by James Somers
He had wondered if that might be the case and had hoped the distraction would be enough to provide him a window of opportunity. It just wasn’t going to be that easy. Angels were simply too powerful. Their ability to manipulate the spiritual plane was unparalleled. Even the most adept Descendants were no match for them.
A thunderous cacophony resounded from the forest around them. In a surprising move, Grayson leaped upon the giant insect, bypassing the razor sharp forelegs. He wrenched the mantis’s head from its body before leaping away again. The insect’s body flopped about out of control, while the son of Lucifer walked toward Laish menacingly.
“You’ll regret that, old man,” Grayson said.
Laish attempted to knock the young man off of his feet with a shock wave. Grayson deflected it with ease, causing the blast to knock down several trees in its wake. He threw lightning bolts from his fingertips. Grayson waved it away as well with a dark smile on his face.
“Pathetic,” Grayson remarked. “Can you do no better than that? Where is the power of the great elf wizard?”
“Give me a minute, I’m working on it,” Laish said.
He whipped up a whirlwind which tore down the path toward Grayson, stirring up a cloud of dust, dirt and leaves as it pursued its course. Laish listened carefully. This might be enough.
Grayson laughed at the whirlwind, hitting it with a shockwave of his own meant to disorganize the wind and scatter its power. The maneuver worked exactly as he had meant it to. However, in the process, something had changed. When the cloud of leaves, dirt and debris began to dissipate, Laish was no longer where he had been standing and they were no longer alone.
Bears, fallow deer, mountain lions, horses, birds and beasts of every sort were charging out of the woods toward Grayson Stone. He turned and found Laish near his cottage already. The old man had managed to slip by him while he was dealing with the whirlwind.
The charging animals forced his attention back to them. Grayson threw lightning, hurled shockwaves and fire, but the animals kept coming. As the larger animals succumbed to his more brutal attacks, Hornets and other insects descended upon him. These were simply too numerous and small to be dealt with in the same way.
Grayson screamed as he was engulfed and stung repeatedly. Still, he was fending off the larger animals, trying to ignore the pain in his body. He could not get them all, and they appeared to have no fear of dying, no self preservation instincts at work now. All he could do was run.
He disappeared, but reappeared nearer the cottage as Laish slammed the door shut. The beasts came after him at his new location. “Enough of this!” Grayson shouted in his rage. He threw a massive wave of fire at the cottage, engulfing it in an inferno instantly. He generated a shockwave that knocked away the animals and insects around him as well as pummeling the burning cottage.
The cottage was swept from its foundation as though it had been hit by a tidal wave. The explosion scattered debris into the woods beyond, setting the forest ablaze. Still feeling the pain from many scratches, stings, bites, cuts and bruises, Grayson screamed out his rage again. Another fiery explosion took him from the place and hit the remaining animals who were still attempting to attack. What debris was left of Laish’s cottage remained, burning among the trees for several hours after. By dawn, nothing but ashes would remain of the elf wizard’s home.
Mayhem
Arthur Craven walked into McGivney’s Tavern, a drinking establishment that catered to the finer folk in Philadelphia. These were the well-to-do, the social elite like politicians and businessmen, bankers and lawyers. The place was packed on this Friday evening. It usually was at the end of the work week, and Arthur Craven stood out like a sore thumb.
If anything, Arthur’s appearance had only grown more grotesque since leaving the police precinct in flames a week ago. Moments after he shuffled through the door, all eyes rested on him. The entire tavern had gone quiet, after much alarm was passed from man to man. The only women present were waitresses wearing outfits that would have had every married man in the place divorced within a week. They were too shocked to scream.
Southresh had assumed total control over Arthur Craven’s body by now—not that there had been much of a fight to begin with. Craven had been weak, and the experience of having the mad god inside his mind and body had reduced what was left of him to a mental vegetable. His body wouldn’t even be able to breath without Southresh now.
He had obtained a suit—some meager attempt at blending in with the humans. Unfortunately for the mad god, he couldn’t keep himself from killing long enough to maintain a descent appearance. Misery was, after all, his favorite pastime.
The seams of his black coat were bursting in places due to the stress he had put on them. The cloth was tattered and dirty after only a few days wearing, mostly because Southresh had found that Craven’s body required sleep. He had slept in an alley one night and an abandoned building on another occasion.
His pants were split at the knees and he had no shoes upon his feet. footwear was simply too cumbersome to deal with, even for a fallen angel. Especially a fallen angel who enjoyed the feeling of blood squishing between his toes.
Craven’s shirt tales were no longer tucked, and its color was no longer white. It would seem that he had painted it with the lifeblood of every one of his numerous victims over the last few days. Between Craven’s dark hair having gone completely white and wild and the bloody hand-smear across his mouth, he looked every bit the mad man.
He stood near the end of the bar, teetering slightly like a drunkard. His eyes roamed over everyone in the room, holding them still with his power. These meat puppets, as he liked to call mortals under his control, were entirely unaware.
He grinned, displaying broken teeth. “I’m looking for a few good men,” he said aloud.
