Chapter 6
̴Agares ̴
Sitting alone on a fabric covered couch inside the farmhouse he took by force, Agares senses his soldiers growing in numbers. Just beyond the confines of the structure, loyal servants of the underworld have gathered—his servants—and more continue to arrive. In the coming moments, he’ll address them, rally them for war.
The mere thought of war causes excitement to swirl in his belly. Far too much time has passed since he engaged in battle, but he remembers it well. He recalls the moment when prey senses it’s in the sights of a predator, when a human being realizes the safety he once enjoyed was a false, his existence a ruse. Closing his eyes, he can see the wild fluttering just below the chin, the pulse hammering as fight-or-flight reactions begin storming within the body of the hunted. Eyes widen. Pupils dilate. The skin pales. And once in a while, bladder control is lost. Inhaling deeply so that his chest expands and his lungs fill, Agares revels in the memory of the moments before the chase begins, the period before the kill. They are undoubtedly noteworthy. But not nearly as momentous and extraordinary as the kill.
Feeling his breathing hitch just a fraction, Agares envisions the last human he slaughtered, a man no more than thirty years of age. He sees him, sees his dark hair and eyes, the tremor that passed through his body as every cell inside him was flooded with hormones produced to help him flee from danger. He is transported there so fully, it becomes a sensory experience. The iron-rich stench of blood. The screams. The cries. The pleas for mercy. The feel of his blood warm upon Agares’s hands. A small, pleasure-filled tremor passes through him. He cannot wait to relive the experience, to have more to add to his treasure trove of terror and mayhem filled murders.
Hearing a roar of chatter from outside, Agares stands and feels a thrill of pure glee. He steps out the door and off the porch, into an expansive patch of grass blanched a stony gray hue by the moon. Thousands of his kind stand before him. As soon as they see him, a hush befalls the group. Some bow their heads while many fall to their knees. After a moment of quiet reverence, chins lift and bodies rise. A sea of eyes as black as the darkest night sky stare at him in expectance.
Holding his hands up at chest height briefly, Agares begins addressing his people. “Soldiers of the underworld,” he begins, his voice a wellspring of power, the sound so rich and clear he doesn’t need a microphone or any such device. “I know our numbers here tonight do not represent the full might of our army as we are spread out around the world, but I am charging each of you with the task of spreading the word of our mission. Let it be known to all of our brethren that the war against humanity begins now.”
Rapt, legions await Agares’s next words. He inhales and feels his chest swell with pride.
“You are all aware of the change that has occurred. No doubt you’ve experienced it, experienced the shift.” Nods of agreement cause a wave-like ripple in the crowd. “We can sense the presence of Hunters, fools who defend mankind and fight for a false god.” Small murmurs of approval can be heard but are quickly silenced when he resumes speaking. “Many of you have begun to act on instinct, to attack. Others haven’t.” Agares glares at some among his legions who wear their shame plainly. “Those who haven’t know who you are. And I do too. You are cowards, undeserving of the gifts you possess.” He pauses, searching the faces in front of him while issuing his condemnation. He shouldn’t have to tell any of them what their role is, that they are to slay Hunters whenever and where ever possible. He speaks to those who are unclear. To those who have shirked their responsibility and allowed their enemies to live. “From this day forward, your mission is to seek out and destroy Hunters. We need to purge the planet of them so we can claim it for ourselves. That has been our purpose since our creation.”
Cheers erupt. Fists are pumped. Enthusiasm is obvious.
Lifting his hands once again to calm them, Agares waits for quiet. “Soldiers, be advised, there is one Hunter in particular we must seek out and destroy. Gideon has returned to stop us and he must be found.” At mention of his name, utter silence blankets his audience. “If any of you happen upon him, make no mistake you are to proceed with caution. No one needs to be reminded of how dangerous he was last time. But we have an advantage now.” The silence claims the wind, smothers the sound of insects, and every pair of eyes is riveted on Agares. “Gideon doesn’t know who he is and what he’s capable of yet, so we need to strike now. He has returned in new form and his powers are in infancy.” The air becomes charged with questions. Chief among them: is how does he know? How does he know that Gideon has returned in new form and that his energy has not fully matured? Agares would never deign to answer, not to them. Not to anyone. “We need to strike now.” He deflects the questions and carries on. “I command each of you to begin immediately. Do not delay. Do not hesitate. Our time is now!”
