by James Somers
Black grinned. “Do you really believe that I fear you because of that weapon?”
“Since it nullifies your power, you probably should,” Brody replied.
Black laughed out loud. “I would think that you would have learned by now. You can’t defeat me, Brody.”
Lucifer gazed upon the scene in wonder. The giant metal automatons under Black’s control had made their way steadily to the inner wall. Here they had begun an assault, but Brody had halted their advance temporarily. Drawn out by West’s defensive tactics, Black had come to clear the way for his machines to pass through. He was now standing on the outer wall amid his motionless machines which had frozen into position as he began to speak.
He was boasting now about his ability to destroy Brody and the other Descendants making their stand at the Tower of London. Lucifer could imagine no better time to act. Here and now, at the very apex of Black’s plan, he would intervene—not for the sake of West. The very notion was preposterous. No. He simply meant to undo Black.
“Glad you could join the party,” Lucifer said to Southresh as the fallen angel appeared beside him atop the Tower of Blood near the southwest corner of the wall. The angel wore the human form of the Japanese assassin, Toshima. His high caliber sniper rifle was already in his hand.
“I don’t understand why we’re doing this again,” Southresh complained. “I performed a perfect shot last time, yet there he is.”
“It was perfect,” Lucifer recalled. “However, Black had made a connection with the cherubim before. They have anchored him to this world and repaired the body.”
“Exactly my point,” Southresh noted. “So, why do this all over again?”
Lucifer turned to him. “Because, I’m not interested in killing his host so much as ruining his plans. For once, brother, trust me. Take the shot.”
Black watched Brody standing with the sword. The weapon’s twin was nowhere to be seen at the moment. Still, there was no use risking his mortal host while he had the automatons at his disposal.
He reached for the power of the cherubim in order to animate the automatons once again. He would make a final assault, throwing every one of them at the Descendants and West. They would all die before him today.
Nothing happened. He tried again. What was the matter? Desperate, Black called out with his thoughts to the cherubim, requesting the necessary energies to move the metal giants at his command.
A thought came in reply from the cherubim. We have no master.
What are you talking about? Black replied.
We are the more powerful, the cherubim said.
How dare you? Black couldn’t believe this. They were jeopardizing everything.
You will now serve us.
Black called for the power, meaning to take it by force. It would not respond. The cherubim had left him exposed. He made a futile attempt to move one of the metal giants. At best, the mechanism groaned and then went still.
West was still standing ready over on the inner wall. He could not allow this to happen. But what recourse was there with the cherubim so obstinate? Why had they suddenly done this when matters had been settled between them?
Lucifer. There could be no doubt that he had caused this. Lucifer had said or done something to change the minds of the cherubim against him. A feeling nagged at him, a sensation.
Black turned his gaze southward. Two figures stood on the Blood Tower. Lucifer was one. He was smiling and waving. The other Black realized too late. An Asian man. But Black saw through this mortal host to the spirit within. Southresh. He was holding a rifle.
A single shot rang out over the Tower of London courtyard, pulling all eyes upward. Black reacted too late. The bullet hit him in almost the precise place he had been shot earlier. The heart of his mortal host was eviscerated instantly. His chest cavity filled with blood. Pressure in his cardiovascular system dropped to nothing.
Black was thrown back, landing on the wide top of the wall in a pool of blood seeping from his wound. His host, for all intensive purposes was dead yet again. The cherubim had not protected him as he might have hoped. He was abandoned and alone. Trapped inside a dying shell.
Strangely, his spirit remained anchored to the mortal plane. The cherubim had not severed ties completely. Still, he was trapped like a rat in a trap, suffering this mortal death and unable to flee.
“I don’t want to be anywhere near when he comes around again,” Southresh said. He vanished as quickly as he had come, through a gout of flame.
Lucifer stared after Black’s fallen body a moment longer, savoring the moment. He did not lie to himself this time. He knew that Black was not gone. His spirit was trapped, but he had not been cast back to Tartarus. That meant the cherubim were not finished with him. Yet they also had not shielded him.
Wonderful, he thought. Now you are finally a step behind, brother.
Lucifer surveyed the scene on the courtyard. Confusion had come to the others. Even the British soldiers, seeing the automatons had become still, did not know how to proceed. They were still barred from entering the main gate of the Tower of London. Many had been wounded or killed. Others were attempting to extricate themselves from the moat.
Below, on the courtyard, Adolf stood waiting for news of the battle. Lucifer considered him momentarily. He pulled upon the boy enough to draw his attention toward the tower. Adolf looked up and found Lucifer revealed to him there.
The angel bowed to the son of his son. Understanding dawned upon the boy’s face and he smiled. Lucifer was somewhat surprised by this, but he didn’t show it. His confidence was emboldened. The boy would follow him now.
