of the army, nevertheless, Xerxes had them push on through the lands of Greece, and Joachim had grown tired of the foolish mans ideas and assumed he must have a death wish. The naval battle at Salamis—even though it was only a month after Thermopylae—was his last straw. After the Greek victory, he turned his back on the army and the bloodshed. But his leaving the army wasn't taken gently. They refused to let him leave—so he stayed and spent a year fighting and killing. And never did he come out of a battle with a scratch on him.

"You'll be branded a coward!" Xerxes had threatened. "The journey back alone with kill you. If not, I surely will!"

"Then kill me now!" Joachim snapped, tearing the straps of his breastplate as he torn the loathed armor off his chest.

The king looked at him in astonishment, but pulled his sword from its sheath. "You are a brave man; it'll be a shame to see you die." And he lunged forward, his blade penetrating Joachim's abdomen and exited through his back. He quickly removed the blade, and stepped back—with a cynical smirk about his face—to watch Joachim die a slow, painful death.

To his amazement, Joachim did not fall. The wound, bleeding profusely at first, had slowed to a steady flow before stopping completely. The king watched in horror as the fatal wound began to heal—a scab quickly forming before his eye until the wound disappeared completely, not even a scar was left behind on Joachim's flesh.

"What are you?" Xerxes breathed; his eye wide with horror.

"I'm no man," Joachim said, his fist meeting the kings face with such unbelievable force, his body was sent flying across the cabin into a wall. The king slumped down onto the floor, blood running from his broken nose.

"Mortals," Joachim said with distaste as he picked up his armor and exited the cabin to prepare for his journey home.

479 BC

Within a few weeks time—a trip that should've taken him months—Joachim found himself back in the small region of Cappadocia.

He had been gone for close to two years, and now that he was back, he would soon wed Arianha. He would then try to find a way to make her immortal so she could be with him forever, and he could finally put his past—all the wars he fought, people he killed, sinister things he'd done—behind him.

His home, a small little house made of clay brick, looked the exact same as it had when he left it so long ago. He rushed through the door, dropping his armor and supplies to the floor as he walked through the house. As he made his way to the bedroom, he saw something shiny out of the corner of his eye—something that was in an odd spot. He stopped and knelt down beside the item: a sword. One he had never seen before and knew it wasn't any of his.

Feeling his heart rate quicken and trying to push what he was thinking to the back of his mind, he walked into the bedroom and witnessed the worst. Arianha in bed with another man.

Joachim was fuming. His heart was beating so fast he was surprised it couldn't be heard. He clenched his hands into fist, the hand holding the sword gripped the handle, wanting to use it to kill both of them.

"What is this?!" He asked his voice loud and demanding.

Surprised, Arianha covered her naked body—embarrassed, ashamed, and guilty. She did not—could not—meet Joachim's eyes.

"Don't look down," Joachim said. "Look at me." But she was still looking down at the sheets covering her, her face shielded by her hair, hiding from his accusatory eyes. "Look at me!" His hold on the sword tightened and his eyes turned to the man lying next to Arianha. He pointed at the man with the end of the sword. "Come here."

"Joachim," Arianha whispered looking up at him, shaking her head slowly from side to side. "Don't. Don't do this."

"It's too late for pleading now," he said keeping his eyes fixed on the other man as he crawled from beneath the bed covers.

As the darkly tanned man knelt over to grab his kilt, Joachim took the time to memorize every feature of the man that his girl deemed worthy to have a secret affair with while he was gone. Scars desecrated his body—possibly from his days on the battle field—his hair short and dark like his skin; his muscles rippled with every small motion.

"Take your sword," Joachim said handing it to the man. He waited for the man to accept it before drawing his own blade, raising it in preparation to fight. "Your name, before I run you through."

The man ran a hand over the edge of his blade, cutting open the skin of his palm implying that he had no fear. Blood poured from the incision and dripped over the cool metal of his weapon. "Kareem. And I will kill you before your blade even swings once."

"I highly doubt that," Joachim replied with a cynical smirk. In the blink of an eye, the swords clashed together, a loud crack reverberating throughout the room and a scream escaped from Arianha's lips.

Blood dripped to the floor forming a puddle in front of Joachim's feet. He looked over his shoulder and saw her poised close behind him, a look of fear on her face as she stared at the blade that was poking through his back. He turned his attention back to the man on the end of his sword and looked the man in the eye. "Looks like you're the one dying tonight." With a swift motion of his wrist, he pushed Kareem off his sword and the body fell to the floor, a final gasp of breath elicited from the man's crimson stained lips before life was expelled from him—blood oozed through the wound and seeping into the carpet.

Joachim cleaned the blood from his sword before sheathing it. He stared down at his abdomen and gripped the handle of the sword that had been shoved through him. "Why does everyone have a fascination with trying to kill me lately?"

"But…you should be dead." Arianha breathed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"It'll take more than any mortal weapon to kill me," He answered. He bent down and picked her clothes up off the floor, "and even though I can't die, it still hurts." He threw her clothes at her. "Get dressed. We're going on a little walk."

Despite the unbearable heat outside, the tunnels were cool; they provided a soothing comfort from the scorching sun outside.

They walked far into the tunnels—farther than she had ever ventured before—past the Nephilic villages and continued farther and farther into the darkness only with a single torch to light their way.

