Abomination (The Path to Redempton Book 1)

by Kimbra Swain

  ABOMINATION

  PATH TO REDEMPTION SERIES BOOK 1

  Kimbra Swain

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Kimbra Swain

  Abomination: Path to Redemption Book 1

  ©2017, Kimbra Swain / Crimson Sun Press, LLC

  kimbraswain@gmail.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Cover art by Hampton Lamoureux @ TS95 Studios https://www.ts95studios.com

  Formatting by Serendipity Formats: https://serendipityformats.wixsite.com/formats

  ISBN (paperback): 978-0-9993609-0-3

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Vanessa

  2. Abigail

  3. Tadeas

  4. Vanessa

  5. Abigail

  6. Tadeas

  7. Abigail

  8. Abigail

  9. Vanessa

  10. Tadeas

  11. Tadeas

  12. Abigail

  13. Abigail

  14. Tadeas

  15. Abigail

  16. Abigail

  17. Tadeas

  18. Abigail

  19. Vanessa

  20. Tadeas

  21. Tadeas

  22. Vanessa

  23. Tadeas

  24. Abigail

  25. Tadeas

  26. Abigail

  27. Vanessa

  28. Tadeas

  29. Abigail

  30. Tadeas

  31. Abigail

  32. Abigail

  33. Tadeas

  34. Abigail

  35. Vanessa

  36. Tadeas

  37. Abigail

  38. Vanessa

  39. Tadeas

  40. Tadeas

  41. Vanessa

  42. Abigail

  43. Tadeas

  44. Abigail

  45. Vanessa

  46. Tadeas

  47. Abigail

  48. Tadeas

  49. Abigail

  50. Tadeas

  51. Abigail

  52. Tadeas

  53. Abigail

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  The students that we watched through the two-sided glass went through the steps of the martial arts’ forms or kata, as the instructor called out each step. He walked in between the rows. His dark green eyes were keen to each movement. With just a look, he could adjust an incorrect position or a lacking form. Each student tensed as he passed. None of them wanted to be on the receiving end of his ire even this late in the game. All of them were fine recruits. Rarely did he have a class where any of them failed to proceed to the next step in the program. The next phase thrust them into the real world on the streets, where they worked as canvas crews for the Agency.

  Standing next to my boss and mentor, we watched intently each move the instructor made. His name was Tadeas Duarte. The agency adopted him as a teenager and raised here in our compound deep in the Rocky Mountains. He was born in Guatemala. He was a natural fighter. His skills were formidable, but I found him mostly interesting because of his instincts. I’ve studied him over the past 2 years. First, it was just a general curiosity of his methods. I desired to know how he was so successful among all of our trainers in every facility. Then later on, my goals for the future changed. He wore a black moisture wick t-shirt, black cargo fatigues and heavy black combat boots. Each one of his students were dressed similarly. His dark skin and black hair glistened with sweat from this class session that neared closing for the end of the day. He believed in being just as active and involved as he expected each of his students to be. This garnered him the highest respect. If they didn’t give it to him, he would demand it of them eventually. That was a painful process, but necessary. Most of these students were orphans or street kids. They came from all walks of life and were of every creed and color on the earth. None of them had a future to speak of in traditional terms. We tried to give them one: a purpose greater than themselves. But lately the system failed, and we were losing more and more of them on the streets.

  The world had become increasingly deadly and violent. Technology spurred forward intelligence and infiltrated all of our lives. You cannot walk the sidewalk these days without bumping into someone texting or taking some self-absorbed picture to post to social media. We needed to adapt to the times. I decided to take it upon myself to start making changes in our organization. I had been here for years adapting with the times. But lately it we were lagging behind and changes still needed to be made. I started a whole new recruitment force for The Agency which focused solely on intelligence and technical warfare. The next world war won’t be fought on battlegrounds, but through our ever-increasing digital world. I needed to make personal changes as well. I sat on the sidelines for close to twenty years. Still doing my job, but pretending that the way I did them was enough. I could let all the other agents handle the outside issues. But it wasn’t enough anymore. As much as I hated the thought, I needed to be involved. One of my favorite quips has always been, “if you want to do something right, do it yourself.” Kind of conceited in a way, but I delegated way too much these days, and if I didn’t make a personal change, I felt The Agency as a whole would suffer. It might even cease to be. I wasn’t sure about that but my instincts told me to finally get off my butt.

  Mr. Duarte made his final remarks to the students and released them for the day. Several approached him requesting further instruction on fighting techniques. Most of them left to shower and rest. The program demanded of the students physical and mental acuity. Along with the physical training, we put them through rigorous weapons and computer training. He spoke to each one of them individually. Always stern, but open to their inquiries to better themselves.

