by A. Catherine
IMMORTAL ALLIANCE
Book 1 of 4
Immortal Alliance Series
Copyright © 2021 A.Catherine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
First published in the United States of America in August 2021 by Kindle Direct Publishing (eBook kindle edition) & Ingram Spark (paperback)
Print ISBN 978-1-7374401-0-9
E-Book ISBN 978-1-7374401-1-6
Author’s Note
The religious depictions and discussions in
The Immortal Alliance Series are inspired by religions and cultures from various parts of the world. None are intended to be a faithful representation of any one culture or religion at any point in history.
To Ian,
for all the long hours of brainstorming and refining that made this story what it is. You’re the gravity that holds me to the earth.
PART ONE
CRISIS & PARLEY
ONE
Heather
I LIKE LEARNING ABOUT old and dead things.
At least, that’s the short explanation as to why I study Anthropology and Religion. Something about the history of religious mythology and symbology really resonates with me, even in early childhood. So it was only natural to pursue a career in the subject I felt such a connection with.
“Heather.” I whipped my head up, but not one face was turned towards me. My imagination, it’s nothing.
I remember when I first took the Intro to Anthro course during undergrad how interesting it all seemed. I meticulously took down notes and spent my weekends reading further ahead in the textbook. A dedicated student, gearing up for a long scholastic journey.
It took me five and a half years to complete my undergrad, and now I was finally in my third and final year of grad school.
“I know you can hear me.” That voice again. This time I looked around, even behind me. My dreams have been coming with me into the waking world.
God, I’m so sleep deprived.
Just grade these papers, get through this class, and then a nap. I took another long gulp of coffee from my thermos and then went back to scratching red ink across the paper. The professors voice background noise.
Before taking courses on symbology, I dreamt of symbols, markings, and sigils. I still have the journals I used to enter them into. Some symbols I found in my studies, but occasionally some weren't anywhere to be found.
I can't count how many libraries I've been to, how many long nights spent on the world wide web searching for the mysterious symbols in my dreams. I had an amazing opportunity to spend a year abroad in Peru, studying ancient Mayan culture. But alas, some of my searching proved a fruitless endeavor.
I still record symbols from my dreams, hoping to one day find their source, and learn more about them. However, over time I began to just accept them as my imaginative mind creating its own unique language.
I wish that getting my master's degree didn't involve assisting in undergraduate courses. I've taken Intro to Anthropology upwards of four times since deciding on this field of study, and by now, grading papers of students who are only taking the course to fulfill a Gen Ed requirement is a real downer.
“I don’t have much time, I need you to listen.” Shut up. Shut up. More coffee, need more coffee.
Today was the last day this class would meet before finals. Most of it was spent reviewing previous sections for students who needed a refresher, or really for those who didn't pay enough attention and would likely fail the final exam.
My presence wasn't too important, aside from answering a question here and there, I mostly sat in the back, grading the last of this week's essays.
But my focus was always getting off track. My tired mind resurrecting last night’s dream. I still hear it, the strange yet familiar voice echoing in my skull like it was right next to me.
“Please.” I jolted in my seat when a dark hand gripped my shoulder. But when I turned in my seat it was gone, and only a wall stood behind me.
“You alright, Heather?” Professor Chacon asked from the front of the room.
I brushed off my pounding heart with a breathy chuckle, “I’m fine, ha. Perhaps too much espresso this morning.”
Students responded with small huffs and snickers. “Or not enough,” one muttered, followed by more laughs.
“Alright, alright, we still have fifteen minutes, what else do we need a review on? Christy?” The professor continued.
With a steadying sigh, I turned my pen back to the stack of papers on my desk. My hand was shaking. I gasped when a sharp pain hit in my belly. A cramp?
"Help me." It was almost inaudible. I whipped my head around to see who it was—but still, there was no one.
Again, I heard it, distant—yet right next to me. Chills crept down my body like tiny spiders. The hair on my arms rose. My legs felt wobbly, and the muscles in my body tensed, suddenly feeling fatigued.
Then everything began to slow.
The sound of the professor’s voice lightened and muffled, as if cotton filled my ears. I looked to the front of the classroom where Mr. Chacon stood, his lips were moving, but they were moving much slower, more so in slow motion.
The fatigued feeling increased and it felt surreal. It wasn’t my weakness that I was feeling. Like a heavy fog moving over me, it choked my air supply, making my vision clouded.
All the sensations in my body changed, replaced with terror. My eyes filled with tears, the fear threatening to rip apart my insides.
