“I’m not a demon, I’m human,” Raven said, trying to convince himself. But as he looked around the room and at the bodies, he hardly believed his own words. “I was… human.”
“Yes, you were. But now you aren’t.” Almost feeling bad for Raven and hating himself for doing so, Blackwell huffed then waved his hand in the air, causing Raven to drop onto the factory floor. “The bloodlust will continue. It will return.” After he took a deep breath, Blackwell added, “And you care about Mea. I get it. And she cares about you, for some ungodly reason—and that’s truly the only reason you’re still alive.
“But eventually, your humanity will fade, and your bloodlust will grow, and it’ll be even worse than it is now. Then… she won’t even be able to recognize you. And there’s nothing that I, or you, can do about it.”
Raven had a pained look on his face. He was on death row, and the clock was ticking… fast. Whimpering, Raven asked, “Then why are you here? To rub it in?”
“No, to use it.” Blackwell held out his hand until Raven’s sword tumbled through the air and flew across the room before sliding into his palm. Half as wide as his forearm with a four-foot -long blade, it was abnormally large.
He held it along his eye-line and examined it, handling the massive sword as if it was light as air. With a flat-black sheen, its blade lacked any and all luster. But the edge was razor-sharp. Blackwell grinned at the elegant blade’s construction. “You know, this blade—all reaper blades actually, they were forged by me. I made them myself.” He smiled with pride. “It’s a tungsten-platinum blend. It was smelted slowly at a high pressure, high heat, and then cooled even slower, two degrees per hour, over days. Do you know why that is?”
Raven didn’t have an answer.
“It’s to filter out the impurities, to ensure the molecules are compressed, condensed, and connected as tightly as possible—to ensure durability and a sharp edge.” He swung the blade around, theatrically and skillful twirling it around on his left-side before doing the same on his right.
As Blackwell handled his sword, Raven watched as the flaps of his dual-vented jacket waved at him like two crimson hands mocking him. Still, if Raven was impressed, he didn’t show it.
“A long time ago, a reaper joked that a reaper blade was… sharp enough to cut the gods themselves.” Blackwell stopped spinning the sword around and laid the edge in the palm of his free hand. “Maybe sharp enough to kill one.” Blackwell smiled as he sliced into his palm, cutting down to the bone. Then making a fist, he squeezed it until his blood, black as oil, dripped onto the blade. And both Blackwell and Raven watched as his bleeding hand dripped motor oil down the fuller (the groove that runs down the center of the blade and the length of it) and became a black stream creeping towards the tip. But the stream never made it. The thirsty blade drank deeply before the oil thinned and shimmered against its edges like onyx.
“But that was something you already knew, didn’t you?” He flipped the blade in the air, caught it by the tip, and swung the hilt towards Raven. “You know, you and Azazel.”
Looking at his sword, Raven didn’t trust him and was hesitant to take back his sword. But still, it was his sword—an extension of him, and he did want it back, very badly. So, still skittish and wary, his claw crept forward until it wrapped around the grip. It felt good in his palm. Speaking of Azazel, Raven said, “I didn’t know that he was a god, not at the time.” Then he yanked back his sword—back to where it belonged. “So what.”
“So… I want you to kill a god.”
Raven was already getting reacquainted with his old blade, and after swinging it around a few times, he examined his almost-clean blade, suspicious that he had tainted it somehow. “Kill a god?” he asked half-heartedly while still more focused on his sword. “Which one?” The black blood from Blackwell’s hand had all but disappeared, and his sword looked the same as before. But, somehow, it also felt darker.
Picking up on the reaper’s wariness, Blackwell said, “It’s the blood lust. Such as all weapons do, the blade’s thirst will always match that of its owner’s.”
“Yeah?” Raven said finally sheathing the blade. “So, which god do you want me to kill—You.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Blackwell couldn’t help but to smirk. That was a good one. “No, not me. The Wolf, he and his pack are growing—and they’re growing stronger.”
“Yeah? And why should I?”
“Because you already have a death sentence. And because if you don’t, Mea will end up doing it. Then she’s going to have to fight the Queen of Sorrows. And then the Beast. And then the Dragon.”
Raven dropped his head, thinking about Mea as well as his own ticking clock of mortality, and began pacing with anxiety. Then, realizing the obscenity of a god asking him to do his dirty work, he turned back towards Blackwell with his eyes narrowed. “Then why don’t you do it? I mean, you’re a god, aren’t you? Me, I’ll help her—I’ll always help her. But if you’re all powerful, why don’t you do it?”
