The Rising

by L F Seitz

  “My people don’t see the severity,” said Micah. He went on about how he told them what Orias said about The Rising, that it would be soon, but they proceeded to take their time. They didn’t have their ear to the ground like some of the Nephilim who worked in the streets. They didn’t personally deal with the rise of Cambion crimes. They didn’t hear the whispers told from some of the Unumgenus – humans who are paid to spy on demonic circles and collect information about criminal activity. It’s frowned upon by the Nephilim to use humans to do Nephilim bidding, but it isn’t written in the Nephilim laws and still widely used by many of them. The Unumgenus tell them that the slums are filled with Cambions, from here in Kenosha all the way to Milwaukee. “It’s all paperwork and notifying the right people in our capital, Porta Caeli. If we go that route, we’ll all be dead by the time we get approval to interrogate the Prince. And that’s if we were to get what we need to know on the first try. Interrogating someone like him could take months of torture. We don’t have that kind of time. ” Micah was frustrated, and I understood that. I just didn’t understand why I was the one who had to do this, to get the information when I wasn’t even Nephilim. Why was I suddenly responsible? I wasn’t one of them; he’d made that clear. Despite the earlier praise of having amazing abilities, I was just a Cambion to him, nothing more.

  “You’re just going to leave me alone in there with him?” I asked.

  “I will be distracting security, so yes.” He was so cold it was hard to even look at him as he stared off. The Micah from before, the smiling one who shared his favorite poet with me, was gone. This Micah didn’t give a shit if I lived or died, as long as he got what he needed.

  “What if something bad happens?”

  “Surprise, you’re an adult. You can handle it.” His sarcasm slapped me in the face.

  I wanted to believe this wasn’t him, that this was just stress. The longer I watched him, though, the chill that appeared in his eyes, the more I thought that maybe this was him, it reminded me so much of the night we met. A shiver shot down my spine. The other person I thought I knew yesterday was a mirage.

  Micah didn’t care for me; he cared about information, and I was the bridge to it.

  “When,” I asked, my voice emotionless.

  “Tonight,” he said, equally detached.

  “Time?”

  “Nine.”

  I returned to my bedroom, closed the door, and wept.

  I am the human species with cancer of the soul. This demon inside is the infection I can’t get rid of. I have to fight it without support, without medication to ease the pain, without anything but the strength of my own mind. I just hoped it was enough.

  Sixteen.

  EIGHT-THIRTY ROLLED around. It was dark outside, and everything in the apartment was nearly still. Neither of us spoke the rest of the day. We passed each other in the apartment, but not even a glance was shared. In sharing tonight’s plan for us, Micah had reaffirmed the fact that I was still alone with all these strangely mixed abilities, and he wasn’t going to help me figure out what I was. He was going to use it. I couldn’t fight it; I couldn’t run to my people and ask for sanctuary. I had no people like me.

  I was brought up in a system where government workers impassively saw the physical needs of a child: food, shelter, and a bed. Whether the people working the system knew or not, they disregarded the mental and emotional needs which every child needs in order to become a healthy, well-rounded adult. My life lacked compassion, family, comfort, consistency, and understanding. I developed harsh opinions of the world, of people, because real human connection wasn’t consistent in my upbringing. Something so simple as making friends was difficult for me. I lacked the most basic mental foundations of growing up, like people skills and problem-solving, because I was wrapped in a constant state of confused anxiety. Never knowing what was going to happen next, or if the people who fostered me planned on keeping me. I’ve never had people, I’ve never had a home, and I’m always left wondering if others mean what they say or if their intentions are pure. This new world Micah was pulling me into had only one unique component: the supernatural. Everything else was the same.

  Demons would see the way I change with the angel incantation and torture me for eternity. Nephilim would kill me on sight and spit on my corpse. I belonged nowhere. I didn’t know if Micah saw that or he was too tunnel-visioned to even care.

  “Why are you still moping?” Micah asked. Agitation was thick in his voice as we walked up the road from my apartment in the dark. We’d been walking for about 15 minutes, farther into an unfamiliar part of town. Most of the businesses here were abandoned shortly after the massive automotive plant was torn down. He explained how we needed to take the back way to the compound so no one would see us.