"Joachim," she said resting her hand on his shoulder, and then regretting the action when he abruptly shrugged it off. "Where are we going?"

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he stopped walking and turned to face her, the flickering light from the torch illuminating his face. His lips where pressed to a thin line—there was no smile, not a chance of a smile. The blue of his eyes had been lost and replaced with a cloud of black. His hair had turned white and his skin was now pale and covered in markings. He wasn't his human self anymore. He had unleashed his Nephilim side in his anger.

"We are here," Joachim said. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his body, dropping the torch to the ground. "This, my dear, is where you will spend all eternity."

Her brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?" She tried to back away from him, but he was far too strong for her. He had a good hold on her, and he wasn't letting go. "Let go of me!"

He kissed her hard, and then slipped a small, curved blade dagger from the sleeve of his coat. "I'm sorry." And he shoved the blade into her abdomen.

Her hand clenched his shoulder as she gasped for breath, looking up at him with pain in her green eyes. "Why?" She breathed one last time as he pulled the blade from her body and she fell to the ground.

Joachim exited the tunnels, his hands painted crimson, his face even more stoic than ever. He looked out at the horizon—the sky was cast in a blend of vibrant reds, orange, and pinks. From the side, a fellow Nephilim approached him.

"Sir?" the Nephilim said, placing a concerned hand on Joachim's shoulder.

"Go to the cave at the back of the tunnel," Joachim instructed. "Bury the body, build a sacrificial alter above the grave…" he looked the Nephilim in the eye, "and close the doors."

"Close the doors?" the Nephilim questioned. "Sir, but, they've never been closed."

480 BC, Presently
Karel closed his eyes and ran a gloved hand over his face. He hated reliving old memories—there were so many of them. Most of his memories were things that he had tried to forget, things that he never wanted to remember. That was his past life, it was behind him. But it was the memories of the past that made him the person he was today. Besides, he didn't have time to dwell in the memories of his younger years; he had bigger and better things to look forward to.

If he had done his research right, and read the spell right, he was back in Cappadocia a few days after he left for Greece. It would be hard to convince her that he was Joachim. It had been centuries since he was in this time last, and he'd changed so much—he was older, wiser, and his appearance was definitely different.

He rounded the corner, cautious of his footing and his surroundings. He knew that if he startled her, she wouldn't hesitate to send her weapon flying his direction, and if that were to happen, he would never make it back to the future.

As he neared her, he whispered, "Hello. I am here to speak with Arianha."

At this, she slowly turned around, hand poised over the disc on her hip. Her eyes glared at him as if trying to remember his face. "Your name, stranger."

"Joachim," Karel answered.

She raised her brows, eyes full of question. "That's not possible. The Joachim I know is taller, and his hair is darker." There was a brief pause as she clutched the disc, untying it from her belt. "Besides, he's left for Greece."

Karel hadn't thought this through. Of course she wouldn't recognize him; he had been in a different body then and looked nothing how he looked now. "Maybe you'll recognize this." He said as he morphed into his former self—a taller man with dark brown hair—then back to his current form.

She looked mislead, confused, lost. "What? I don't understand. This isn't possible. Joachim left for Greece. There is no way you…he…whoever…can be in two different places."

Karel stretched out his hand toward her. "I'll show you."

It was like nothing she had ever seen, nor experienced before. This man—Joachim, or so he claimed—had taken her on a journey a year into the future to show her what would become of her. She was appalled and in utter disbelieve that she would ever hurt him like that. And then learning that she would die in a year's time came to a complete shock to her as well.

"It still doesn't prove anything," she said. "I don't completely believe you."

"I'm not asking you to," Karel replied. "All I'm asking is that you come back with me. I need your help to open those doors behind you."

Arianha turned around and looked at the doors, standing wide open—never closed in their life. "That's absurd. They've never been closed."

Karel grabbed her by the shoulders. "Listen. You're death is the event that causes them to become locked for centuries. And now I need to get inside, but I can't do so without you present. That's the way we wrote the opening spell, so it would be impossible for any human being to open them."

She placed a hand on her hip and eyed him. "That makes no sense. If I'm supposedly 'dead' in this future you speak of, and you wrote a spell to open the doors, why would have included me?"

Karel closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. "So it would be impossible for any human to open them. Don't you see? We wrote the spell that way so a Nephilim would have to come back to this moment in time and bring you to the future. No mere mortal could do that." He paused for a bit, deciding whether or not he wanted to tell her the rest bit of information, the most important piece of information. "I have to bring you back with me so the living you can inhabit the dead you."

"Why?" she asked.

"So you don't remember any of it."

Present Day

Karel tackled Arianha to the ground as the Lux warrior's Chirugai flew toward them.

"What the hell?!" She shouted, pushing Karel from her and standing up, drawing her sword. "Who are they?"

"The enemy," Karel said grabbing her by the arm and pulling in through the opened doors. Once on the other side, he inserted the dagger in a slot on the wall; the doors starting to close once again. The sound of a gun was heard as bullets whizzed past them through the opening between the doors, landing in the stone walls around them.

"Do we run?" Arianha asked, readying herself to sprint away from the gunfire.

"No," Karel answered, holding a gloved hand in the air. A smirk spread across his face as the opening between the doors became smaller and smaller before they slammed shut, trapping their enemies on the other side. "Ah, that's better." He dusted powdered rock from his shoulder and turned to walk down a tunnel.