Craven laughed to himself, since he was the only one who got the joke anyway. There were no good men, least of all those drinking at McGivney’s tonight. These were the pillars of the city, moral by day and despicable reprobates by night. So long as no one knew their sins, what did it really matter?
It was precisely this fact that made them ripe for the picking. Like a lion seeking prey, Southresh recognized those who could be easily manipulated. It was time to carry out the mission Lucifer had given him. Time for some good old fashioned chaos.
Arthur Craven’s eyes closed where he stood. The wooden doors locked themselves behind him. No one was coming in, or going out for the next few minutes.
Every person in the tavern fell instantly under his dominion. Being separated from any spirit that could save them from his power, they reeled back and forth. Bodies flung themselves down upon the ground, across tables, against the walls and into one another. McGivney’s Tavern had become a great mass of writhing flesh, all of them suffering convulsions and seizures.
“Come take for yourselves those you will!” Southresh commanded in a loud voice.
He was not speaking to the people under his control, but rather the unseen devils already lurking in the establishment. Thousands of these lesser spirits had already been present, promoting the sort of behavior that had made these mortals susceptible to Southresh in the first place. Now, they forced their way into the physical bodies, inhabiting them, taking command of each human host through overwhelming numbers.
The mortal bodies stood up, here and there, as the spirits took control. Limbs jerked unnaturally, these devils trying to walk and talk through unfamiliar mechanisms. Insane cackling and roaring filled the two story expanse of McGivney’s main bar room. Politicians wearing three piece suits growled and drooled spittle upon the polished floorboards like ravening wolves.
Craven opened his eyes, smiling at his handiwork. “Descend upon the city my brothers,” he said. “Do what you will unrestrained.”
Shouts of glee rang out in McGivney’s. The opportunity to inhabit humans and run free didn’t happen everyday. This was a special occasion and these devils meant to make the most of it.
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nbsp; Several possessed individuals stayed in the tavern long enough to sabotage the lines feeding the gas lamps. Flames lit up one of the side walls, incinerating everything in their path. In seconds, the fire engulfed the main room. Ceiling fans only spread the inferno throughout the building faster. The local fire brigade would find several apartments located over the establishment that had been burned also with their residents still inside.
Arthur Craven shuffled down the sidewalk, savoring the cries of misery and woe coming from neighboring businesses and from those standing by in the streets. Some of this reaction was due to the fire. Much more was due to the one hundred and forty seven demon-possessed individuals who were now set loose on Philadelphia. In the coming days, the fire at McGivney’s Tavern would seem tame by comparison.
Grayson examined himself in the gilded mirror hanging upon his bedroom wall within his new mansion in Boston, Massachusetts. Despite having the same servants with him and a similar architectural style, he still preferred his ancestral home to this one. Stripped to the waist, he ran a finger over the lacerations he had received across his chest during his battle with Laish.
The wounds were healing fast due entirely to his heritage as a Descendant. These would become light scars by tomorrow. His welts were also diminishing quickly as his superior body absorbed the venom of the stinging insects that had attacked him in the wizard’s defense. Stinging more than anything at the moment was his pride.
How dare Laish think to refuse his offer? The old elf had obviously gone insane living out in the woods all these years with only forest animals to keep him company. After all, who in their right mind would reject the opportunity for such great power and dominion in this world? He did not understand it. Still, if Laish refused, there were plenty of others who would jump at the opportunity when it was offered.
A knock came at his bedroom door.
“Come,” he said, sending a thought to open the door.
A sprite waited on the other side. She floated into the room, levitating a few inches off of the floor.
“Lux, it’s good to see you,” Grayson said. He turned fully to take in her rare beauty. “How are your wounds?”
She paused across the room, looking at him curiously. “The physicians of my people have healed me. I’m told the repair could not be perfect, but I will live.”
Grayson smiled at her without reservation. “You are quite beautiful,” he commented.
Lux cocked her head slightly. “And you are not fearful of my power to control your mind?”
Grayson laughed. “Of course not,” he said. “Unless you’ve devised a method for mesmerizing angels.”
“Have you become such a creature?” she asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Grayson replied with a smirk. “I have become one with my father.”
“One with Lucifer?”
“Of course,” he said. “Who else?”
Had there been tension in the room before, it would now have risen tenfold. Grayson could sense Luxana’s anxiety when he revealed his new nature. She was afraid of him, and he thrilled at that realization.
When she said nothing further, Grayson grinned and turned back to the mirror, examining the bruises on his face. “Good thing for you he didn’t push that blade in a bit more,” he said. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“I’m fairly certain that he meant to spare me,” Lux replied.
Grayson laughed. “Of course, he did—the fool—he’s weak. Sparing your intended assassin, knowing they’ll only come for you again? Ridiculous.”
“Am I to go after Brody West again?” she asked.
A shirt appeared on Grayson. He straightened his tie in the mirror, considering her inquiry. “Perhaps, in due time, I’ll send you for West again. I’ve more important matters to attend to at the moment.”
Lux nodded, but answered nothing.
