OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3

by Lisa Beth Darling

  The sharks and swordfish above flew into a frenzy when the vast amount of the Ketos’ blood hit their senses. They attacked each other without thought as they fought their way through the swarm to the bottom of the ocean and the wounded prey waiting to be devoured.

  Inside the wreck was dark, Raven resorted to feeling his way along the sides and rotting hull in search of an exit. The wood was rotted, covered in seaweed, algae and slime that buried into his wounds when the barnacles weren’t scraping across them to open them further. Not finding another hole in the hull, he groped his way to an ancient ladder and swam upward to the next deck, where he found a large crack of faded light seeping through the side of the boat. Making his way to it, holding tight to the belt in his teeth, Raven kicked at it as hard as he could until a hole big enough for him to escape through appeared.

  Emerging on the far side of the wreck, he swam over the top to see the monster still thrashing about in the hole. It was digging itself in deeper as it struggled to go forward in search of its prey. Ducking behind the old mast, Raven looked up to see the predators descending even as they warred with each other over who would get the most meat. Taking bites out of each other they swirled their way down to the exposed back of the oblivious Ketos where they began to feast.

  The sea monster thrashed against the prison of the hull holding it firm and fast as it was eaten alive by the predators of the sea.

  It wouldn’t be enough. Soon the monster would begin to regenerate its wounded missing parts and Raven knew he didn’t have much time. With the monstrous fish focused on the Ketos and each other, Raven swam up to them slowly and with great caution until his burning eyes fell upon the prey he sought.

  A large swordfish circled with the swarming frenzy. It had a razor sharp serrated snout to rival Ares’ best blade. Keeping his eyes trained on the brave fish fighting off sharks twice its size he shot out bolt of ice from his bleeding hands, targeting the fish around it. One by one they were encased in a block of ice that floated them to the surface and out of play. Some of the creatures sensed the danger and swam off but most were lost to the hedonistic bloodlust of the kill and were easy pickings. Raven delighted in letting the long streams of ice fly from his body, charging him and bringing him fully to life, until only the swordfish remained.

  With the Ketos continuing its thrashing the swordfish moved in for another bite and Raven propelled himself toward it while it was preoccupied munching on the Ketos’ tail. The rest of the sea monster’s body was already beginning to regenerate, the hunks of meat bitten so cruelly from its body were healing over before Raven’s eyes. Coming up behind the fish lost in its feeding frenzy, Raven grabbed it by the tail and then stretched out as far as he could to grab it by the snout. Clamping his thighs around its scaly body, squeezing them together for all he was worth and feeling his knees begin sinking into its sides, he reached for the snout with his other hand, gave it hard yank and twisted until it came off in his hands, leaving the great fish defenseless. Unstraddling the fish and letting it go off on its agonized way, Raven moved toward the trapped Ketos with the blade of the swordfish tight in his grasp.

  The old wood wouldn’t stand up much longer against the heavy thrashing of the Ketos; it was already buckling and threating to splinter. Raven felt the thrill of the kill fill him as he landed on the Ketos’ back just where it met the wood holding it firm, sinking into its flesh and letting out the precious blood that kept it alive. Careful to avoid the undulating barbs on its side, Raven tucked the weapon between his thighs, grabbed the belt from his teeth and wrapped it around the Ketos just below the space where its blue head met its pink body. Pulling it tight and heaving upward to hold the monster in place, Raven clamped down on the strap with his teeth and stood up as he grabbed the sword from between his legs and began sawing through its neck.

  Blood flooded the water as Raven hacked his way through the creature’s soft neck, calling back the predators that had earlier fled the scene. Holding the blade tight between both hands, Raven continued sawing straight through the bucking monster’s neck until its head split from its body whereupon he yanked it free of the space in the hull that held it fast for him. Grasping it by its flopping antennae, Raven made for the surface as he shot out bolts of ice to stave off the onslaught of frenzied sharks.