Agares glares out at the crowd and is aghast to find a small group of his people arguing amongst themselves. Their argument grows louder, interrupting him and distracting attention from him.
“What is the meaning of this?” he booms, his tone sharp and ripe with indignation.
“Sorry to interrupt, my Lord,” a mangy male dares to address him. “But I was under the impression we were sent back to do as we see fit as long as we are causing the weak to suffer.”
Taken aback at the man’s insolence, Agares feels anger corkscrew tightly in his gut. But before he parts his lips to speak, another in his ranks sounds off. “Yeah, we aren’t here to be commanded by anyone, not even you.” He stresses the word “commanded” and points a meaty finger at him, his audacity and disrespect so pronounced that for a moment, Agares is speechless. Not one, but two of his people have the nerve to question his orders!
Lengthening his spine and squaring his shoulders, Agares looks to his left to where Crocell waits at the ready, limbs shaking and prepared to strike.
Next to Crocell stands Balam. Matching Crocell in height, he stands at nearly seven feet tall. Broad shoulders and a mountainous chest leads to rippling muscles so devoid of fat the striation of the tissue is visible through his thin, gray skin. Onyx eyes stare out from deep-set sockets and two holes sit where a nose would on a human. His mouth, when closed, displays long, scythe shaped teeth sharp enough and long enough to puncture the thickest of surfaces, especially flesh. But perhaps his most striking feature is his wings. Almost six feet in height, when opened they double that in width and boast appendages that resemble thin, elongated finger bones. Charcoal in color and nearly identical to that of a bat, his wings aid him in being a swift and lethal aerial predator. Agares nods to him and the corners of his mouth pull apart to form a fiendish grin as he bows his head in acquiescence.
To Balam’s right is Jinn. Easily a foot shorter and with a physique like a bodybuilder, Jinn’s face is the substance of nightmares, capable of striking fear in the heart of even the bravest human being roaming the planet. Hairless from crown to sole, Jinn’s bulging, lidless eyes are obsidian orbs that stare unblinkingly, their blackness infinite pits of hate and rage. Razor sharp cheekbones give way to a jaw that, when unhinged, reveals rows of pointed teeth that could easily be mistaken for an elaborate bear trap. Agares acknowledges him with a clip of his chin and after dipping his chin in deference, Balam twists his neck from side to side, eliciting a series of cracks and pops.
Agares’s gaze travels to Kappas who is beside Balam. Shorter than all of them, horns like a ram grow from either side of his skull. The lower half of his body is more animal than human with cloven hooves and a tail that whips from side to side. He scuffs one hoof in the grass ready to charge, his scrunched facial features lowered further so that they nearly disappear. He bobs his head several times as soon as he realizes Agares watches him and understands the silent message his leader conveys.
Napas stands at attention as well, his eyes darting between Agares and the men who so brazenly called out and questioned their leader. Skeletal in appearance with a long narrow face, a bald head and poin
ted ears, Napas looks like what humanity would imagine the grim reaper looks like without his black cloak and hood. They’d be right to make the connection between him and death. Reaping lives in uniquely painful, torturous ways is his special gift. He loves inflicting pain. He is often underestimated because of his appearance. That’s always the first mistake made. Agares slides him a knowing glance and Napas curtsies.
Within seconds, all five men descend on the two who spoke out of turn. Balam and Jinn grab an arm each on the first while Napas and Kappas accost the second. Held in place, both of the insubordinate soldiers writhe and flail to try to free themselves, but their efforts are useless. Their captors are too strong.
Crocell advances on the one closest to him with grace and speed that betrays his heft. He launches his fist forward, landing it squarely against the captured being’s chest. A loud crack echoes through the ether followed by an agony-filled howl. Unfazed by the cry, Crocell drills the area again and again, hammering the same spot until not just bone yields but flesh as well. Gore leaks from the gaping wound, splattering as Crocell continues. Wet, slapping sounds accompany the thump of the blows and screams of suffering. His effort is unrelenting until his sizable fist is retrieved from the ragged hole with a coal colored heart trapped within it. As soon as the heart is yanked free, the screaming ceases briefly. Quickly, however, they return when black vaporous matter seeps from the lifeless body. Strident and shrill the sound claws at the eardrums, raging on a deafening whoosh of air that sucks the dark particles into the ground. Once it is gone, silence smothers any and all sound. Preternatural stillness prevails. Agares looks out among his soldiers and sees a healthy dose of fear has been administered. “Know this!” he booms, his voice a clap of thunder that cuts the stillness. “When you die by my hand, you do not simply cease to exist as you do when claimed by a Hunter. When you die by my hand, you suffer for all of eternity in a realm far below the one you once inhabited.”