But as quickly as the feeling came, it was gone. An unbearable scream that wasn’t my own resonated through my skull. There was pain biting down on my head like teeth. I held my hands over my ears trying to shut it out. I felt a warm, sticky substance trickle from them.
When I tried to stand, my legs buckled beneath me—slamming my knees hard into the floor. I saw blurry figures moving towards me, but I couldn't hear what they were saying past the screaming.
My vision blurred further until everything became white. I was no longer in the classroom, instead I was in an all-white space, no sense of up and down, no doors or windows.
Where am I? Am I dead? Did I pass out?
A slight movement made me turn towards it—a curled-up figure lying on the floor weeping. I managed enough strength to crawl towards it.
As I reached his crumpled body, without so much as a hesitant thought, I placed a hand on his shoulder. A sense of familiarity swayed in me—and in that feeling his name appeared in my mind.
"Mason."
He continued to weep, whatever pain he was feeling was so intense that his tears were coming out red, spilling down his cheeks without end. There was a wound in his abdomen. A deep one. Blood percolated from it.
It looked like he had been stabbed. Blood loss with this kind of laceration could kill him.
The back of my mind remembered the basics of first aid, moving me to press my hands against the wound to stem the bleeding. Apply pressure, that’s the most vital thing you could do with a stab wound, right?
I felt like I was experiencing his pain, feeling the anguish that consumed him.
He was afraid to die.
Wet streaks slipped down my cheeks as I watched him stifle his own tears. His dark skin chalked from blood loss, and already I could feel the heat leaving his body.
I tried to breathe, even as I felt his life begin to dwindle away with each exhale.
"Please, what can I do? Let me
help you," I begged.
He choked on a sob, blood spurting from his mouth and dripping down his nose. I pressed harder, but the thick liquid continued to pool around my fingers.
“I don’t have anything; we have to stop the bleeding,” I muttered.
Breathe. We both needed to breathe.
“You have to stay awake.”
Panic and dread were threatening to puncture what little resolve I had. I’d never been in this situation before.
What if this stranger died right here in my arms? Maybe I should’ve studied medicine instead, then maybe I could actually do something.
He tried to take a breath, but it turned to a wet cough as blood filled his lungs. Some of it splattered onto my face, but I didn’t care. I looked around the white expanse, looking for anyone who could help.
But there was no one.
“Help! Someone please help! Call 911, please!”
He rested one of his hands on top of mine. The flow of blood slowing, but not from the pressure.
No…his blood was running low, too slow to spill anymore.
My eyes were blurry from my infernal tears as they locked with his.
“Heather,” he said. Even while dying, his voice offered a bit of warmth and comfort.
I continued to apply pressure as hard as I could, barely feeling my numb fingers at this point.
“You’re going to be okay, you just have to keep breathing. Just a little while longer.” My voice cracked, knowing that it was all a lie. A merciful, horrid lie.
His head shook. “There’s nothing—” he winced. “—that can be done. Heather, listen to me. You have to find Malachi, don’t trust—” He was cut off by a pained cough.
The bleeding from his wound stopped entirely, and his skin grew unnervingly cold. I cradled his head with one of my hands.
I didn’t know this man. And yet, I felt like I was dying alongside him. He looked like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t. One last teardrop fell from the corner of his eye, and his mouth formed words, void of sound. I’m sorry.
A final shuddering breath escaped from his lips, and then the light left his eyes completely—his body going limp.
My chest shook with a broken sob. “No, no, no. Oh god, no, come back.” My words barely a whisper, but broken all the same.
For a moment, all was quiet and still, leaving me alone leaning over his cold, lifeless body.
Suddenly light began to break from his eyes and mouth.
I yelped and ducked out of the way as the light shot out of his body upwards, pouring out of him in a rush.
The air whipped around us like a hurricane, whipping my hair all over. I crouched low to shield myself from the bracing wind. The light filled the room. So blinding, I had to close my eyes.
Then a string inside of me tied to every muscle, bone, and nerve pulled and stretched until it was ripped out of my body, shredding as it exited. I screamed at the pain, but as quickly as it came, it vanished. The last thing I remember was collapsing into darkness, with the echo of my scream fading into it...
TWO
IT WAS A SHRILL ALERT THAT rippled through the realms.
Piercing every immortal soul right down to the very core of who we are. It was heard across the entire supernatural web, silent only to mortals. Pure and evil spirits alike succumbed to the sound of this deafening scream.