Now it was Blackwell that was looking pathetic, and his words were heavy. “Because I can’t. I am death itself. Look!” Reaching for Raven, the reaper’s black armor turned into normal clothing, but as he grabbed Raven by the top of his t-shirt and pulled him close, the shirt shifting back into black armor.
“Look at me.” Blackwell’s voice started to sound less human and more like a growl. His eyes reddened and grew into pits of fire before turning into large black holes. His face paled and thinned, and he suddenly looked very much like a skeleton, void of life.
Raven tried to keep it together, but fear over took him. Unsure whether it was voluntarily or involuntarily, he squirmed with anxiety and terror as he tried to break free of Blackwell’s grip.
“Look,” Blackwell growled, a hollow soul-less growl. “Look into the face of death and see the emptiness inside yourself. See the void of nothingness from which all shall return and…” He shoved the squirming reaper to the ground before turning away and shaking it off. “Woo, that really does a number.” Adjusting the lapel of his suit jacket, Blackwell shook off his grizzly transformation and returned to normal.
Spilling over the ground, Raven landed on a knee and reached for his broadsword, ready for a fight. But when he saw that Blackwell had returned to normal, he eased up and stood.
“I’m…” He almost said he was sorry, but such words were against his nature. “You see? If I were to even try to kill them, I would turn into that. And if that happens… Then, who do you think Mea would come after?” He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket even further. “Don’t you get it? The gods are killers, but the more we kill, the more we change. And like you, we end up losing part of ourselves, and it’s lost forever.”
He stepped away from Raven before looking over his shoulder. “When that happens… What do you think will happen to Mea when she becomes a killer? Then, what do you think she’ll do when I take everything she’s ever cared for.”
“Then don’t. Don’t do it. Quit.”
Blackwell laughed and his eyes squinted as such. “Don’t do it, what a brilliant idea? Why didn’t I think of that? It’s not that simple. What do you think the Cleansing is? It’s judgement, the final judgement. Seven gods…”
Raven’s words came out as a slow whisper. “Seven judges.” He was beginning to understand. “Seven judges to pass judgement on humanity. Judgement, to determine who deserves salvation and who is damned. You, Mea, Azazel, the Wolf…”
“Yes, and the Queen, the Beast, and the Dragon.”
More panicked, Raven tried to talk out his train of thought. “Patterson… Patterson’s wall. He, he had a picture of seven judges sitting on golden thrones, all side-by-side. They had animals next to them, some of them did. A wolf, a hawk, a leopard and… the hall.” Raven searched for the words. “The, ah, the hall of judgement. The picture—it was filled with people, and they were… waiting to be judged.”
“Yes, it will be something like that, I suppose. Now,
aside from Mea, who do think is on the side of humanity? The Beast? The Dragon? The Queen of Sorrows? And what do you think will happen when Mea, or I, quit giving a damn? Judges… judges are cold, absolute, and uncompromising. Do you want to see that happen to her?”
Raven remained silent.
“And her best allies are me and Azazel—and he tried to kill her. And both Azazel and I would rather see you dead than do… well, whatever it is we’re doing here.”
Raven clenched his claw until his talons dug into his palm and drew blood. “Can we… Can Mea and her family survive this?”
Blackwell said, “If we succeed.” Although, what he really should have said was: “If you succeed.”
Raven grunted in frustration. Blackwell’s plan was a long shot and they both knew it. “What about those gold coins? Aren’t they like… some sort of reward or something? Can’t they help, somehow?”
“They are, but no. Mea’s mother is a suicide who’s already been granted a second chance. And her brother is…” Blackwell huffed. “Mea is their enemy, the enemy of the gods. They would sooner die before they let either one of them to slip through the cracks.”
Raven whispered, “The gods are cruel.”
“Yes, they are but… if you succeed, there’ll be one less. Now, go kill me a wolf, or die trying.”
CH 11: It Begins
“She slashed me, like this.” Lilly slashed her finger across her left cheek then her right. The thin slivers opened wide and grew redder until blood trickled down like melted candle wax.
“Huh,” Fenrir said as he handed a loaf of bread to a thin homeless man. Reflecting, he smiled and nodded. “So the Lion still has her fangs.” Reaching inside the wicker basket in his lap, he found that it was empty and shrugged. “So the Lion bit you, and you ran.”