Trembling uncontrollably, the second who spoke out looks on in horror. “Please, my lord, I didn’t mean to question you! It won’t happen again.” Spittle dribbles from his lower lip and snot burbles from is nose as he snivels. The sight is revolting. Agares snarls. “I-I promise it won’t happen again,” the blubbering resumes.
“No. It won’t.” Agares smirks then nods to Crocell. Crocell repeats what he did to the first, tearing out his heart and watching as his black essence is devoured by the earth. Once the process is complete, Agares stares out into the crowd, allowing for the gravity of what’s transpired to settle. “There will not be mercy for those who question my authority, make no mistake about that.” The collective crowd falls to their knees.
Crocell, Balam, Jinni, Kappas and Nagas return to his side. They kneel before him then rise. He extends his hand to them and shakes each. “My friends, it has been too long.” Agares offers a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“The pleasure is ours, my Lord,” Balam speaks for the others. “We are here to serve.”
Agares looks from them to the sea of soldiers. One among them is missing, a key fighter in their battle. “Adron.” He says the name aloud. “Where’s Adron?”
“I don’t know, my lord,” Balam answers.
Sensing a deep disturbance in the energy that unites his kind, Agares rubs his chin. “There’s something wrong. He should be here.”
“Would you like me to make inquiries? I will see if I can find out anything if you like.” Balam dips his chin practically to his chest.
“Yes. We need him for the war upon us.” Agares levels a deadly gaze his way.
“I understand, my lord.” Balam’s voice is somber.
Concern eats at Agares. There isn’t a Hunter alive who could’ve defeated Adron, only one among them would be capable of such a deed, but he wouldn’t be far enough along. Gideon. Gideon would be the only Hunter powerful enough to topple Adron. Is it possible Gideon has been back longer than he thought? He wonders. Perhaps he’s more prepared for the impending war than Agares believed. Doubt creeps into his mind for a fraction of a second.
As if sensing Agares’s doubt, Balam speaks, his gravelly voice low. “Oh, my lord,” he says. “I wanted to tell you we,” he gestures among his three brethren, “have taken it upon ourselves to send a message to Gideon.”
“Gideon’s brother?” Agares arcs an eyebrow, calling to mind the man’s appearance. Long gray hair and a matching gray beard are the features that jump out at him. A slow smile creeps across Agares’s face. Four of his most trusted soldiers took the initiative and acted exactly as he wished all others would. Confidence fills him. He would not fail this time. Gideon would fall by his hand. He could feel it as readily as he felt the breeze cool his skin.
Gideon would fall this time.
Chapter 7
̴ Daniel ̴
More than twenty-four hours have passed since we left Jake’s house. More than a day has been spent crammed in the back seat of Luke’s sports car with my knees practically tucked to my chest. We’ve stopped less than a handful of times to refuel, use the restroom and eat. Moving so infrequently has taken its toll on my body. Arching my back slightly, I shift and attempt to reposition myself. Every muscle protests at once and I groan, a fact that draws a sidelong glance and an eye roll from Scarlett. I consider asking her what her problem is, but she’s already answered that question, and her words landed like a ham-fisted punch to my gut. I don’t care to relive the experience a second time.
Drawing in a deep breath, I’m careful to not exhale too loudly lest I should get another dirty look. I haven’t the vaguest idea where we are, and between the discomfort level I’m experiencing and the general sense of dislike aimed at me and emanating from Scarlett, I feel like a can of soda that’s been shaken, like all I’d need to vent is to have my cap turned. Considering we’re both on the same team, I don’t see the value in answering her disdain with my own unless absolutely necessary. Instead, I bite my tongue and wait before I open my mouth. And when I do, I ask, “Luke, where are we?”