  I was accessing sarcasm to take my mind off the fear cradling my heart. “Someone has to mourn my imminent death. Certainly not going to be you.”

  Once I stopped crying earlier in the day, I couldn’t get rid of my panic. Different scenarios sped through my head, each more disturbing than the last. My gut told me something was going to go wrong tonight that would result in death.

  “You need to chill out. Asmodeus will feel your fear.”

  That was comforting. I’ll get right on that. We turned the corner, and I could see a structure in the distance. A tall, chain link fence with barbed wiring running along the top. Derelict buildings lingered behind it. The place looked abandoned, but maybe that was how it was supposed to look. As we got closer, I noticed a few people in the far distance, across the large fenced-in area, patrolling. This was the Nephilim compound. Once we were across the street from the old lot, Micah spoke again. “Be quiet, and stay close to me.” He scanned the are before he moved off the sidewalk and into the grasses by the fence. He lifted up a loose piece of fencing and motioned me to go through.

  One-way ticket to your inevitable doom. Step right up.

  I ducked through, and he followed, then he led us through the tall brush toward an outer building. I noted figures in the far distance, patrolling different buildings and gates. Many more than I expected to be out on guard duty. I swallowed hard. My skin felt warmed in the cool night air. It could have been because the Nephilim were close by. We were on the compound now. The Nephilim headquarters. It was an old factory lot, probably abandoned long before I was born. This outer building looked like a guard shack or a security building in its earlier years. Couldn’t be more than twenty by sixteen feet. It was farther from the other buildings. I could see how Micah thought this could work.

  As we got up to the last bit of brush before the building, Micah stopped and squatted, pulling me with him. “Here’s the plan,” Micah started. I still couldn’t look at him, so I glowered at my scuffed boots instead. “I captured a few demon dogs the other night and put them in an abandoned house about seven blocks from here. They should be waking up any time now. I’ll go get the two guards in front of the door; they’ll want to help. Once we are gone, you run to the door, which will be unlocked, and go inside. You’ll only have 20 minutes, then you need to be out of there.”

  I felt bile threatening to come up. My face drained of color as I stared at the building.

  “I’ll meet you back at your apartment after me and the other Nephilim gather the bodies and burn them, all right?” I thought about how completely alone I’d be in there. Micah would be so far away. “Are you ready?”

  “Does it matter?” I asked, not caring about insolence in that moment. Do what he asked, and get it done. Don’t die. Don’t screw it up.

  “I know it seems like I’m being an ass, but I have confidence in you, Lamia. You’d be more optimistic if you had some, too,” he said. Micah abruptly pulled his knife from its holder and cut his face. He put his finger to his lips, motioning for me to stay quiet, then ran out and around the building, sliding as he turned.

  “Micah, what are you – what happened?” The voice sounded concerned.

  “Demon dogs jumped me,�
� Micah said frantically. “I think they belong to Orias, the demon I killed. Help me.” He was a good actor, a good liar.

  “We can’t leave –”

  “A few minutes, just help me kill them. They might lead us to something about The Rising.” He sounded desperate. Then I saw Micah take off with two others toward a gate out in the distance.

  Cowardice begged me to stay as I pushed myself to stand, forcing myself to run toward the building. I slipped on the gravel as I turned the corner and saw no one. I yanked open the door and ran inside, closing it behind me. Darkness fell. Doubt nearly consumed me. I knew he was there. I could feel him, a tingling of the threat on my skin. I could smell him. That familiar, pungent sulfur. Don’t screw this up. Just talk.

  “And you are?” A deep voice echoed through the concrete building, turning the air in my lungs to concrete. Think of something, Lamia. Anything.

  I adjusted to the dark and turned in the dim light. The building was illuminated by an industrial glowstick attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling. A man was chained to an iron cross. There were intravenous tubes in his arms, connected to bags of saline with the words Holy Water scribbled across the plastic. His skin appeared to be giving off steam. Were they injecting holy water? The demon, who looked like a man, was stripped of everything but his black boxer briefs. He was tan and toned in every way possible. He was more masculine and perfect then I thought a Prince of Hell would look. Distressingly good-looking. A tattooed symbol on his chest caught my eye: an intricate inverted triangle with an A just below it. A for Asmodeus.