A catalyst.
Unexpected and foreign. It was as if the universe had fractured open, and no one had any idea what caused it.
But the Balance had been tipped in its wake.
It lasted only a moment, and once it ceased the preservers of the Balance abandoned their posts. Angels and demons alike fled to their bases of operation, all who were able took flight, others winnowed, and those who could not waited and listened for answers their leaders could provide.
Heaven, a sanctuary and beacon of hope, was quickly overwhelmed with angels from all divisions; Guardians, Scribes, Reapers, Watchers, all desperate for answers.
But the almighty did not greet them.
Instead, he summoned his archangels to a closed meeting. They gathered in the grand courtyard, separate from the Empyrean Manor. Pillars lined and walled off the inner garden. Marble stonework intricately designed into archways, benches, and fountains. Private, but open for immediate flight if needed.
The archangels Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael were the first to appear. The enforcers of heaven and earth. Flying in from overhead with wings, Michael’s of gold, Gabriel’s white with an aura of gold, and Raphael’s white with flakes of dusty indigo. The three of them magnificent symbols of righteousness.
Azrael and Uriel chose to winnow directly inside. Rarely did Azrael show her wings, but she had them all the same and unlike the others, hers were as black as a moonless night.
Uriel’s wings, like the remainder of their siblings, were smaller, resembling something closer to the wings of an owl. They were brown in color with spots and streaks of white and black. Jophiel was Uriel’s twin and had similar wings, but their similarities stopped there.
Zadkiel, Jophiel, and Chamuel had winnowed outside of the compound and simply walked into the courtyard.
Zadkiel’s wings were unique in that they were more red and orange than brown. Chamuel’s wings usually took a more exotic look, varying in vibrant blues and greens.
It had been an age since all of the almighty’s children were in one place. Even longer since he’d seen their wings in all their glory.
Lucifer would not be at this meeting. He remained restricted from entering the Heavenly realm, but his opinion would still be heard and weighed later—just not here.
And as much as God wanted to relish this special reunion, the event that brought them together still echoed through the universe.
The almighty was a simple being. After being in existence for so long, he’d lost any need for extravagance. For a time, it was up to him and his companion to hold the fabric of this universe together, to keep the Balance intact.
When the archangels were born, he was able to delegate and lessen the responsibilities on himself. And over these billions of years, the growing population of angels and the skills they brought with them had allowed him to serve more as a figurehead.
His archangels ran the system like a well-oiled machine. For the billions of years they’ve held the reigns, the Balance has more or less remained even. His creations thriving in the mortal realm.
They all stood in the courtyard, trained commanders of a glorious kingdom, patiently waiting until their father, the creator—the almighty spoke.
“Thank you all for coming so quickly,” God started with, receiving curt nods in response.
The three that had arrived first retreated their wings, concealing them with their power. God turned towards Gabriel, his youngest, and already one of his most powerful and loyal archangels.
“What we all felt…it was a Guardian—murdered.”
“How?” Raphael asked even before Gabriel could.
Gabriel’s division directly trained and oversaw the Guardian angels.
God answered Raphael and all of the questioning eyes around him.
“I don’t know. A unique weapon of great power perhaps, or a creature of great power. Whatever it was, I couldn’t see it.”
“Something powerful enough to kill an angel? That isn’t a very long list. We make up most of the things that would fit that description,” Azrael stated. Some of them darting their eyes at one another.
Michael folded his arms across his chest. A warrior ready to spring at any moment. “Could Lucifer be sparking another uprising?” he challenged.
“Or his Heir?” Uriel added with a venomous tone.
Jophiel asked, “He hasn’t utilized his son in the three-thousand-years he’s been alive, why would Lucifer unleash him now? And only to kill a Guardian?”
“Perhaps he’s been waiting until he was at his strongest? Training him and preparing him so when the time was right he would have contr
ol over a powerful weapon,” Zadkiel theorized.
Azrael shook her head. “As much as Lucifer might think he has control over that boy, he doesn’t. Besides, if he were going to weaponize the Heir, it wouldn’t be done this way. Lucifer only takes calculated chances, this kind of erratic, messy disturbance would be foolish and lead us right to him.”
“Lucifer plots and schemes, he could very well just be trying to jostle things enough to expose a weakness in us,” Michael pointed out. He locked eyes with his father. “It may be wise to disperse the growing crowd of angels in heaven back to their positions. With all of them rushing here, the mortal realm is vulnerable and open for his hellborn to move in on the unattended souls.”