  “Are you sure about this, Abby?” the grey-haired man standing next to me asked.

  “No. But I’ve done all I can do from this side of the glass. I need to get in there and see what he is really like. He needs a challenge,” I replied.

  Gregory Theodoard was the President, CEO and Founder of The Agency. Its front company was called Kenward, Blake and Shanahan, Inc. We dealt in financial, insurance, legal and intelligent services. But we ran an underground operation that had existed for hundreds of years. It has evolved over time. The time had come to evolve again. Mr. Theodoard had tasked me with this job. We have representatives in almost every state and country in the world. Overseeing the movement of governments and businesses, but mostly we monitor the things that the regular human beings don’t even know exist.

  “It's been twenty years. Why now?” he asked. It was not an authoritative question, but a question of concern. Mainly because he was my grandfather. Well, not my grandfather immediate, but more like great, great, great, and so on grandfather. He’s existed from the beginning of time. He’s gone by many names, but his task has always been the same. He watches the world and makes sure in some existential way that it keeps turning. There have been threats to the world beyond the human wars and pestilence that have broken out over the centu
ries. It’s our job to prevent those things from happening. He told me he could feel the tension escalating again. We haven’t had a global threat since the vampire uprising in 1964.

  “You gave me this task and I….”

  “You volunteered. Don’t put this on me,” he cut me off.

  “Yes, I volunteered. I even brought the whole thing up, but you know as well as I do that it needs to be done. And this is how I’m going to proceed.” I stated, unsure this was the right approach.

  His brow furrowed. He knew my stubborn streak matched his. I had very little family in this world, and he was one of them. He had plenty of offspring floating around the world. Most of them didn’t even realize their blood line would trace back to a Greek Titan, but nonetheless he and his fellow gods had seeded the earth with their offspring in order to fill it not only with the plain human population, but also to create those exceptional beings. Great artists, scientists, charismatic leaders, religious inspirations, great warriors not just on battlefields but on fields of play, each of them a bit of that special something. He turned to me. I continued to face forward to the two-sided glass. Mr. Duarte talked to the final student as one of the other instructors entered the training room and waited at the back wall. I sighed when I saw her there. I turned to meet my grandfather’s bright blue eyes. He waited for my full attention, well, as much of it as he could get at any given moment. I tilted my head waiting for his response. “Abigail, I trust your judgment, as I always have. But I won’t lie to you that I’m concerned about your approach to this one. There has to be an easier way.” I started to retort, but the look in his eye and a slight raise of his hand at his waist caused me to clamp my mouth shut and just listen. It was rare that he showed any sort of emotion. Especially concern or even love. “You are my greatest child.” Those words struck me. He’d never before spoken with so much pride for me. I knew he loved me, but it was never a spoken thing. He always pushed me harder and harder. To be better, to see more, to discern between the light and the darkness. He made me who I was. “I never want to see harm come to you, but this world is changing. I need you more than ever to help keep it safe, but I will admit some selfishness in that for the past twenty years you have been by my side here. I don’t like the idea of you going back out into the fray. However, I know it is necessary.” And with that he turned and left the room.

  Somewhere in the middle of that I had crossed my arms in front of my body, an involuntary reaction to his outpouring of concern. It made me uncomfortable and peaceful all at the same time. I turned back to the glass. I watched Mr. Duarte walking to the door of the training room with the woman. They spoke, and she smiled at him. He reached to flip out all the lights in the room and held the door open for her to exit. And as the door shut and the room went completely dark, I resolved myself in that moment to continue with my plan. The time arrived for me to act.

  Somewhere in the back woods of Mississippi, a group of business men and women gathered to watch a demonstration. Eighteen of the most influential in the world who had shared interests, joined together to watch an experiment that was intended to change the world. Our group, Geo-Enhancement Alliance, needed funding. We brought these people out here to demonstrate our abilities.

  “Mrs. Vaughn, are we ready for the test?” Mr. Mwenye asked. I looked up from my monitors and instruments and nodded my head to him. He stood in the midst of the potential investors and began his welcoming speech. We were in the middle of nowhere as we intended. We desired no attention from the authorities, human or otherwise. A light rain fell and the investors had small black umbrellas to hide under, except for one man who stood as if the sun were shining. They all watched Mwenye closely as he talked. The forest muted around us.