  Breaking the surface, he gasped for fresh air, expelling a massive amount of water from his lungs. He found the warmth of the sun shining down on his tired face and clear skies above. “Poseidon!” he called out to the sky and held up the head of the Ketos. “I have completed your Trial! Hold to your word, call me home, and Accept me as the Olympian I am!”

  IX

  Plucked from the serene waters of the deep blue sea, Raven appeared in the Council Chamber and slammed the Ketos’ head onto the table. Poseidon looked at it and stroked the white beard at his chin as he leaned heavily on his trident then ran his fingers over the clammy remains of the creature. “You have met my challenge, Raven, Son of Ares God of War and the Fey Magdalena MacLeod.” He reached into the sleeve of his robe and produced a smooth white stone that he held out and dropped into Raven’s open hand. “You are one of us, I, Poseidon, King of the Seas, Accept you as an Olympian.”

  “Gia Raven!” Ares cheered and the others echoed him in salute to the boy’s accomplishment. Once again, Ares collected up the sacks of gold on the table. “You’re making me rich, keep it up, boy.”

  Raven snickered but then looked up at Apollo. “You Uncle? Did you bet against me again?”

  “Does it matter?” Apollo returned.

  “No,” Raven said coolly, “I suppose not.” Raven couldn’t tell if Apollo was just keeping up appearances in front of the others or if he really was setting Raven up for a fall as Trinity advised in the Underworld. In private, they talked and drank for hours as they plotted and they planned their takeover of Olympus and the Mortal World. In public, Apollo hardly acknowledged the boy and Raven understood Apollo’s precarious position in their current situation so he let it pass. Now he was starting to wonder which was the real Apollo.

  “What did my Sister say?”

  “Artemis? You saw her, you saw my Mother fall from the sky, too?” Raven knew the story but he’d never fathomed the height from which Alena fell until he saw it and wondered how she even survived. He looked from Apollo to Eros and then to Ares. “She didn’t say anything.”

  “You must have sensed something from her,” Apollo snapped, “what was it?”

  “Are you calling me a liar, Uncle? She said nothing and I sensed nothing other than Artemis wanted my Mother to go to my Father and not be returned to you.”

  Ares stepped forward to interject, “What do you make of that, Brother? Our Sister wanted me to have Alena.”

  “That bitch is mine, Ares, and I’ll have her one day. You’ll see,” Apollo threatened before turning on his heels and marching out of the Council Chamber.

  “Keep dreaming, Brother!” Ares called after him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fire and Rain

  At his Father’s request, after Raven’s second Trial, Ares opened the Gates of Olympus and walked through to appear just on the other side and stand on top of the mountain looking down on the Mortal World. Taking in a deep breath through his nostrils, instead of crisp, clean, mountain air the rank odors of desolation, desperation, and revolution met him. “I don’t like this,” he stammered, looking out on the horizon feeling antsy, restless, as though he couldn’t stand still much longer.

  Believing it best to begin his investigation close to home, Ares snapped his fingers sharply. His normal battle leathers disappeared replaced by blue jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt under which he stashed several blades. With another snap of his fingers, he disappeared from the mountain top and appeared in midst of a riot in the streets of Athens. The ancient city looked like a war zone as tens of thousands of Greeks marched in the streets, shouting, ranting, chanting, and clashing with police lobbing canisters of tear gas into the crowd as
they fired off rubber bullets.

  Yet the crowd was not deterred, it wasn’t even dispersed as most of the Mortals brought gas masks with them, those without the equipment wore thick tight fighting goggles and heavy masks around their mouths and noses. Signs of protest decrying the poor state of their economy and the demand for change turned into weapons as the crowd turned on the police clubbing them with their signs in defiance. Rubber bullets bounced from homemade shields and stolen Kevlar vests as the angry crowd pressed its advance in a great swell of shouting bodies and fists raised in the air in solidarity.