The only thing left for consideration was when to use him. He was still too young. However, a little age would do wonders for the boy. In the meantime, he could bide his time, bringing the boy quietly into his full power, stringing him along until the right moment. Then he would reveal who had really killed Adolf’s father, Grayson Stone.
Resolution
We did not find Black’s body upon the wall. Brody had been bewildered to see the angel shot down. No one seemed to know where the bullet had come from, or who had committed the deed. We only knew that we were glad for it.
The giant metal automatons moved no more. They lay scattered between the Tower of London and the staging ground for Gladstone’s army. The Prime Minister had been delayed in his arrival at the grounds. A ceremony had been scheduled that would usher his army off to Ireland. Instead, Gladstone had been stranded with a blown gasket on his motorcar.
As for the British soldiers. They eventually made their way into the Tower of London, battering the gate until it opened to them. However, when they arrived, they found no evidence of any enemy combatants. Not one Descendant had been killed in the action. Even if they had, we would have removed their bodies when we left again through the same portal which had delivered us to London.
Rockunder’s citizens received our warriors back amid great fanfare. We had gone ready to face our deaths, if need be, and had come home as conquering heroes. Of course, we knew who the more valiant among us were. Redclaw was eventually asked to help as Master at Arms to the Shade King. And Brody was celebrated along with the king himself for their actions and bravery in the face of the metal giants and the angel, Black.
I thanked the Lord for his providence. None of us had perished and we had peace between the Descendant refugees and the Leprechauns. One would have thought that Brody and Brian Shade had been lifelong friends from that time on.
Liam, of course, fumed over the situation. He had been hoping that his father, the king, would punish Adolf in some way. However, the prince had been rebuked instead. The Shade King considered both Adolf and myself to be heroes for traveling successfully through the spiritual plane past the cherubim and on through the Underworld to England. We had made it possible for Brody to establish the portal that had brought our combined armies into London to defeat Gladstone and Black.
Many days of peace would follow. But I still won
dered about the angel. Black was cunning. There had to be a reason why his body had vanished. I knew that he would almost certainly resurface at some place and some time when we least expected. For my part, I only hoped we would be ready when he did.
Announcing Audio Books for:
Descendants Saga, Realm Shift Trilogy, Serpent Kings Saga, Hallowed Be Thy Name, Perdition’s Gate Inferno, and Percival Strange
Coming to Audible.com, Amazon.com
and
Itunes
in
Fall of 2013
Beginning with “Fallen” Descendants Saga Book 1
and
“The Realm Shift” RST Book 1
Thanks for reading,
Descendants Saga continues with
ALLIANCE: BOOK 6 (2013-14)
&
VENDETTA: BOOK 7 (2014)
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PREVIEW: PERDITION’S GATE: INFERNO
NOW AVAILABLE ON KINDLE
BURNING
December 12th 2085
What had he done? Jacob surveyed his handiwork—endless rows stretching into the distance of the underground German facility. Artificial sunlight bathed the muscular nude frames of his children—grown to maturity by specialized hormonal stimulation. The specified number—two hundred million housed in one thousand bunker labs here and abroad—lay slumbering day in and day out, waiting for the appointed time when the Master would make use of them in his grand scheme.
Jacob ran his fingers along the fiberglass bubble, tracing the outline—one of his creations. How had he managed such a feat? Not without the Master’s hand upon me, he thought. He recalled the night when he had first been summoned nearly ten years ago.
The digital clock had read 2:00am. His name had been called—Jacob was sure of it—loud enough to wake him from sleep. He sat up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and drool from his chin. Jacob’s wife, Elizabeth, slept soundly in the bed next to him.
Jacob.
The voice, deep and resonating throughout the entire house, seemed to emanate from the hallway leading to his bedroom. A low light, building in intensity, filtered through the space between Jacob’s bedroom door and its frame. Jacob started to reach for the revolver he kept in a shaving kit beneath his side of the bed. The door burst open, slamming so hard into the wall that it remained stuck in the fractured drywall.
A fire burned in the doorway from floor to ceiling, yet the house was not consumed. Jacob would have screamed for his wife to wake up, wondered why the smoke alarm wasn’t blaring at them, bolted through the adjoining bathroom to his children’s room to wake his sleeping twin daughters, but he remained transfixed upon the flames. The form of a man was walking toward him from within the inferno.
Jacob’s body seemed to be held in an invisible grip. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing anymore. “Hello, Jacob,” the voice said. Jacob knew it was the voice of the man standing within the flames before him, though it seemed to originate from everywhere at once. Jacob tried to respond to the dark figure, his eyes smoldering coals that were even brighter than the fire burning around him, but he could not utter a sound.
The odor of sulfur hung heavy in the room, rolling off of the shadowy man as he spoke. “I am your master, Jacob. You have been chosen to stand by my side as I bring peace to all the Earth. I will equip you to carry out my will in the days ahead.”
Jacob’s breath came to him for the first time since he’d seen the man. “What is your will, My Lord?”
