Fallen Angels (Dystopian Child Prodigy SciFi) (The Unmaker Series Book 2)

by Casey Herzog

  Dante cried out in pain as a staff smashed his ankle, and the Healer fought to drag himself away before a second attack hit him in the spine. The Dreamers were enjoying themselves, raining powerful blows down on him with their heavy staffs. Dante barely managed to turn in time to see them coming.

  He was smiling.

  “There’s nothing to enjoy, kid,” Beth snapped. “You made a big fucking mistake by thinking you could walk away from us like that. We’re not—”

  “Ye sure do talk a lot, woman,” Keith purred from behind the pair of fighters. Andrew was too slow to use his powers against the small boy.

  CRACK. Keith hit King so hard with his staff that the weapon cut right through the older boy’s guard, breaking both poles in half and flying straight through, smacking Andrew in the wrist and audibly cracking a bone. It had been a savage attack, and King flew several feet off the platform and onto the hard ground below.

  “Thanks for waking me up, Dante,” Keith growled.

  The boy with the strong accent threw himself at Beth next, stabbing with one of the remaining halves of the staff, but she dematerialized and dodged it, catching his arm in the air and pulling him off his feet. The two of them grappled across the floor in ugly fashion, and he slipped a hand around her throat to strangle her as she stretched her hand to grab at a jagged piece of her leader’s broken staff to one side of her fallen form…

  “No,” Dante said, stamping on her wrist and raising a hand at her face with fury. A current raced down his arm and a soft light began to form in the palm of his hand. There was a collective gasp all around, and Webster stepped forward.

  “Don’t, Dante. Enough. The fight is over.”

  The Healer stood there for a second longer before removing his foot and walking off the platform and back into one of the concentric circles. Webster looked at each participant with a sort of newfound pride, and nodded at each in turn as they returned to their spots.

  “You impressed me, boys and girl. I’d like to congratulate you for that fight. It was enjoyable. Messy, but enjoyable. You’ll have a chance to improve. The rest of you better have watched. Your fellow students gave their all. I hope you do the same when it’s your turn. Anyway,” Webster waved with a grimace, “Class dismissed. I’m tired of looking at you.”

  “Sir,” Dante interrupted as his classmates began to depart the area, and everybody stopped to see what would happen next. “You said you’d announce the rewards for the winners? Who won in your eyes?” A half-smile became visible on his face, despite his attempts to look unfazed.

  Webster looked at him strangely and glanced at the Dreamers as they disappeared into the surrounding forest. Neither Andrew nor Beth bothered to turn back to their professor or rivals.

  “If you’re still asking that question, you’re a massive fool — you were not the only one holding back in that fight.” Silas Webster turned away and began to walk in the opposite direction towards the line of trees to one side of the forest. “Nobody has won yet. This is only the first round, and the rules on lethal force may have put your rivals off. Be prepared, the next fight may not have any rules at all, and I won’t be there to save you…”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Who Are You?

  Captain Fillmore crossed the yard and inspected the damage. It had been hours since the small-scale riot had broken out: a chaotic event that had led to the entire prison population being relegated to their cells for longer than usual, but it had served its purpose.

  The patrol officer rested against the fence, disguising his act of testing its weak points to a groaning, tired stretch. His fellow patrolmen had done well. There were several burned sections of ground where they had started fires, more importantly, a section of the metal links keeping them inside had been weakened in a discreet manner; almost an imperceptible flaw in the fence material.

  The guards had been ruthless in their suppression of the riot, but Fillmore pitied them. More similar events would take place with increasing frequency as his plans developed. There were fences to test, and the guard reaction time itself needed to be properly measured. It was only the first stage of the escape set to take place. The second stage would come next, a period in which resources would be obtained quietly from the guard’s quarters and towers, but the captain didn’t wish to think about that just yet.

  He gave a soft nod and saw Callum wink back. It meant positive signs from the both of them — the captive soldier had also been inspecting a section of fence himself. A few other prisoners, all privy to the plan, spotted the gestures and shared knowing looks.

  Fillmore knew there was just one more thing to take care of for now, something that could be an obstacle further ahead. He left the fence and walked to a stone bench near some rudimentary exercise equipment, where a man surrounded by a handful of thuggish mercenaries lifted concrete weights. The tall figure’s piercing blue eyes narrowed in suspicion as he pulled a heavy barbell up to his neck and lowered it back down again in succession. He paused, dropping the bar to the ground and taking a step closer to the captain as he sat.

  “What do you want, alien-sympathizer?” The Whisperer bent over, holding his face only a few inches from Fillmore’s. The tension rose instantly, a consequence of previous events that had brought both men to the prison. The blue-eyed, stone-faced mercenary would not easily forget how the patrol captain had killed most of his men with an alien vessel.

  Fillmore’s mismatched eyes, one blue and one green, stared back at the mercenary’s without blinking.