For a moment, my question is answered with silence. After a substantial pause, Luke replies cryptically, “We’re almost there.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “Are you kidding me?” But I don’t. I sit back and fold my arms across my chest, seething at his dismissiveness, and wait until we turn off the narrow tree lined road on which we travel. After a series of turns, the car is shooting down a sparsely inhabited street, but in the distance, a structure waits. And while I’m certain I’ve never been there in all my seventeen years, for reasons I can’t explain, I have memories of being there. Vague and hazy in nature, they float like nebulous puzzle pieces, intangible yet right at my fingertips. Try as I may to shake the sensation, it only grows stronger the closer I draw. And when I see that it is a small brick home that sits tucked behind a gated iron fence that feeling multiplies tenfold. I stare straight ahead, searching for something, some clue to jog my memory. But I come up just shy of a concrete fragment. Shrubs and other growth with fronds and leafy vegetation partially cover the gate, but I can still see that it’s open and what’s beyond it as we pull to the end the street. I concentrate so hard on connecting the dots my head aches.
Closing my eyes, I rub my temples. When I open them, I realize the sky is brightening. Dawn is approaching. Starlit navy expanses have given way to a horizon line that glows with the promise of daybreak. And the sensation that something nefarious is afoot burgeons.
Pulling past the open gate, I stare between the passenger and driver’s seat and see a long, narrow driveway. Trees and bushes line the path, but in the distance I catch sight of nearly a half dozen cars. My gaze flickers from them to the house.
“We need to be careful. This doesn’t feel right.” Luke’s voice is low and husky as he speak. He verbalizes exactly how I feel.
“I don’t sense anything,” Scarlett says. She turns to look at him, searching his face for a possible reason why he does and she doesn’t I’d imagine.
; She may not sense anything but I do. I clings to me like scum on a pond, staining my every thought. Unable to keep my thoughts to myself, I speak up. “Something terrible has happened.”
The collective energy in the car trembles at my statement. When we pull to the front of the house, the tremble becomes a pulsation similar to a racing heartbeat. Exiting the car, we move into the house, but I stop as soon as I reach the foyer. Unable to advance another step, I’m bludgeoned by a feeling, a sensation so potent it staggers me. Collapsing against the closest wall for support, a vision overpowers me. I see him. I see Luke and Scarlett’s friend Jake. Sandy hair and hazel eyes, tall and athletically built, he is clear in my mind as if he were standing before me now. I see his death, see him being murdered. I’m a bystander witnessing creatures so repulsive they are the subjects of nightmares tearing him limb from limb. I hear his cries. I see his blood. Collapsing in on myself, my body crumbles, overwhelmed by invisible weight, until I’m no longer standing. Jake is not alone, either. More are with him. More suffer. More die. The stench of their lifeblood fills my nostrils and coats my tongue. But the experience doesn’t end with the scent and sounds of their deaths, and it doesn’t stop with the sight of them either. Within seconds, my flesh is engulfed in pain. As though it’s being pulled in opposite directions, every square inch of my skin smarts and throbs at once. I cry out.
“What’s going on?” Scarlett’s voice echoes through the pain. It returns me to the present long enough to catch my breath. “What happened here, Daniel?”
Blinking, my vision vacillates between the murders and the house. Copper curls and amber eyes flicker in my field of vision. Briefly, they are a safe haven. They anchor me to sanity. But the sickly stench of blood and the horrid cries and sounds of death reach out to me, pulling me back with icy fingers. My chest heaves and my voice is reed thin when I say, “They’re dead. They’re all dead.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I’m yanked back to the image. And the image transforms, intensifies. Amid the bloodshed and carnage, a Servant of the Underworld emerges. Nearly seven feet tall and broad through the shoulders with colossal pectoral muscles and so lean that every ridge of tissue is visible through paper-thin gray skin. He glowers with deep set onyx eyes, small nasal openings flaring as his breathing is labored. Crimson drips from long, pointed canine teeth though his mouth is closed. A shudder ripples through his body, and when it does, massive wings unfurl. Nearly as long as he is, they’re veined with thin, elongated finger-like appendages that look like bat wings. He rears his head and emits an unearthly howl as a man with long gray hair and a beard wields a staff with a blade on each end. I recognize him as the one who removed Jake from the house. The two square off, circling each other for several seconds. Within the blink of an eye, however, the winged beast pounces, hands outstretched and lethal fangs primed to sink into the bearded man’s throat, the flickering flame of pure hate burning in the depths of his black eyes. Gripping the bearded man and slamming him against the wall with such force the entire structure groans, the beast snaps his jaw. Raising a booted foot between them, the bearded man kicks with force that betrays his human build. The beast is flung backward and the bearded man carves the air with his weapon, a shrill whistle shrieking through the ether.
Hunter of the Damned Page 5