Death's Mantle: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Revelations Book 1)

by J. A. Cipriano

  Something was licking his ear. The realization hit him like a roofie at a frat party. He pulled back in disgust, but the llama kept frantically licking him. The creature’s eyes met his own, and he realized it had been trying to awaken him after it’d knocked him down. He scrambled to his feet, nearly pinned beneath the llama’s girth.

  “Stupid llama!” he cried, shoving the beast away. “If you wanted me awake, you shouldn’t have knocked me unconscious!”

  It neighed at him and swung its head toward a doorway to his left, except there was no door there. The door lay across the room like someone had torn it from the hinges and tossed it back over one shoulder. An icy shiver trailed down his spine as he looked around, worry filling him.

  The llama moved past him, toward the main room, and because he had no idea what to do, followed along behind the creature. The banister on the staircase was cracked and in one spot, missing completely. The llama neighed at him from the bottom step, and Ian shook his head.

  “You want me to go up there?” he asked, not quite sure why he was asking a llama for advice.

  The creature seemed to smile as it thrust its face up toward the second floor. His gaze followed the llama’s motion toward a heavy wooden door directly across from the top step. It bore a heavy crack as though someone had struck it a bit too hard, and the sight of it filled it with panic.

  “How can this be happening?” Ian murmured half to himself and half to the llama as he bounded up the stairs, desperate to find his friends and make sure they were okay. As he reached the top step, a voice he’d never heard before filled his ears from the other side of the door. Heart racing, he took two quick steps closer and listened, trying to make out the muffled words on the other side of the door.

  “Change of plans, Bellum. Instead of using you as bait for the others, the master has decided to take you now. Even as we speak, Polyphemus is preparing to take the others.” There was a loud thud from within the room and purple light exploded from beneath the door.

  Ian flung open the door, the urge to help his friends suddenly overwhelming. No one was on the other side. The carpet in the center of the room had been reduced to ash. He took a step backward as smoke filled his nostrils. “Amy? Jesse?” he called, but there was no response as the window shade flapped in the breeze.

  Malcom 01:02

  Malcom leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling while his professor prattled on about data and Y-intercepts in an almost monotone voice that made it nearly impossible to stay awake, much less concentrate. The teacher was a tall, thin man with a head full of bright, clown-red hair. The longer he babbled, the more restless Malcom felt. He put his hands out on his desk and stared at them. Something was wrong, only he didn’t know what. He raised his hand, about to ask for a bathroom pass so he could go investigate when sheer, unadulterated panic exploded through his mind like a gunshot.

  He cried out in pain, his body lurching to the side as what felt like a million volts of electricity tore roughshod through his veins. As the feeling subsided, Malcom found himself lying face down on the dirty laminate floor beside his desk. Something was wrong, only he didn’t know how he knew that. Surely, he was just being an idiot, right?

  Malcom looked around as the rest of the class stared at him like he was a crazy person. The wrongness of the situation propelled him to his feet. Something was definitely wrong. He didn’t know how he knew, but right now, he couldn’t have stayed in class even if he wanted to do so.

  He bolted from the room, leaving the other students looking at each other in bewilderment. As he rounded the corner of the building his teacher stepped out and called to him, waving. “Malcom, what’s wrong?”

  He tried to reply, tried to focus his mouth on the making of words, but for some reason, he couldn’t. Kim was in trouble. The thought exploded through his brain as he threw open the hallway doors and burst outside into the freezing wind. He swung his head toward the archway on his left. That way! Toward the history building! That’s where Kim had class… She was in AP Government right now.

  When he reached the stairwell in the middle of the history building, his blood turned to ice and warning bells went off in the back of his mind. The urge to find Kim filled him from the tips of his toes to the top of his shaved head. He had to get to her! Now!

  Not heeding the warning for more than a second, he jerked the door open. Standing before him was an immense twelve foot tall man with metallic skin that gleamed like bronze. Golden armor straight out of some movie about Spartan warriors covered his back and shoulders. What the hell was going on? Was this some sort of prank? Anger rose inside him, drowning out everything in a haze of red.

  The man turned his head, glancing over his shoulder and narrowing his huge eye. He had one eye. This guy had only one eye and it sat, unblinking, in the center of his forehead.

  “So, you’ve come as well. Now I don’t have to go to the trouble of finding you,” the cyclops said in a voice that shook Malcom to the core. “That makes this easy.” He turned, his huge body swinging around so he filled up nearly the entire width of the hallway. Kim dangled from his massive, three-fingered hand by one arm. Blood dripped down her face, making her dark hair stick to her skin as the creature took a step toward him, a grin on his face.

  Something inside Malcom broke at the sight. Gone was his anger at her, at her deceit, at her cheating. It was all vanquished by a single, inescapable need. He had to save her. Fire burned in his veins, and he screamed. The building shook. The cyclops took a step backward, and a tiny bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

  “They told me you had not yet awakened, Mors,” the cyclops said, and there was a tremor in his voice.

  Mors.

  The creature had called him that. Why?

  Mors.

  The word stuck in his head, reverberating inside his brain and filling him with visions of an army of undead marching across the land, killing with swords and downing the earth in famine and pestilence.