  “I noticed you have forgiven my friend Callum for his acts against you and your soldiers. Why do you still hold grudges for those acts against me, then?” He attempted to sound amiable, but it wasn’t easy. The blue-eyed man was an enemy, regardless of the relationship they could end up having situationally, out of convenience.

  “Because I despise the aliens. You clearly owned that ship, and it’s the reason we’re all here. I don’t know what role your people have in this world, but it surely ain’t just the protection of the University. I’m absolutely sure of that.” The man straightened once more, sneering down at Fillmore, “And I haven’t forgiven anybody. It’s a matter of staying alive.”

  “What if I could offer you that and more?” The captain asked. “I don’t want you in my way, Whisperer. We all have a common enemy and you know who that is.”

  The Whisperer turned instinctively to the block beyond them, staring straight at the cell that contained…him.

  “What’s your offer?” The men standing around seemed equally interested, but Fillmore knew better than to talk such matters in public.

  “We will talk about it soon,” he said, standing slowly and turning away from the group, “In private.”

  Annoyed mutters followed him as he walked, but from the last look on the Whisperer’s face, Fillmore knew that he’d already progressed in pulling the deadly mercenary to his side.

  Just as planned.

  That night, the captain sat in the darkness and thought of what was coming. He was no stranger to battle, but the escape from the prison would cost a lot of lives on both sides, and the Coalition would never forgive or forget his role. The next time he encountered them, it would be instant execution. As opposed to the prolonged one I’m waiting for now. Fillmore was no fool; he knew what was coming. It was the main reason he was making things move so quickly. If I die, I want it to be in combat. Not by a Coalition bullet to the head in a cold, underground chamber, thank you very much.

  His mind returned to the Whisperer’s words: ‘I don’t know what role your people have in this world, but it surely ain’t just the protection of the University. I’m absolutely sure of that,’ the man had said with a certainty beyond a doubt.

  “Are we that obvious?” Fillmore chuckled quietly. The patrol was a protection force for University and certain other lands surrounding — and beneath — it, but it was true that it was not their sole purpose as an armed force. Their purpose was one much more deadly…

  H
e sat up immediately, lifting his hands up in a fighting stance, although he could do nothing if a real threat had appeared. The silhouette of a large man stood in front of him, right outside his cell. He cast a dark shadow on Fillmore, and the captain shivered slightly despite himself.

  “Captain,” the shadowy giant said with a soft, booming voice.

  The captain stood up slowly but kept his distance from the cell bars. If he was going to die, he was going to do it like a man.

  “What is it?” His eyes darted from side to side. No guards were visible, and no prisoners seemed to be watching the exchange. It’s a dark night too, damn it.

  “I need to speak with you about something.” The man rested an arm on the cell bars, keeping the other low by his side. As if he’s carrying a weapon, Fillmore realized. “I’m in on your plan.”

  The captain didn’t react. He knew he needed to remain calm. It wasn’t an assassination attempt, clearly, but it could turn out to be worse for him.

  “Okay,” he said. “So what now?”

  The man in front of him shifted.

  “I want to be part of it.”

  “It’s still in development. There are still a few phases to go through before we’re out of this prison—”

  “No, my friend,” the figure chuckled, “You don’t understand. I don’t just want out. I need guns. Gear. If you want to escape, I can help, but my priority is not the break-out itself.”

  Fillmore cracked his knuckles and tilted his head. He didn’t like the way this was going. The mysterious figure was being diplomatic enough, but his tone indicated unspoken threats. Fillmore’s eyes looked the man up and down in the darkness.

  “Who are you, stranger?”

  The large man’s free hand rose up and grasped the bars of Fillmore’s cage. It made a clang against the steel. The man himself turned slightly to allow what little light there was to fall on his face and illuminate it. It shone with a metal sheen.

  “You’ve known all along; why even ask?” Lord Russell of Lawlessness chuckled.

  And then he stepped away and was gone, just like that, leaving the patrol captain shaken. He swallowed and approached the cell gate. The corridor was empty, not a single prisoner or guard in sight. Russell had disappeared into thin air, and it seemed as if only Fillmore had realized he’d left his cell at all.

  With a sigh, the captain stepped back and rested against the back wall of his cage. A bad feeling crossed over him like a dark storm cloud overhead.

  His plans had just taken a sudden turn for the worse.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Recovery

  Dante sped up and returned to the First Term Building alone and with conflicted feelings. On one side, he felt the pride of having beaten the Lucid Dreamers in close combat in front of a crowd, but on the other, he kept returning to Webster’s final words about King and Liquidus — Andrew and Beth — holding back somehow. It was a chilling thought if it was true. After all, there was no reason to have fought with a metaphorical hand behind their backs unless they planned to unleash their full capabilities on him later.

  Keith and the rest caught up to him before he could reach the entrance hall doors, and Dante noticed the boy was ecstatic at the battle’s outcome.