  Police in full riot gear backed by heavily armed members of the military turned huge water cannons on the crowd hitting them with a spray of water forceful enough to knock those it hit off their feet. To Ares’ amazement, again instead of being deterred, the Mortals looped arms, they huddled in close together, holding on like a throng of ants crossing a raging river. Bodies in tight formation and heads down they walked into the powerful jets as one entity.

  Shots rang out.

  Ares couldn’t tell which side fired first only that once it started it didn’t stop. From the broken windows of damaged buildings, snipers shot at the crowd and at the police. Soon the melee descended into hand-to-hand combat with numerous tendrils of hand-held lightning zipping through the angry mob. The air filled with the acrid scents of gunpowder and fresh blood as the cries of the wounded and the dying tried to rise above the din.

  The tasers were less than effective as the crowd came to the event dressed in thick leather jackets and gloves if they didn’t have their own bulletproof vest. Most of the probes bounced off their targets and those that found their mark were quickly disarmed by snipping the wires carrying the electricity. Nearly being electrocuted seemed to make them angrier; small fires sprang up among the mob, arms cocked back, and flaming bottles flew through the air. When they hit the ground or the authority figures they didn’t just burst and spread fire, they exploded with great force, sending huge plumes of toxic black oily smoke into the air. Those unlucky enough to be caught in the fiery spray had no chance as the pitch inside stuck to them, allowing the fire to catch hold, spurred on to great intensity by the sulfur.

  The stench of burning flesh soon joined the battle charged air.

  “Greek Fire,” Ares muttered, watching the scene play out to its foregone conclusion. With nothing but numbers and sheer will on their side, the irate mob descended and closed in on the authority figures who began to retreat too late. The citizens of Athens got their hands on one cop, Ares watched him disappear into the swarm, heard his cries of agony, and saw the thick hot spurt of his blood spray over them like one of those water cannons. From there on, it was nothing less than the feeding frenzy Raven encountered on his last Trial. They rammed into the police and the military with their high-powered weapons and cut them down like dry wheat.

  Leaving the scene of the massacre, Ares traveled across Europe finding similar scenes everywhere he went. He noticed an odd thing; the farther north he traveled near the shoreline of the Atlantic Ocean the more a peculiar odor met his nostrils. It smelled like sickness and not the common-cold variety. Standing on the shores of England in front of the White Cliffs of Dover, he closed his eyes, disappeared from the sand and reappeared on the Island of Manhattan where he was met with a most unnerving sight; New York City had been laid to waste. Abandoned cars stretched out as far as he could see, clogging the once busy streets that were now empty. The cars were not empty like the streets, many of them still held the remains of their passengers now beginning to decay beneath the late October sun. More bodies were strewn in the streets and on the sidewalks, the stench from their rotting flesh was so strong, Ares had to hold his arm over his nose to keep out the aroma he might otherwise consider pleasant given his warlike nature.

  The grand buildings that once graced the skyline remained but not intact, most had their lower windows shattered along with their front doors busted wide open. This allowed reams of papers to fly out of office windows and litter the deserted streets. Storefronts containing any type of food market, precious gems, or weapons were completely obliterated. All of them appeared as though some angry mob simply knocked out of the front walls trampled down. Inside, their caches robbed, their shelves empty, completely devoid of a single scrap.

  On nearly every intersection sat an abandoned tank. Many intersections had been blocked off with barbed wire and makeshift barricades to deter and to detour people from certain areas. In the end they were of no use, abandoned and empty, stained with blood, and most having their occupants lying dead at their treads. He thought of the riot in Athens and realized the same had happened here only it was bloodier on the streets of New York City. He understood that the same fate which claimed this city was headed across the Atlantic to do the same on the other side of the world. Something drove them all mad, something before this outbreak of disease banded them together and caused them to rise up against…what? The government? Each other? He didn’t know.