  Malcom cocked his head to the side as a revelation filled him. It raced through him on pale chariots and left green fire in its wake. It told him one thing. He could kill this creature. He could kill… everyone.

  “Put her down, cyclops,” Malcom commanded, and the ground beneath their feet trembled.

  The cyclops shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Even if you came upon your pale horse, I cannot do that. They have my wife…”

  “I don’t care,” Malcom snarled and raised his hands in front of him. Pale green smoke began to pour off of them in thin wisps. “Take your hands off my girlfriend.”

  “No.” The cyclops’ features twisted in rage, a murderous snarl tearing across his face. His muscles throbbed under his thick, metallic armor, and his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  The creature spit. The thick gob of saliva hit the stairwell and slithered down. “You think you know what’s going on, boy?” The cyclops laughed, and the sound made the hair on the back of Malcom’s neck stand on edge. “You haven’t even awakened, and you dare challenge me? The great Polyphemus?”

  Something told him the creature’s name had meaning, that it should frighten him. But, it just didn’t because deep inside himself, he knew he could kill this monster. He just wasn’t sure why he knew that.

  The cyclops swung, his huge fist lashing through the air like a battering ram. The blow struck Malcom hard in the side of the head. The world went topsy turvy as he fell, hitting the ground so hard he bounced. Pain flashed through him as the cyclops reached down, seizing him by the back of the neck like an errant kitten.

  “I’ll just turn you both in. Two is better than one, after all,” the cyclops muttered. “That’s what they always say, right?”

  Smoke curled around Malcom’s hand as his vision went dark and shadowy. All the color drained away, leaving him awash in a world of black, white, and green. He reached up through the haze and seized Polyphemus’ wrist. The smell of sizzling flesh filled his nostrils, and the cyc
lops shrieked. Malcom fell, his body smacking into the linoleum floor with a wet-sounding thud.

  “How is this possible?” Polyphemus bellowed, shaking his hand as bronze smoke rose from his flesh. “You’re not supposed to have any power, yet. None of you are…”

  Malcom stood and took one step toward the creature. His hand burned like someone had shoved a fiery coal into his palm. He reached out, grabbing the cyclops by the belt and jerking him forward. Even though the creature must have weighed as much as a tractor, he tumbled forward, strangely weightless in Malcom’s grasp.

  “If you think, even for one single, solitary moment, I am going to let you take her, you have another thing coming.” Malcom grabbed Kim with his other hand and pulled her from the cyclops’ grip with as much effort as it would take him to knock down a cobweb.

  Polyphemus’s lips curled into a dog-like snarl, and for a moment, it looked like he would attack again. Malcom took a step back, swinging his body around and flinging the cyclops through the doors behind him. The creature struck the doors with a sound like rolling thunder and burst through them, sliding out into the light of the day and slamming into the concrete beyond with a heavy thwack. Green flame leapt from Malcom’s fingertips as he moved toward the doors to pursue the creature. He would finish this, would ensure the creature never bothered them again.

  “Put me down,” Kim whispered. Her voice was so faint he almost didn’t hear it. He glanced down at her and found her eyes full of fear. The sight made a chill run down his spine. He had been protecting her. Why was she afraid? Then another thought struck him. Was she afraid of him? Surely, not…

  “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to comfort her, and she retreated from his touch.

  She stared at him and he gritted his teeth. No, he couldn’t leave Kim now. Sure he might chase down the cyclops, but what if Polyphemus had a partner? No, he was going to stay with her.

  “What happened to you?” she asked, and as she said the words, something exploded in his brain. He fell forward, toppling to the ground as everything went dark and opaque.

  When he awoke, he was lying in the bushes outside his house. His left hand throbbed, but when he looked at it, everything seemed normal. Had he dreamt the whole thing? No, that was impossible. He’d been in class when the… when the cyclops attacked.

  He got to his feet and made his way toward his front door. He needed to call Kim and make sure she was alright. He took one last glance around the neighborhood, wondering if anyone had seen him collapsed outside the house.

  Seeing no one, Malcom opened his front door and froze. His shirtless father sat haphazardly on the black leather couch, his ebony skin blending in with the dark material so his head looked like it floated disembodied above the cushions. Empty beer cans littered the area around him. The volume on the TV was so loud Malcom could barely think as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

  His father peered at him for a moment as if he was trying to remember something important.

  “Boy?” he asked, slurring the word.

  “Yes, sir?” Malcom immediately responded as fear rose up like bile in the back of his throat. Only bad things happened when his father was drunk in the middle of the day.

  “Your school called. Says you missed some classes. Sounds real delinquent like to me.” His father stood, the motion pained and exaggerated. He pushed himself to his feet and lumbered toward Malcom. “I didn’t raise no delinquent.”

  He stood over Malcom now. His body reeked of booze and sweat. Unconsciously, Malcom took a step back and shuffled his feet. His heart pounded and his throat went dry as the horrible inevitability of his home life washed over him.

  Malcom stared at the stained green carpet as his father’s merciless gaze bore into him. His eyes were like burning torches, and he pointed one twitching finger at Malcom. His father’s piggish face squinted up in rage, fat jowls compressing into an eerie, thin-lipped smile.