“I will reveal my will to you at the appointed time,” the figure said. “Rise. Come to me, my child. Embrace the destiny I have prepared for you.”
Jacob’s body began to move. He felt as though he were in a trance, unable to keep himself from obeying the figure’s voice. He rose to his feet, walking across the plush carpet toward the raging inferno boiling in the doorway and the hall beyond.
The shadowy figure reached out his flame-covered hands to grasp Jacob’s head. The fire did not burn him. He couldn’t even feel the heat. The blackened hands gripped his face, the eyes bore straight into his mind. A flood of knowledge flowed into him, as though a dam had withheld the full capacity of Jacob’s brain and now it had been broken down.
His fists clenched, body taught under sustained tetanus, like electricity charging his entire thin frame. He felt terror, joy and every emotion between in a moment’s time. When the Master released him, the dark figure had gone. Only the flames remained.
Jacob barely noticed as the fire began to spread across the ceiling of his bedroom. He felt elated and drained—joyous at the embrace of Lucifer—his long time loyalty finally rewarded. Yet, a question nagged at the back of his mind.
He gathered his breath, hoping to maintain contact a moment longer. “How do I know this isn’t a dream?” Jacob managed.
“Offer me what is dearest to your heart and this honor will be yours forever,” the voice intoned. “Else I will bestow it upon another!”
“No, please,” Jacob begged. The flames licked the walnut bedposts where his wife slept. Neither his voice, nor the Master’s had disturbed her sleep. “I’ll give you anything you desire, only don’t take away your gift from me!”
“Very well,” the Master said. “It is done.”
The flames leaped upon Jacob’s bed, as though a bucket of gasoline had been tossed into the room, igniting midair, then engulfed Elizabeth. His slumbering wife woke screaming, thrashing among the covers, the flames clinging to her body like napalm.
“Elizabeth!” Jacob screamed. He plunged into the flames after her neither feeling the heat nor being singed by flames devouring his bride of fifteen years. However, his best efforts were in vain. Jacob could not stifle the fire raging all around them. In moments Elizabeth moved no more.
Jacob began to weep, even as the charred walls crumbled around him. His tears evaporated from his cheeks, yet his skin remained unblemished by the inferno. How could this happen? Why his family? Then he remembered them asleep in their beds.
Screams reached Jacob from the adjoining room. Not my babies, he thought. Jacob ran through the adjoining bathroom, still untouched by the fire, only to find the door unwilling to open. It had swollen into the frame. Smoke poured through the space at the bottom. He hit the door with his shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Janet!” he screamed. “Tiffany!”
“Daddy!” their voices howled in chorus.
Jacob backed away ten feet then threw his one hundred and seventy pounds at the door. It gave way, smashed to charred kindling. His twins were surrounded by the flames already. They threw off their bed covers as the fire reached out for them. “’Daddy!”
Ignoring the roaring blaze sweeping through the children’s room from floor to ceiling, Jacob grabbed his daughters up from their beds. He started for the door, but a wall of fire awaited them. The window had already blown out, and the flames had followed the oxygen, engulfing their escape in black smoke and searing heat.
His heart sank, realizing it was a three story drop. Jacob had no choice. “Hold on, girls,” he said. He rushed through the open doorway toward the hall. Everything beyond was consumed already. Jacob could hardly see. Everything had gone bright yellow to white in his vision. Still, he never felt the fire. Perhaps he had already been burned so badly that his nerves no longer functioned. He didn’t care. He had to save his girls.
Two flights of stairs later, Jacob descended to the living room on the main level and the front door beyond. The fire hadn’t managed to engulf this room yet. Jacob smiled. He paused only a moment to reassure his daughters. Even though their mother had been lost to them, they would make it. Life would go on.
They had come through a raging inferno. Jacob had used his last ounces of strength to get them this far, but neither of the girls responded t
o his voice. Great, bubbling blisters covered their faces. Their hands and feet had been blackened somewhere along the way. Despite his best efforts they were gone—sacrificed to the inferno of his own lust for power with the Master.
Twenty minutes later, when the city fire department broke down the door, they found Jacob sobbing next to the bodies of his adolescent children. The entire living room was engulfed in flames. However, when they pulled Jacob screaming from the nearly collapsed house, he didn’t even have the smell of smoke on his clothing.
The religious community had proclaimed his ordeal, though tragic, a miracle. Jacob had used it to great degree in order to travel the channels through the higher echelons of power. Status had its rewards. Jacob found all doors opening to him and his research into human cloning. Where he had failed before, he now succeeded. Impossibly complex scientific hurdles had been easily deciphered, seeming elementary to his newly enlightened mind.
Staring out over the vast army he had created through his research, Jacob wondered regretfully if his sacrifice had really been worth it. Then he looked at his hands, thinking of all he had been given since that time and all the Master had promised him for the future. Jacob Stein smiled. Yes—he had made the right choice.