Daimonion (The Apocalypse Book 1)

by J. P. Jackson

  Marta, the pudgy, overprotective mother, hid her child from the rest of my kind using more of her words written on paper. She held in her hand a leather-bound book and found the page she needed, ripping it from the spine as she had done earlier.

  “Невидимий!” As she spoke, a tear rolled down her cheek.

  On a separate piece of paper, she wrote the address of a different child, the one who would replace hers.

  And so that night, I became healed, found an alternate child, disobeyed my Master, and kept that dirty little secret hidden for a very long time.

  A Night’s Harvest

  DATI

  Regularly and without warning, Master would send me searching for one of our lost children. Each time, the information on where to go would be delivered without his presence. Sometimes a map with a section of the city would be left propped up against my bed pillow, other times something as mundane as a letter would be sitting on top of my food inside the refrigerator. Regardless, it always spiked dread within me. The hunt for another tainted soul had begun.

  This went on for years. Nothing ever came of my deal with the Healer: no swift violent retribution, no punishing torture sessions for straying from my task. I had gotten away with betrayal and disloyalty, and I held those treasonous actions very close.

  But regardless of what I wished for, and despite the seeds of mutiny that made my hands tremble each time my demon talons reached out for their next victim, the regular notifications continued to arrive, although the method of arrival always disturbed me slightly. It was a reminder that Master was ever present, even if he wasn’t physically close.

  A scratching noise came from behind me while I ate my dinner by candlelight. Dinner at the table—a ridiculous ritual on my behalf, a way of imitating the humans that I had become fond of. I carefully put my knife and fork down, nervous that Master watched me right then. He’d have some form of horrifying punishment ready if he discovered my affection for humans.

  At first, I wasn’t sure where the noise came from. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting Master to be standing right there, but found no physical being making the noise, which left me wondering if some of the Disembodied had crept into my abode. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  But upon rising and turning around, the origin of the clawing sounds became evident. Street numbers were slowly being scrawled into the wall’s surface behind me, and as the numbers were drawn, the lines ran red as if scrawls had been engraved into flesh instead of plaster.

  I threw the silk napkin over my dinner, which was mostly uneaten, and sat down heavily, held my head in my hands, and sighed in relief. At least some bodiless creature hadn’t penetrated my home, but the reprieve was stained with the knowledge that I had to steal the innocence away from another child.

  I hate this.

  The numbers completed themselves, and I took note of them, the address a familiar locale. Leaving my uncooked slab of meat behind, along with the flickering candles, I made my way towards the door.

  I had lost my appetite.

  I STOOD IN a city suburb near the trunk of an old willow tree, attempting to hide beneath its numerous weeping branches. Each house in the neighbourhood was built at least in part with stone, and no two houses stood alike. Turrets flanked the corners of the home directly in front of me, with ancient ivies rambling up the stone, anchoring themselves with little tendrils as they wound their way towards the roof. I had been in this neighbourhood before, and in fact, within the house that I stood in front of.

  My barbed tail twitched in anticipation of what was about to happen. I had grown to loathe this duty, the endless searching, plodding up and down empty neighbourhood streets attempting to find the beacon.

  Looking up at the castle-like house in front of me, I could see the slowly pulsating balefire emanating from a bedroom window. Its radiant glow illuminated the lower half of my body as my tail swished back and forth. I pulled myself deeper into the shadows and away from the light. I grimaced, my heart ached, and my gaze dropped to my talon feet. My body reacted instinctually, transforming into a demonic beast from the human form I cherished.

  “I’m so very sorry,” I mumbled to the child from where I stood, peering out from behind the sagging branches. A slight gust of the night’s autumn wind blew through the mighty tree, gracefully swaying its limbs. One gently brushed my shoulder as if to comfort me, as desiccated leaves tumbled down. So many years of this had worn me thin, and I despised the one who made me do it.

  The family’s teenage daughter had returned home late, far past her curfew, leaving the back door open for me. Slinking through the dark house, an unwanted intruder, I passed by the girl’s bedroom. Her door was ajar, and she peered through the crack at me. Long hair hung on each side of her head, and her dark eyes were framed by furrowed eyebrows. She wore the tiniest of smirks. She watched me pass by and then quietly closed her door. I had harvested her years earlier. Now, it was her brother’s turn.

  Finding the boy sleeping in his small bed, I inspected his peaceful and tiny form, caressing his fine blond hair. I scratched the toddler, who couldn’t have been more than three, on the back of the neck, slicing the skin open. The sticky venom dripped off the tip of my rakish nail and dropped into the wound I had opened. The flesh instantly blushed red, swelling in response to the foreign substance. In time, a cluster of freckles in the shape of a spiral would form, encircling the incision I had made. I took a moment to stroke the boy’s hair, then quickly fled the scene.

  From beneath the tree, concealed in shadow, the demon-light flared brilliantly. The quiet evening was suddenly pierced by the child’s anguished shriek.

