by Kresley Cole
Red tinged my skin--and my vision. I struck Brian's face first, putting him to the floor with one blow. Another guy swung a fist, but I caught it, squeezing as I kicked the cameraman.
Without thought, I shifted and pivoted, punched and stomped, my combat training taking over.
These men had targeted me, working together. Now I targeted them, my limbs working together. The moves were effortless, the destruction rewarding. Brian vomited each time I booted his stomach, like I was pushing a Puke Now button. Fun!
I'd been no fan of the Arcana game, but if it brought more of this . . .
Cracking bones. Screams. Pleas for me to stop.
Pleas? "You don't get to beg." Kick. "I didn't get to say a word." Punch.
Too soon they all lay on the floor, broken men. I wasn't even out of breath.
I punted each one in the ballbag so hard I doubted they'd ever be raping anyone again. I crushed that asshole's phone, then spat on Brian's bloody face.
As I exited, I realized I'd be underneath that rapist right now if the game hadn't given me abilities--and if my aunts hadn't trained me to use them.
I'd beaten the piss out of those players; now it was Candy's turn. I listened for her voice, stalking her through the huge party. She had no idea the Huntress was on her trail.
I found her downstairs smoking with a group of girls. Judging by the fuck knots in her hair, she'd already been with that guy from earlier. I yanked her around to face me.
Her jaw dropped. "What are you . . . h-how? You were comatose."
"And you left me with those animals? You knew what they planned to do to me! You abandoned me."
Recovering from her surprise, she faked a laugh. "You looked like you were about to have a great time with all of them. Slut."
I tilted my head. "How great of a time will you have without your teeth?"
She frowned at me. "What--"
Wham! I punched her in the mouth, knocking her front teeth out. She shrieked, spraying blood.
I turned toward the door, heading back to my dorm. If this was what friendship and dating offered, I hadn't missed anything. Maybe the game was my sole purpose, the one thing that could ease my longing.
I was going to pack up tonight and drive straight through to my aunts'. When I got there, I'd tell them, "I'm going to win the whole fucking game."
The Sun (XIX)
Solomon Heliodoro, Hail the Glorious Illuminator
"Next to me, everything is shadow."
A.k.a.: El Sol
Powers: Solar embodiment (can emit sunlight from his skin and eyes). Solar manipulation (can burn enemies or strike them with madness and attack with solar winds and flares). Command inducement and sense scrying (can control Bagmen and borrow their senses).
Special Skills: Enhanced charisma, showmanship.
Weapons: Bagmen.
Tableau: A child wrapped in a red pennant is surrounded by sunflowers. Above, the sun blazes down with a menacing face.
Icon: Yellow sun.
Unique Arcana Characteristics: Golden beams radiate from his eyes, and his bronzed skin glows.
Before Flash: Purdue history grad student and part-time rave promoter from Spain.
West Lafayette, Indiana
Day 0
"Is it just me, or is our sex life improving by the minute?" I asked my two partners as I worked to catch my breath.
Beatrice curled up against my side, her panting exhalations cooling my damp skin. "Not just you."
Joe was sprawled like a starfish, his legs draped over ours. He grunted, "Not just you."
Bea traced a heart over my chest, giving me goose bumps. "If this continues, where will we end up?"
"Let's find out, querida." And we would--because I would never let either of them go. Bea and I had been great together--I'd fallen for her at first sight--but Joe had been the third piece of our puzzle.
Today was the two-year anniversary of our trio, and I expected a hundred more.
She laughed and sat up, stretching her arms over her head--to my delight. I'd been with her since before Joe, three years or so, but even her simplest movements could still stir me.
"I see that look in your eyes." She raised her brows. "But we have work."
Joe rose up on his elbows. "The Spaniard wants another round? Jesus, he'll kill us before it's all over."
"That so, carino?" I lunged for him, wrestling him till he was begging for mercy.
Bea slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, saying over her shoulder, "We're going to be late. It's like I keep saying: something will--"
"--always go sideways," Joe and I finished in unison.
