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The Fourth Secret

A. F. Kay

The Fourth Secret, Divine Apostasy Book 4 by A. F. Kay


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


Cover by trifbookdesign.com

Created with Vellum




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




Special Thanks

Author’s Note

LitRPG Links

LitRPG Facebook Group


For Megan,

You’re the moment my life became living

and joy became real.


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

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