Grayson, mistaking her silence, added, “Don’t sulk about it. You will have your revenge. If nothing else, he and the others will come after me.”
“And in the meantime?” she asked.
“I have business in London,” he said.
“The pixies?”
“I’m curious to see what they’ve done with the city after thrusting out Tiberius and his Breed.”
“I can’t imagine they’ve done any good thing,” she said. “Pixies are despicable creatures.”
Grayson’s reflection grinned at her. “Maybe you should come with me.”
She shot him an icy glare. “My presence would certainly hinder any dialogue you hope to have.”
He cocked an eyebrow back at her. “Might just make things more interesting.”
Kron stood waiting for an audience with the newly inaugurated king of the pixies. Gillum was Og’s nephew from his sister. Og’s own son had been killed by goblins during a raid upon Thunder Mountain. Generally it was Goblins who raided others. However, pixies were hardly afraid of anyone. Despite their smaller stature, their pixie dust and large numbers usually gave them the advantage.
Kron stood inside the gutted lobby of what used to be a five star hotel in London. His few Lycan soldiers, taken from Wolf’s Bane, waited for him outside. Gillum was more paranoid than Og had been and he did not tolerate any dissension to his rule. This may have made him a powerful leader among his people, but it also made him disagreeable to deal with.
The elevator at the far end of the lobby descended behind a retractable steel gate. When it stopped, a pixie wearing a bell hop’s coat and hat opened the gate and motioned for Kron to join him in the car. He sighed, knowing he had little choice at this point.
With no army to follow him, Kron was at the mercy of the only ally he had left. He walked across the lobby with its torn draperies, and ruined paint and plaster. Snow was falling outside, but the pixies had fires burning unattended in every hearth. This five star hotel now housed Gillum and as many pixies as could fit inside it.
Kron entered the elevator car and waited while the bell hop pixie closed the retractable gate. He couldn’t help but think how ridiculous the pixie looked. And why bother taking this duty so seriously? It all seemed pretentious and un-pixie like to say the least.
Og and his clansmen had dwelt in the forests, living off of the land and those mortals they took from the human world. With Gillum in power, the pixies were attempting to civilize themselves. The irony, of course, was the fact that their new society was being built upon the ashes of human civilization. They now wanted to become like that which they had hated and had helped to destroy.
The elevator ascended all the way to the penthouse. Of course, that was exactly where Kron would have expected Gillum to take up his residence. The bell hop actually had the audacity to stare at him during the entire trip. Though he would have normally snapped the impudent pixie’s neck for such an aggressive stance, Kron kept his temper in check.
For the time being he required Gillum’s support. How else could he hope to take back the city that was rightfully his? The people had appointed him as their king in Tidus. Even if you disqualified the will of those who had appointed him, Kron had still killed the alpha and it was his right to assume control.
His alliance with Gillum would give him the army he required in order to march upon Tidus. Sophia and her new allies would not stand a chance against the pixie army assembled within the hotel. Only Lycans were immune to pixie dust. But even without such chemical weaponry at their disposal, the pixies had precious numbers to their advantage.
He could hear their raucous cacophony upon every floor as he and the bell hop ascended through the desolate hotel. The pixies were enjoying their spoils, feasting upon the remnants of Britain’s wealth. Those specimens he caught sight of were dressed in finery, though they had no idea how to wear any of it.
Male pixies gallivanted about in shredded evening gowns with strings of pearls and golden earring fastened here and there on their accouterments—a completely foolish shambles. They only comprehended that these items represented el
egance, and so they wanted them—a sign of their victory. They had taken from Tiberius and the vampires what they had taken from the mortals.
Kron watched them with disgust. He only felt contempt for any of these ruthless creatures. Apart from what use he hoped to make of them, they were repulsive imps whose rightful place was to be stomped beneath his boot. All in due time, he told himself.
The elevator stopped at the very top of its run. He could already see beyond the cage into the hall and the open vestibule of the penthouse itself. Half a dozen pixies guarded the entryway, though they didn’t appear to believe any threat existed. After all, who was left in all of London that could possibly oppose them?
Certainly, it wasn’t Kron. He could see it in their smug faces. They knew he was helpless now. Whatever he may have been briefly, Kron had only a few stragglers to his name. The pixies were at the top of the food chain and enjoying every minute.
The bell hop pixie retracted the elevator safety gate, allowing Kron to disembark. He stepped into the hall and, when none of the guards attempted to stop him, he proceeded into the penthouse itself. At the far end of the cavernous living room Gillum was seated upon a makeshift throne.
This consisted of a gilded high back chair positioned atop of a grand piano. Heaped around the chair and beneath it, overflowing the piano down onto the floor like an avaricious waterfall, lay the wealth of England. The royal crown jewels, as well as a vast amount of gold and silver coins and gemstones of every sort had been cast at Gillum’s feet. Upon his head sat a crown that may have once belonged to former British kings.
Gillum was lying lazily across a ponderous seat cushion with his legs draped over one of the armrests. A silver, gem encrusted goblet dangled in his left hand sloshing red wine onto his fortune. He smiled delightedly as Kron approached.