  He snared my stare. Keen yellow eyes, full of sinister fascination, and I suddenly felt that familiar fog Orias used on me once before. Stronger this time. Much stronger.

  “I’m –” I stuttered, fighting hard against the urge to fall into the seduction he forced on me. Do something he’ll believe, anything. It’s now or never.

  “I’m Rosaline. Orias is my ... master.” I trembled, my strength waning against the wave of lust coming off him.

  “Oh?” He sounded amused.

  “Orias was killed, and then I heard these angel pricks had you, and I had to do something.” The words came tumbling out, and I couldn’t stop them. They sounded wrong, unrealistic.

  Asmodeus began to laugh. Once he quieted, he regarded me fully, a devilish smile curling the ends of his lips up. I shivered. “Not very good at acting, Lamia.”

  Terror restrained me. “You don’t know me,” I retorted.

  “I know your father. He’s a friend of mine,” he said with a large smile. “I’m actually here on his behalf, though he wishes he could attend this party.” He shrugged, pulling against the chains. “He said if I pretended to play this little game with the Nephilim, you’d make yourself known, and look. Here you are.”

  I was stunned into stillness as I listened to him speak of my father. My father, the demon who helped create me. This wasn’t about The Rising; this was about me. To get me to come here, so he could see me.

  “Who is my father?” I knew why I was here, but I couldn’t help but take the bait. I needed to know what Asmodeus was hiding. He was the one person standing between me and knowing my past.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” he said, scolding me like a child. “He wants to make the big reveal. Sometime soon, is all I will say.”

  Micah was right: Asmodeus wasn’t going to give anything up, and as far as I could tell, this chained setup wasn’t really holding him. He was letting the Nephilim do this to him so he could get what he wanted. “You let them catch you ... let them torture you.” I began to put the pieces together, which seemed to amuse him, because he grinned again.

  “You’re smart, Lamia. Your father will be so pleased with me when I tell him about our little meeting.” He shifted, the chains whined, and I stepped back, pressing myself against the door.

  I’d forgotten about the time. Micah said I’d only have twenty minutes. I didn’t have much time left. “When is The Rising?” I demanded, my voice still shaken.

  He grinned, and despite the fear, I felt the familiar fire. The anger that was already built up in my gut: rage from Micah, from Orias, and everyone else who has hurt me up until this moment. These men, these supernatural beings, treated me like I was something to be used, and I was sick of it.

  “Tell me, or I will kill you,” I sneered. I don’t know where the strength came from, where the confidence to step from the door originated, but I clutched onto it. I refused to lose it when I was so close to death.

  He let out another heavy howl of amusement, belittling me. “Your father is powerful, but you are a pitiful leaf compared to the tree. You don’t frighten me, little one,” he said. “It’s you who should be frightened.”

  With a clang, the metal holding his right leg fell to the floor. My terror raged as I stepped back again, and watched him get free. Soon, the chains would be gone, and it would be him and I, standing face to face. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

  He will kill me.

  I scoured my mind for anything to save me, anything to give me an advantage. I have no skill in fighting and no weapons to keep him at a distance. He was a Prince, and I was a lowly freak with the ability of both entities – Oh.

  “Et reducam te in caligine Demon nunc urbs est patris tui. Ostende mihi faciem tuam, et non est misericordia, quae est a carne daemonum interficiam corpus, perit in aeternum misericordia ignis. Et incarnatus est de Angelo, anima tanted ostende,” I spoke the demon incantation, letting the anger and heat rage across my bones. Asmodeus stopped in his tracks as he watched me, both legs now free.

  “There’s my niece,” he chuckled.

  “I’m not finished,” I snapped.

  This was a risk, to do this without knowing the danger it would bring. I had no other choice; I needed to save myself.

