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 blackpyramidpress.com 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