  The last stage of the venom infection was now complete, releasing his inner evil. He called for his parents and sobbed. Guilt welled up inside me as my mind painted a picture of what was happening to him. Tears streaming down his face as the pitch-black venom coursed through his veins, making him slick with sweat and unleashing terrors deep within him, his parents rushing to his bedside to comfort the child. But tonight would only be the beginning of many in which night terrors would be the norm. Nightmares involving monsters who would taunt him from the shadows cast against bedroom walls. The closet would house a Pandora’s box of fiends, beasts from Hell who were just waiting until the lights went out to feed his dreams. Gradually the demons would twist his mind into accepting darkness as the norm.

  My venom had worked. His demon blood was now active. I felt dirty.

  There was a small chance that the child would escape, that during puberty the hormones emitted with the maturation process would negate the venom. If this happened, then he would not darken. He would be spared from being one of my brethren. I hoped for that, for him. But then he would be Nephalem, one who could sense us, feel our presence, and sometimes even see us for who we really were. Once the venom courses through the blood, he could never truly be free, but perhaps he wouldn’t be one of us.

  But this is what I am bid to do. I am Dati Amon, a D’Alae, and we gather back the children who belong to us.

  My task was finished for the evening. My limp tail wound itself around my leg, as if it was ashamed of me. I brought my wings in tight, slinging them over my shoulders like a cloak. The blanket of night’s darkness would soon peel back, revealing all creatures under the blazing sun. I had no place there, so I made my way home.

  SLEEP IS MY only solace, when I fantasize that I am free, unbidden. It is darkness, a time of stillness in which there is no scorching brilliance of light to blind the eyes or disturb the mind. I find the pitch of night to be peaceful. In an unconscious slumber, there is a comfortable nothingness.

  After harvesting yet another child, I so desperately wanted that stillness, that peaceful tranquility, which only comes with deep sleep. On that night, this feeling was disrupted.

  In the deepness of my dream world, my mind perceived movement from the outer limit of the darkness around me. Was it a trick of the mind? Was it something I thought I saw but wasn
’t really there at all?

  “Who’s there?” I called out.

  A source of light appeared at the far end of the room, a slow glow that revealed a robed figure, hooded, two eyes glowing ultraviolet, peering directly at me. He stretched out his hands. Whispers of smoke twisted along his fingers, smoke the same colour as his eyes. It swirled to his fingertips, then fell to the floor in an eerie waterfall of luminescent purple against blackness.

  “Dati,” the form hissed. It sounded like claws scraping steel.

  The tendrils pooled at his feet, growing like vines and writhing along the floor towards me.

  The smoke crawled across the distance between the robed figure and me. I was not sure that the tendrils were safe. Perhaps they were dangerous. I scampered backwards in an attempt to escape the smoke, but it gained on me too fast and began collecting around my feet. The tendrils wound around my legs, growing like wild creepers, wrapping themselves about my body, branching and crawling, covering my form. They enclosed me like wrappings around a mummy, until shoots coiled around my neck, and encircled my head. A wisp washed over my eyes, and I was blinded. I panicked, clawing at my face as my view changed…

  I stood on top of a building. It wasn’t high. Perusing my surroundings, it appeared that I was in an industrial area. The moon shone overhead. The corners of the building glowed, pulsating, the same violet colour as the robbed figure’s eyes and smoke.

  With a blink of the eye, my view changed again. I stood inside the building with a concrete floor, smooth on my bare feet. There was a table in the center of the room. All around there were other beings standing at random spots, in a trancelike state, empty and void of expression. Then it all disappeared.

  An alarm clock screeched, yanking me out of my slumber.

  I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. It had been months since I had dreamt. Remnants percolated through to my conscious mind as I remembered the robed figure, the purple smoke, a building, and the full moon.

  “Shit!” I ran to the window and surveyed the night sky. The moon was low, but perfect and round like it had been in my dream.

  Damn it. If I didn’t hurry, I was going to be late. That hooded figure was Master. That little display was his way of summoning. I hadn’t been called into his presence for months.

  Without really thinking about it, I reached behind my head and scratched the back of my neck, feeling the sharp ridges of my scar. It was a habit I had whenever I thought of Master. There was a brand there, with a thick circle superimposed over top of a pentacle. Other mystical symbols had been marked into my flesh, tattooed, carved, and burned with both brands and blades. It was my hex mark. In the center, the flesh was black, lifeless. Little tails scampered out of the middle, one running up to each point of the pentacle. I always wanted to scratch it, my body’s way of saying that the deadness there didn’t belong. It was where Master had ripped part of my soul away from me, and how he ensured I obeyed his every word.

  Master had done that to me when I was very young. It had been very painful.

  And frightening.

  By holding a part of my soul and threatening to destroy that essence, it meant I would never cycle. When I finally died, my life would end. No broken soul can reincarnate. Master held my existence in his hands, ensuring this would be my last. My last life was to be a slave to a psychopathic Master, as a miserable indentured servant. He had removed my hope of being free, in this life or the next.

  This summon was for more than just myself. There had been others in the dream room too. This was very odd. Master didn’t have gatherings.

  As I sat here thinking about it, my time was running out. I needed to get going. Lateness was never tolerated. In the summons, the moon hung high in the night sky, almost at its apex. I would have to be at my destination before that moon was in that same position tonight. I had about an hour, maybe a little more.