  Without warning, his father lunged forward and slapped Malcom hard across the face. Malcom stumbled backward against the wall, but before he could move, his father grabbed him around the throat and pinned him against the peeling drywall.

  “Answer me, boy!” he snarled.

  “N-no sir, you didn’t,” Malcom stammered, mouth dry as fear drove all thought from his brain and tremors wracked his body.

  “What were you doing then?” His father paused for a moment as thought bubbled through his dark eyes. “Wait, I know. You were off with that slut again weren’t you?”

  “She’s not a…” Malcom’s words were cut off by another hard slap and his teeth rattled around in his skull.

  “No matter how many times I tell you, boy, you just don’t listen to me. No matter how good I try to raise you, you still turn out like this? Why was I cursed with you?” He was leaning in close now. Malcom couldn’t even look at him. His cheeks still stung from the blows.

  Malcom had heard this story before. About how his dad was some great football player, how all the schools, even the pros wanted him to play for them. Then Malcom’s mom had seduced him, tricked him into making her pregnant. She had ruined his dreams of becoming a great football star with the child in her belly. After that, he had been forced to slave away at a dead end job only to go out again every other night to load boxes onto trucks.

  That was how the drinking started. It started as a way to escape from his ruined life, a quick release. Soon, it became a necessity, something that slowly ate away at him and consumed what little money they had.

  Malcom looked up and saw the rage in his father’s eyes. “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to make you ashamed of me.”

  His father released him, his wrath fading away as quickly as it had come. “I just don’t want some girl to ruin your life too. I just want you to have what I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand what the world is like. What women are like…”

  Ian 01:03

  Ian wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring into Amy’s empty bedroom when his phone rang, spilling “Death Song” by Marilyn Manson into the once silent hallway. Without looking, Ian fished out his phone and answered.

  “Malcom. It’s really not a good time,” Ian told the phone as he brought it to his ear.

  “Ian, we have to talk right now. Where are you? Are you still at school?” Malcom asked, voice high-pitched and worried. He gulped into the phone. “Something’s wrong.”

  “No, I’m at Amy’s house. I think she just got kidnapped.” Ian turned away from the room and made his way down the stairs. The llama stared at him with big curious eyes as he made his way toward the front door. It hung open, one hinge ripped completely from the frame. The rest of the room wasn’t as trashed as he would have expected. In fact, all the damage seemed focused on the area leading up to the room where he’d heard the voice.

  “Why are you at Amy’s? Wait, no, never mind. Come to school and get me right now. I’ll be across the street at the pizza place.” Malcom hung up.

  Ian glared at the silent phone as he watched it fade to black. He made his way to his car and got inside. He threw one last glance at the house, wondering if he should call the police. No, he didn’t want to do that. Even though everything in him told him something was wrong and the police would only make things worse. He had to figure this out on his own.

  A few minutes later, he pulled into the pizza place in the renovated section by his high school. Up until just recently, it had been a giant parking lot. Then someone had realized it would be a good idea to fill the parking lot next to a high school with fast food restaurants. Now the place teemed with students.

  Malcom was sitting in one of the wrought iron chairs outside staring up at the underside of a large, faded-green umbrella. He waved when he saw Ian, but didn’t get up. Instead, his hands gripped the arm rest so hard his knuckles turned white.

  “Have you eaten?” Ian asked, his stomach rumbling as he got out of the car and walked over.

  “No. I… uh…” Malcom b
lushed and looked away.

  “You don’t have any money, do you?” Ian asked, not stopping at Malcom’s table as he moved past him and pulled open the door. It was only ten o clock but somehow he was starved. Thankfully, due to the weird lunch hours and breaks propagated by the high school, Will’s Pizza Palace was open.

  “No,” Malcom replied, scraping the metal chair on the concrete as he got up and came over. “But it doesn’t matter. We don’t have time to eat.”

  “I’ll buy you something if you like? I’m like really hungry, though I can’t explain it.” Ian pulled out his wallet, flashing a credit card at his friend. “Rich friend perk.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Malcom shook his head and Ian ignored him like always. “Really, there’s no time.”

  “Look. I’m going to eat something. Something weird is going on and it’s making me hungry enough to eat the paint off my car. Call it stress eating or whatever, but food is happening, now.” He turned toward the clerk and smiled at the blank-faced boy behind the counter. “A large pepperoni anyway and two Cokes, please.”

  He nodded and punched in his order. “It’ll only be a few minutes.”

  Ian nodded before moving to the side and filling their drinks. Malcom was waiting outside, gripping the table so hard his hands had turned white with strain. Ian dropped into the chair next to his friend and placed the drink in front of him.

  “I bought you a drink, but you can’t have any pizza. I’m not even sure I’m going to let you watch me eat it,” Ian said before taking a sip of his Coke, trying to focus on being as normal as possible because if he didn’t, he was going to freak the hell out.

  Malcom shook his head, staring at the soda like it was filled with poison. “Can we talk now?”

  “Yeah.” Ian sipped his drink, relishing the cold liquid in his mouth. Every sip made him feel calmer than the last.