  “That was amazing, yeah?” he said with a wide grin, and Dante smiled at his innocence. “The way ye woke me up like that in the middle of the one-sided fight…I didn’t get to see yer moves but wow, ye musta’ given ‘em hell until I was there to ‘elp ye!”

  Dante simply nodded, not sharing the excitement.

  “Yeah, it was a tough fight. We’ll see each other later on; I have to deal with something right now.”

  He didn’t let the other boy answer and quickly turned down another corridor. There was something bugging Dante, absent from his mind until then. Roberto. The boy had almost died saving his life, and the Healer hadn’t even returned to check up on the lad. Only now that he’d been forced to fight for himself did he realize how important it had been that the heavy teen had been around to protect him when the mess hall attack took place. It was almost how I protected Keith in the forest, except that neither Andrew nor Beth was trying to kill us…not yet at least, Dante thought.

  With a quick glance around, the Healer pushed into the train station exit, finding it as empty as he’d expected it to be. Not a single soul stood on the platform waiting. It was as Mya had said — new students were misled into thinking they weren’t allowed to use the train. A cruel misconception, Dante considered.

  The cool draft of the underground tunnels caressed the Healer’s face as he began to ponder his next move after visiting Rob. There were benefits to sticking close to Keith and the rest, though he hadn’t wished to be surrounded by people so soon. The boisterous boy was also surprisingly strong, probably a by-product of some ability he possessed.

  Was it time to form a group? Dante rubbed his eyes and felt the pressure drop of the train approaching. It arrived a moment later, a single male professor stepping out of one of the passenger cars and looking strangely at Dante as he stood there.

  Dante stepped inside the train and looked up at the screens. To his horror, they were broadcasting a short scene from his battle in the forest, but it quickly ended, and the female reporter moved on to other news. So it’s just cheap entertainment in the end, he thought bitterly. No wonder Webster wanted it to be so formal.

  “Good fight,” a woman said from nearby, and Dante nodded at her. She was older, a higher-ranking professor of some sort, and she got off at the next station. The Healer soon found himself smiling despite his dark mood, and he wondered what effect it’d have on his already inflated reputation. I don’t like being the center of attention, but it just seems that everything I do here causes more and more people to follow me.

  The soft chime of the doors closing made Dante turn, and he realized he was about to miss his station.

  “Wait!” he cried uselessly, as he threw himself at the closing doors, stumbling and falling out of the train like a fool. Several people watched him pick himself up, and an older student in his twenties scoffed.

  “Newbies, they get dumber and younger each year.”

  Dante scowled and stood, dusting himself off, and climbed the steps of the station back to the building where he’d been kept for his recuperation. When he emerged on the main passage of the building, however, he felt compelled to run back down to the train and return from where he’d come.

  There was activity everywhere, and he caught sight of familiar dark, formal robes swishing past him as an entourage of elegantly-dressed men and women followed. Brant Albridge and the Chosen, Dante knew. The Spiritual Leader and his people were flanked by reporters and men carrying high-tech cameras and microphones that came out of backpacks on mechanical limbs. The Healer recognized a reporter from the University news outlet he’d been watching on the train, a young girl who looked more like a student than anything. She seemed to be asking Albridge several questions, which he answered with short, curt replies.

  “Come on, don’t you dare look this way,” Dante whispered to himself as Brant strode down the corridor, worrying the man could be disappointed in his continued involvement in controversy. Of course, one of the women next to the Chancellor whispered into his ear, and he turned.

  “Dante Castello,” the old man with the pleasant smile said, looking the Healer up and down as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a while. In truth, it had just been a day and a half since he’d talked to the man in private — or actually, the man had talked to him. It had been the most intense conversation Dante had ever had.

  “Chancellor Albridge.” He stretched his hand out, but the Chancellor ignored it and put an arm around the boy instead.

  “What an excellent moment to come across you, my boy,” the old man said with joy, gesturing to his Chosen and the people filming them. “We are taking part in a special report for the University’s inner channel, and I think you would make an excellent addition to it.”


  Dante scratched his head awkwardly, but ended up faking a flattered smile.

  “Sure, why not?” Only then did he remember the Chancellor’s gifts, and he swallowed nervously. The man was dangerous, that much was for sure; he possessed the ability to read thoughts and look into the memories of anyone he wished. Dante was unsure if Albridge could do it right now if he so wished to, or even if he was reading his thoughts as they reached his mind, but it was an extremely potent ability to possess. One of the Chosen had the ability to shield, another to conceal identities. They were a formidable bunch. Only then did it occur to Dante that perhaps Albridge would want him to join his entourage at some point, and it made him both proud and terrified at the same time.

  “Stand beside me, then,” Albridge said quietly, not showing a single sign of having delved into the Healer’s mind to witness the doubts and fears within. “We can include the child, yes?” he asked the reporter, and she took a second to think about it before nodding. Wouldn’t be wise to say no to your boss, Dante thought with amusement.