  I had a bad feeling about this night. Then again, whenever I had dealings with Master, nothing good ever came of it. The tasks he regularly set before me were filled with vengeance and blood. I held no hope of that ever changing.

  I hated him with every fiber of my being. But I feared him just as much.

  Wings in Flight

  DATI

  I ran my tongue over my canine fangs, checking to see if they needed a brush as I considered what area of the city would contain the building from my dream. But instead I found myself remembering the way all four of my fangs had drawn blood and squelched the lives of those who had displeased Master. I grimaced at the phantom sensation of my teeth sinking into the flesh of humans who had crossed him. A twisting knot formed in my stomach and my tail jerked, as being enveloped in his darkness always made me nervous.

  Enough. I have to go.

  I grabbed clothes, donning them as fast as I could.

  There was one window in my bedroom that I had spent some money on—under-the-table money—for a custom job. This high up, no building would ever have allowed windows that open. I had an extra alteration made.

  I pulled the window open, just like a door, then slid the remaining panels to the side. A breeze blew in, the night air cooled my perpetually hot skin. I took a deep breath, concentrated, and then flexed my shoulders forward.

  The scars along my back stretched apart, starting just beneath the hex mark, unzipping all the way down to the base of my spine. As the scars splayed, bones covered in leathery skin extended through the slits of my shirt. Methodically, the skeletal frame of my wings unfolded, unhinging straight outwards. Once free of their protective sheath, they slid more to the sides. Joints opened, and then with one final shudder, the structure extended as far as they would go and unfurled, releasing enormous bat wings. I crouched down and gave them a couple of good flaps, stirring the loose papers on the bureau.

  My wings—although huge—were lightweight and strong.

  I took a couple of large steps forward and launched myself out of the window. With my body as straight as an arrow, I hurtled towards the street, letting several floors pass by me with dizzying speed.

  The night breeze caught under the dark expanses of stretched skin as I spread my wings. I arched gracefully up towards the night sky, and as I continued up, I passed through the layer of smog lying overtop of the city, obscuring my body from the casual observer, and headed west, to the meeting destination.

  I loved the way the air rushed past my skin, fluttering my clothes as the adrenaline of excitement sped throughout my body.

  The advancing storm chilled the air. Lightning illuminated the way through the last of the city center. The tops of buildings changed from skinny downtown towers, like fingers reaching up from the ground towards the sky, to sprawling block-long roofs. Inspecting the world from above gives a very different perspective. Detail is lost, the little things become unimportant, but one can see so much of the bigger picture. A creature can feel small when compared to all the space that exists. I could see all the places I would like to go.

  As I reached the industrial area, I began scanning the flat rooftops in search of a sign, anything that would indicate where the meeting was being held. The knot in my stomach twisted, as if a screw had been turned one more turn tighter. I glanced at the moon; it was nearly at its apex. My time was up. I needed to find the spot. Lateness would not be tolerated. Clenching my fists, I beat my wings a little faster, propelling me until…

  I chanced upon one of my own, another creature of the dark, scuttling down an alley and making their way towards the destination.

  Watching the figure as it slithered through the dark and dirty alleys, I glanced forward and saw the mark. A building two blocks up contained the sigil I was searching for, not that anyone of the human population would have noticed, though. Just like dogs could smell where other dogs have been, Darkening marks could only be seen by our kind. The cornerstones of the building pulsated, displaying a faint violet colour. This was the indication—the mark that I had been searching for. It was the same ultraviolet colour I had seen in the s
ummoning.

  The creature that I had been watching skulked into the front door of the building and disappeared. I wondered if it was Hemming; I expected to see him tonight. The creature moved like Hemming, with purpose and grace, hidden in the shadows and almost gliding through the dark. Agility and fluidity were attributes a Shape-Shifter excelled at.

  I spotted an open window on the second storey. Flying upwards and circling once again, I aimed this time at the window, propelling myself towards it. I was quite agile when on the wing, and while aloft I had no need for human doors. An open window would suffice just fine.

  Shifting the placement of my wings upwards, I backbeat several times as I closed in on the window. That backbeat always made the most incredible bass drum noise, and the more speed and weight that slowed the flight down, the more reverberation occurred. I loved that noise.

  As the window came closer, I reached out to grab it with my bare feet, but I came at it far too fast. With quick adjustments, I arched backwards to curve myself away from the building, and in a slow circling motion, like an airplane coming in for landing, I made a second attempt.

  The landing was met with deadly accuracy as I grasped the wooden windowsill with my clawed talons. Splinters from the window’s ledge dug into my feet, but the tough soles protected me from any harm.

  I launched myself from the windowsill towards the ceiling, unfurling my wings to their greatest extent. They formed a canopy over me and allowed me to hang in the air for just a second, but to anyone other than demons, it would have seemed that I was suspended. Folding my wings up and straightening my spine, I fell down onto the cold cement.

  As my taloned feet hit the hard surface, I lurched forward from inertia, my palms slamming into the floor. I dug my talons into the concrete and left deep puncture marks.

  I tucked my head under to avoid an impact. My wings followed and flew forward to cover my form just as the robed figure spoke.