  Together, Mwenye and I, had worked on this project and found that even with our resources we would need more people to get the project kick-started. Through our mutual friends in the alliance, we had come up with twenty names of potential investors. Two of those declined our offer to even view the experiment. A group of four scientists stood behind me. They were the top in the world in geological studies. Most of them focused their research on mining and fracking.

  We stood in a clearing in the dense pine forest. The clearing was about 50 yards wide at its largest point. We stood in the center. It would be the safest place to be for this particular demonstration. After Mr. Mwenye greeted all of them, he nodded to me. I picked up an insulated silver case at my feet. I slowly walked toward him to be sure I didn’t jostle the case. He gently took it from me, and placed it on the ground. He was over 6 foot tall and slender. His jaw line drew a sharp line from ear to chin. His eyes were dark brown and almost midnight. His gaze cold gaze met my eyes. I bent down next to him as he opened the case. He muttered a few words and lifted the silver orb out of the case using a levitation spell. The orb hung in the air in front of him. The rain splashed all around the orb making visible the force field around it. I picked up the empty case, and walked back to my position outside the ring of investors. Mr. Mwenye is the world’s most renowned Necromancer, but all in all he is the most powerful wielder I have ever met. I am honored to be his student and lover. I have followed him around the world for almost 50 years. He gave me the gift of eternal youth. He discovered the secret to it many years ago. He shared it with me. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, however I knew he was well over 200 years old. As he explained the element to those around him, I began a small spell of protection around our little gathering. It was a basic thin ring around the entire group stretching about ten feet off the ground like an invisible barrier to outside forces. The rain still poured down from above, but I had no need to block it. The danger would not come from above. What we were about to attempt would be large enough to impress our guests, but not large enough to draw any major attention. This would be the fourth and final test of our theory, as well as a demonstration to show the powers that be what we have been working on for almost 45 years. I locked eyes with him, and he nodded.

  “Now my friends,” he spoke in the disjointed yat dialect of man who grew up in New Orleans, “Please steady yourselves for the test.” He put his hands in the air, and called skyward. He spoke in Mobilian, an ancient dead language spoken by the Native American inhabitants of this area of the United States. Its last known usages were around the time the French settled in New Orleans. I wasn’t sure where he learned it. He cast most of his spells in the language. He would not teach it to me.

  Below his feet, a small hole opened up and he threw his hands downward like slamming a shovel down into the ground. The orb flew downward into the hole and the earth closed above it. The crowd silenced for a few moments. I held my protection spell as they all started to look around. Mwenye stood staring at the ground. The potential investors started to mumble. Nothing happened. A couple of them leaned over and started speaking in low tones. I concentrated on hearing them even though they whispered.

  “Looks like Mwenye has finally gone crackpot on us,” one of them said to the other.

  “I can’t believe they dragged us out here to the middle of Podunkville, for nothing,” the other said. They both turned away, and started walking back to where we had parked their cars. It wasn’t my fault they were walking outside my protection spell.

  Then I felt it, a small rumble intensifying. One of the women gasped. The man next to her tried not to fall as the ground started to shake. I held my spell. Mwenye still focused on the ground below him. The two men outside my protective area stopped in their tracks and turned back to look at the group. Across the clearing I saw half dozen trees fall inward to the field. The investors looked panicked. I held my spell. The ground shook harder. They all tried to steady themselves by bracing one another. My computer was locked to its table, but the whole table shook. The four scientists behind me supported each other. To the east of us a large crack started to form in the earth. It started racing its way toward us as the earth began to open up. The crack headed straight for the two men outside the protective barrie
r. The earth opened beneath them, and before they could even scream it swallowed them both whole. The crack raced toward the group, and some started screaming. Mwenye looked up to all of them and said in Latin, “Pacem. Sile.” The group calmed as the crack reached the edge of the barrier. They all turned to watch it. I would have loved to release the spell, and let the earth swallow them all, but we needed them. We needed their money. The element we used was highly volatile and extremely expensive. As the crack reached the edge of the barrier, the earth ceased to shake, and the fissure stopped about 3 inches short of the barrier. I released the spell and sagged a bit from the effort. Mwenye nodded at me.

  “3.7,” I said looking down at my computer.

  And in his smarmy manner, Mwenye waved his hand in front of him and said, “And that my friends, is how you awaken a dead fault line.”

  We gathered our equipment and began walking back to the cars. Mr. Mwenye had given them a week to decide whether they were in or out. He spoke to several of them individually and quietly. Overall, it seemed to be a success. Only time would tell. As we pulled away in the black Chrysler, I looked back to see two other black cars parked on the old dirt road. Their occupants would not be returning. I smiled. Served them right to question Mr. Mwenye.