  Not believing the utter carnage stretching out block after block, Ares slowly walked through the war-torn streets of the new New York City. In Central Park, the grass was higher than his knees as it hid a plethora of corpses he tried not to step on or trip over. Entire families sat huddled together at tables and on park benches; dead. All of them from the smallest infant to the oldest grandfather, they chose a peaceful place, a place that held a special memory for them, to come and spend their last few precious hours on Earth knowing their end was at hand. The small lake in the middle was brown even though the sky overhead was a brilliant blue. Ares imagined they’d dumped dead bodies into it until it couldn’t hold any more.

  With a heavy heart, Ares continued walking through the once grand and bustling city to Times Square, now nothing more than a mass grave clogged with more abandoned vehicles, some crashed, but most waiting neatly in their lanes as they headed toward the Lincoln Tunnel and New Jersey but they never made it. Over that way the blue sky was filled dense black smoke rising in a death shroud that hung over the horizon. Although he was going that way, he didn’t have to see the source to know that hundreds, probably even thousands, of bodies were burning upon a pyre somewhere over there. The smell was wretched.

  Here in the square for some reason the electric billboards were still running, still advising him to Drink Coke—It’s the Real Thing, he doubted he could find a Coke anywhere anymore. The LED lights told him to invest with the NASAQ, and take in the latest hottest Broadway plays. Ares doubted those plays were still running seeing as how the date scrolling by on the news ticker read September 21st, that was a mere three weeks ago. The ticker told him that the monumental epidemic caused by the weaponized disease called Major Falls had claimed 19.5 million American lives and was rapidly making its way through the city. Everyone should stock up on supplies, stay inside, keep their doors and windows locked to avoid contact with any contagious persons. Per orders from the Centers for Disease Control, the entire Island of Manhattan was closed down and under Martial Law. No one in. No one out. Anyone with the disease was to report the Lower East Side for Quarantine. All dead were to be burned immediately along with all articles of the departed’s clothing and bedding. The industrial incinerators at several buildings around the city were turned into crematoriums to serve this purpose.

  “What the fuck happened here?” Ares grunted, looking around in bewilderment. The last time he was here was a while ago, that was true, but there had been 3 million people living in this city—now it was little more than a glorified ghost town. Major Falls must be one hell of a contagious and deadly disease to claim so many lives so quickly. It appeared to Ares that the disease had made its way to Europe, jumped the Atlantic Ocean, probably on an airplane or freighter and was now beginning to claim lives on the other side.

  Looking up as the ticker went by the words stopped, the lights shut off a moment, and then came on again to show him a single image twenty feet high.

  “What the hell?” He stood there wit
h his mouth agape taking in the image and then it disappeared. He was once again advised to stay inside. It was the first time he saw the sign but it wasn’t the last; on his way to the tunnel he saw it plastered on the sides of buildings—mainly now-defunct financial houses of one sort or another—spray painted it deep red and black. He found it on bits of paper blowing in the wind, flyers of some sort telling him that ARES was there to protect him. “Am I now?” he asked, snorted, crumpled the bit of paper in his hand and then tossed it back to the wind. Each time he saw his name paired with the raven it boiled his Ichor and made him wonder who was behind it.

  Coming up to the clogged entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel, Ares found that Martial Law was not a deterrent in this matter. The empty tanks that had probably been neatly lined up before the tunnel were burned almost beyond recognition except for the gun turrets, some of them had been turned over on their sides to get them out of the way. Ares could scarcely imagine the strength and determination of the civilians who’d pulled the soldiers out of the safety of their moving weapons to slaughter them in the streets and get the mammoth vehicles out of their way.

  Walking through the remains of the melee, the putrid stench of decay hit him as hard. Ares turned his head to the side and puked on the sidewalk. It smelled as if they’d been baking in there for weeks. Deciding not to make the journey through the tunnel but rather to use his powers to get across New York Harbor, Ares appeared on the far shore in New Jersey where the scene wasn’t any better.