Grumbling, I released him. Everyone thought we had so much fun as party promoters, but hosting raves was a lot of work. Especially since we moved them around from one abandoned building to the next.
Each time, we had to do a fresh setup--power, lights, sound, decorations, etc.--and we had to do it on the day of, else our equipment would get stolen.
We worked like beasts for hours before the rave even started, then pulled an all-nighter alongside the attendees. But we'd almost made enough money to travel over winter break.
When Joe rose from the bed, I watched him stretch with just as much heat as I had Bea. Who would've known?
He caught me leering at him in the mirror and the cocky cabron smirked, so I threw a pillow at him.
He chucked it back. "I don't care what we do after work, but tequila needs to be involved."
Bea peeked out of the doorway. "Seconded."
I nodded. "Motion carried." We wouldn't be together without the help of Cuervo.
Two years ago, Joe had fallen for Bea as hard as I had, trying to steal her from me, which had brought about the worst--and the best--day of my life.
Worst? Bea's heart had been so torn between her boyfriend and her determined new suitor that she'd threatened to cut us both out of her life. I'd decided to fight him. Then I'd realized Joe--a linebacker in his undergraduate years--was a really big fucker who could probably kick even my ass.
Best? After some tequila, I'd muttered that she deserved to have us both. I'd been half-joking, but she'd agreed, telling us we could share her in and out of bed or never see her again!
Which left me and Joe to figure out the rest. Our love for Bea--and more tequila--got the three of us into bed together. To our surprise, it'd been amazing.
Life-altering.
I couldn't survive without them both. I'd bought two rings. Tonight after work, I would ask them to marry me.
_______________
Our Roll into Classes Rave had been a blowout last year. Students had stayed up and gone to class still rolling.
We were hosting this year's version--"Haunted Asylum"--in the basement of an abandoned mental ward outside of town, and expected an even larger turnout. As Joe had said, "Dude, the acoustics down here are sick." After a few hiccups, he was turning into an excellent DJ.
For hours, we worked our asses off to prep the place. Sundown found us sweating, grimy, and sore, but in good spirits. By the light of our staging lamps, Joe was stacking a huge bank of speakers, while Bea organized the cash till and wristbands. I was securing one of the last lighting units to my effects truss.
During setup, Joe and Bea took care of the "guts," and I perfected the "skin." I was in charge of all the design effects, but rave lighting was my passion. From my console, I could control the focus, color, and intensity of the moving beams to amplify the energy of the music and manipulate the attendees' emotions. Joe and Bea made fun of me, saying I got high on the power.
Now Joe rolled his head on his neck. "I'm finished with my rig."
Bea said, "Other than trash cleanup, I'm set too."
Joe squeezed my shoulder. "You need help, Spaniard?"
"I can fit two more light sets along this truss." It would direct the focus to him. "Could you guys go grab them from the van?"
"We're on it," Joe said. He took Bea's hand, and they headed up the stairs.
The three of us worked together seamlessly. Though I always forgot the cordless drill battery, Bea never failed to bring a backup. Joe made sure we drank enough Gatorade to stay hydrated for the long night ahead. I kept everyone on an even keel whenever something went sideways.
Bea was right; it always did.
I took off my shirt and wiped my face, surveying the area. We'd transformed the basement into a spooky rave paradise.
Drawing on first-hand accounts and grainy pics--I'd eagerly researched the gruesome history of this place--I'd painted rusted cell doors and bloody examination curtains. I'd dressed mannequins in gore-stained straightjackets (thanks, eBay). Bea, Joe, and I had spattered lab coats to wear as well.
In the promotion biz, presentation was everything.
I was beaming I was so proud of them. Of us.
Suddenly, a breeze gusted inside the area, scattering our trash pile of boxes and wrappers. I scratched my head. No way a wind could reach this basement, and it was too strong to be a draft.
Before I could determine the source of the wind, vertigo seized me. The room seemed to be spinning. No, I was spinning! Yet at the same time some kind of weight pressed down on my body.