  “In nomine Lucifer enim ostendis tu qui ad eum. Ut nepos, adversus se superiorem. Et ignis ardebit quasi infernus animam piam contaminant iterum ad vos mittere. Qui dedit nobis confirmasti tibi finis erit secundum operationem Satanae.”

  With the angel incantation completed I was weightless as gravity ceased to exist, the vibration hitting me like a wave of sound. A blast against my very being, my skin and hair tingling. There was no end to this moment, no beginning. This moment was solitary, suspended from time. I was time. I was mass. I was matter. I was life, in its entirety. Everything was violet.

  Asmodeus’s expression turned from pleasure to stone, but he couldn’t hide his fear. A tilt of my head, and I could hear his heart tremble. I could sense it.

  “Strange, the sound the heart makes, how it changes with our emotions even when we wish it wouldn’t.” My voice presented pure malice. Despite his fear, I could feel his loyalty to his friend, my father. He wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to know. He would pay dearly for it.

  Deep in my mind, abilities appeared that I didn’t understand but suddenly knew how to use. I reached for the edges and pushed out of myself and into Asmodeus’s mind. I lingered there, my violet light moved like its own being, striding through the thick darkness. The murky waters tinted maroon, the color of blood. There it was, what I was searching for: cast out on a lonely rowboat deep in the waters of his mind. Within it, laying upon a seat lingered a single piece of paper. Miller Baseball Park. December 11th. At the rise of the new moon. The words were spoken in my mind in his voice. As I opened my eyes I found Asmodeus still fixated on me, in awe, partially confused, and a little pale.

  “Miller Baseball Park. December 11th. At the rise of the new moon.” I spoke aloud, my voice reverberating off the steel.

  Asmodeus’s jaw flexed as his hands balled into fists and my lips curled up into a smile. I was right. A low laugh came from deep in my throat.

  “You are ... indisposed? I’ll leave and let you sort that out.” My laughter carried through the room until I was at the door.

  “Your father knew as soon as there were rumors of a Rising, the Cambions’ numbers would increase, the Nephilim would look harder for
supernatural activity – and you would show. This isn’t about life; this is about death. It is foreseen, Lamia, no matter what you do,” said Asmodeus. “No matter if you help them, you will never save them all. The Nephilim will burn.” He laughed, I could sense that he felt violated. “Thank you for making it personal. I’m sure your father won’t be opposed to me taking a pet, a Micah Anderson. Sweet Lamia.”

  The chains broke loudly, and my light glowed brighter as he stepped forward surveying me.

  “Careful,” I grinned.

  “This is only the beginning,” he said. “Tell your little friend to look for me in the battle. I’ll be waiting for him.”

  In a blink, I flew across the room, slammed Asmodeus back into his iron cross by the neck, and held him there. He tried to grab me, to hurt me, but it was effortless to create a field between him and I- his hands pummeled against the invisible shield, but could not pass it. I pressed my other hand against the tacky skin of his chest. He grunted in obvious pain as I dug my nails in deep, sensing the essence of his power, thousands of years of built-up energy within his tissue.

  “Your body will suffice to send my father a message to leave me alone, as well as the Nephilim.”

  Asmodeus spit at me, and blood splattered on my face and into my mouth. He chortled, and blood dribbled down his chin. “Enjoy that. The powers in my blood are already seeping into your tissue. It will drive you mad with lust. Not lust for body or sex,” he said. “You’ll lust for bone, for blood, sweet Lamia. The one you desire – you’ll want to rip him open to smell his insides and drink the marrow from his bones. If you fight it, you’ll die.”

  I dug my fingers in deeper. He whimpered, laughing through the pain.

  “You get what you want. No one will torture and kill your Micah but you. You’ll tear him apart –”

  He gasped as I shoved my hand into his thoracic cavity, between his muscles and bones, deep into his body. I could sense the raw energy of Hell burning in him. I could feel the atoms vibrate with supernatural power as he stood before me. My purple essence enveloped him, pulling all his energy from him, everything he’d ever worked for. I found his heart among his hot, slippery organs. He gasped and seized as I felt it all being torn from his being with my fingertips. All that power pooled in his thorax, and once I held it completely, I ripped his vascular organ out.