What the hell is happening to me?
I felt like gravity affected me more than ever before! Pressure made my legs buckle. I went to my knees, my panicked gaze darting. That wind increased and grew hot, spiraling around me. The spinning sensation intensified. Any more, and I'd lose consciousness.
I tried to call for Joe and Bea. They were still outside, would never hear me down here. What was taking them so long?
Spinning, spinning. Blackness was about to overwhelm me! My eyes slid closed, and gravity made my body collapse. . . .
_______________
I woke on the floor in the basement, in total confusion--and darkness.
Our staging lamps weren't on? The generator must've conked out. A chill skittered up my spine. Then how long had I been unconscious? I called, "Bea? Joe?" No answer. I tentatively sat up. "Por Dios, my head!" It was splitting.
I must've had some kind of aneurism or something. What else could explain my hallucinations from earlier, my collapse? "Where are you guys?" Yelling magnified the pain in my skull, but I didn't care. "Answer me. . . ." I trailed off when I heard footsteps in the stairwell. "Guys?" A soft wail sounded in the darkness. Then a deeper one. "Who's there?"
Fear made my heart thunder, my pulse racing. I would give anything to see! "Who's down here?" In the dark basement with me.
Some light kicked on, faint at first, then growing stronger. I glanced behind me, trying to find the source--then frowned down at my chest. Lost my breath. "Que cono es esto?" What the fuck is that?
My flesh . . . it glowed. I was giving off more light than our staging lamps would. My skin grew brighter and brighter.
I craned my head up, lost my breath. Looming over me were two . . . monstruos!
Monsters with weathered and creased faces. Cracked lips. Pale eyes running with pus.
Why were those creatures wearing Bea and Joe's clothes? "I-Is this a prank?" I gazed from one to the other, disbelieving my eyes. These things were Joe and Bea! "Carino? Querida?" Bea's filmy gaze focused on my neck. No, my throat--
Joe lunged for me, sending me flying. "What the hell are you doing?" I smacked the ground, the force stealing my breath.
He leapt atop me; I thrashed, shoving against his big chest. He snared one of my flailing arms. His teeth sank into my skin!
I yelled from the pain. "Joe, why . . . what???" He was sucking my blood!
Bea dropped to her knees and joined him, seizing and biting my other arm.
"Ahh! Why are you . . . you can't . . ." They were drinking me!
My cordless drill lay on the ground nearby. If I could free one of my arms, I could snag it and bash Bea's head, then use it on Joe.
No! Everything in me rebelled. I'd rather die than harm them. "Please don't make me hurt you!" Please stop biting!
Both of them stopped, releasing my skin. Let me go! They dropped my arms.
I scuttled back, thinking, Get away from me, get away. They rose and backed up several steps, their movements almost robotic. As I dragged myself to my feet, they just stood there, swaying slightly in unison. Was I somehow controlling them? Mentally?
I pictured them walking a step back, then a step forward.
They did the same.
I was controlling them! Why was this happening to us? This whole situation seemed supernatural, but I didn't believe in hocus-pocus bullshit. Maybe they'd been bitten by something rabid down here, a bat or something.
So why was I still glowing?
"I-I'm going to get you to a hospital." Tears welled in my eyes. "Doctors will make you better." Then I pictured how others would react to my girlfriend and boyfriend.
Their skin was leathery. Those pale eyes were blank. My blood stained each one's cracked lips and chin.
The two looked like . . . bloodthirsty zombies. Like I might dress them in costume. But this was real. Right?
Steps sounded in the stairwell once more. More of the leather-faced creatures shuffled inside. Something outside had turned them. Had turned my Bea and Joe.
Into zombies.
I was in an insane asylum. And maybe I belonged here. . . .
Judgment (XX)
Gabriel Arendgast, the Archangel
"I watch you like a hawk."
A.k.a.: The Seventh Coming, the Guardian Angel, Exalted One, Gabriel of the Light
Powers: Flight, supernatural senses, speed, strength, healing, tracking, and endurance.
Special Skills: Enhanced aiming, swordsmanship.
Weapons: In past games, he wielded the Sword of Right, but it was stolen.
Tableau: An archangel carrying a sword, flying over a mass of bodies.
Icon: A pair of wings.
Unique Arcana Characteristics: Large black wings, talon-tipped fingers. Outdated speech and old-fashioned clothing.
Before Flash: Prophesied to be the reincarnation of the great Arendgast--an errand spirit (more commonly known as an angel). Worshipped by the Sect of Arendgast, a remote, ages-old cult, separated from modern society.
The Mount on High, Canadian Wilds
Day 0
"Are you ready to begin, Exalted One?" the high sectaire asked me, his bushy gray brows raised.
"Yes." I removed my suit coat, laying it on my bed, then untied my cravat. "I am ready," I lied. What man of nineteen would be ready for a day like this?
My tone was even despite the dread that threatened to overwhelm me. After removing my vest and fob watch, I drew off my white lawn shirt, taking my time to fold it, my gaze surveying my lantern-lit room, possibly for the last time.
My chambers were the most luxurious in the colony, my bed large enough for half a dozen people. I had countless stacks of books--my only link to the outside world--but they were all ancient. Above my desk was artwork depicting angels falling from the heavens.
Was I about to join them?
I could stall no longer. I straightened and headed toward my door, exiting before the high sectaire. We made our way down the corridor toward the great cavern chamber.
Centuries ago, the sect--chased from Europe, and then from the very ground itself--had moved to this secluded mountain, seeking refuge inside the heart of its peak.
In the cavern chamber, dozens of sectaires had gathered to follow my historic walk. All told, this colony numbered seventy-eight, the number of cards in a Tarot deck. Half were female, half male. Their voices rang with excitement. The sect had awaited this moment for generations.
As we entered, an elder called, "Quiet everyone."
At the candlelit altar, I stood beside the high sectaire, making my face impassive. No one would ever know the strangling urge I had to flee. I was about to start sweating, despite my lack of a shirt. I resisted the impulse to rub my damp palms on my trousers.
In a resonant voice, the man addressed
everyone, signaling the beginning of today's ritual. I barely registered his words as I contemplated my life.
As ever, I wondered about my birth parents. I'd been missing for seventeen years. Did they still long for me as I longed for them? They would never know the importance of their sacrifice. Could they have accepted the ritual I was about to take part in?
I doubted they could have accepted my dual nature.
An Arendgast was both angel and animal, a creature torn between base and noble instincts. When I'd been twelve, I'd asked the high sectaire how I could overcome my animal instinct for self-preservation during the ritual. His answer had filled me with horror.
Perhaps I should have run then. . . .
Though our records--the Chronicles of Arendgast--had been burned long ago by fearful villagers, the elders had passed down sacred knowledge to help me in the Arcana game, tales of the past and foretellings of the future.
I was to beware my worst enemies: Death, the Empress, and the Emperor. My staunch ally was forever the Tower; I was to seek him out as soon as possible.
I had also been prophesied in this game to give my heart to a great warrior, another Arcana: "One who slays from afar."
Surely that meant I would survive the ritual!
The elders had also passed down the date of the foretold Great Cataclysm.
Today.
The apocalypse would befall us, the game beginning in its wake. But I should have heard Arcana calls by now. What if the elders had misremembered the date?
The lack of calls meant one of two things, both of them dire: I was not the Arendgast. Or the game didn't begin today.
Either option equaled my demise.
My life had taken just one fateful turn to get me to this precipice, figuratively and literally. When I'd been two, a sectaire--allegedly a minor arcana--believed he'd witnessed the earliest seed of my tableau flickering over me. That night, he'd stolen me from my birth parents, bringing me back to the Mount.
I gazed over the crowd, finding him. His face was red, his eyes bleary. Had he truly seen my tableau so long ago? He swore I was the seventh coming of Gabriel.
But then, that sectaire also drank a lot.
And right now he looked . . . nervous.