Lilly huffed at him, her eyes wide with shock. “You’re missing the point.” The open slits on her cheeks were already healing before his very eyes, and the trickling blood was absorbing back into her sun-kissed skin. “She attacked me.”
Another homeless man approached Fenrir but was staring at Lilly, hard. It was as much for her dramatic gesturing as it was for her beauty. She huffed at him, “What are you looking at?” The man lowered his eyes before snatching a loaf of bread from Fenrir and darting off without a word.
“What did you expect? You provoked her, and she cut you.” Another homeless man arrived, and Fenrir smiled and nodded at him before handed him a loaf of bread as he had done to one prior.
Fenrir paused and thought about Mea, who she was. “She always did love the humans.” He chuckled to himself. Half in amusement, half in disbelief, he smiled and shook his head. “Our little Golden Lion, always the optimist.”
“And what if she keeps fighting us?”
“What if? We just broke slumber whereas she has walked amongst them for the ages. Her, Azazel… the Dark One.” Fenrir nodded to himself. “She is strong, but with each day, we strengthen.”
Lilly grew flustered and frustrated at his lack of caring. “And how would you know? You slept through the last Cleansing.”
“The great flood? That was no Cleansing. You and the Dark One… making your side deals. I was surprised that the other stayed quiet and slept. Sleeping, I thought, any day now. But the rain came and went, and waters gave way to land, and no one ever woke. Not once did they break their slumber.”
“As you did.”
“Yes,” he said, glaring at her. “As I did. It was cold, so I slept.” He handed out another loaf of bread to another homeless man. “The Ice Age, they call it. Man and beast walked across the ice like it was dirt, without fear of freezing or a watery death. Man, beast—they hunted back then. They killed. They ate meat. It was savage, but it was honest.” He handed out another loaf of bread—this time to a homeless woman.
Lilly shrugged at him. Quite animated, she looked like a diva of the purest pedigree. “So you slept? That’s how you handled it? While mankind turned into… this?”
Exaggeratedly, her hands flared through the air, gesturing around at their surroundings. Homeless people in mismatched motley clothes surrounded them amass and extended as far as the eye could see. And with each minute, the crowd grew larger. In the distance, Steel towers shimmered with a sparkle that was once reserved only for ice and oceans. “But now, now you awaken.”
“Yes.” Another loaf of bread left his hand, and the basket was empty again. Fenrir scratched his beard. “It was cold. Back then, mankind huddled around fires, and they shared their stories. They formed bonds. They starved together; they ate together. They survived together.”
A thought made him snicker to himself. “The Vikings. They were my favorite. When the seas thawed, they raided and razed. They killed and took what they wanted. Savage but honest.” He reached into the basket, pulled out a warm loaf of bread, and handed it out.
Lilly huffed again. “Yeah, I’m sure it was great for man-kind. But if you recall, women didn’t fare so well back then.”
“True,” Fenrir agreed. “It was much harder for women back then, and even as it is now.” He glanced at the steel towers across the city skyline, “But now, now they have this. Account numbers and minimum wage and grocery stores. Welfare, organic foods, farm subsidies, all while people starve—pesticides and consignment…” He shook his head in disbelief. “The errors of men. The list is infinite.”
“You preferred the old ways, but you’re okay with this?” Lilly said and gestured at the newest homeless man with a new loaf of bread. So gross. She rolled her eyes with disdain. “Suffering, surviving just to survive, orphans, wars… Civilization is kinder. Less ignorant.”
“Less ignorant?” That got his attention. Fenrir dropped the basket while the nearby homeless people snatched at the spilt bread and fled like rats. “The weak hide behind corrupt laws and paper shields, corrupt laws made by corrupt lawmakers—laws made to protect cowards and corporations. These people starve and suffer while the kings of corporations live in their steel towers with their shimmering walls and pools that float in the sky.”
Fenrir sat back down and picked up the basket of bread. “Less ignorant? No. The old days were colder, but they were also truer. So yes, I slept.”
“Fair enough,” Lilly huffed with irritation. “But… how are you…” She glanced down at the wicker basket. Again it was full of bread, and her eyes widened.
“What is this?” She looked around. They were standing in a wide concrete valley meant for water drainage. A noisy freeway passed overhead. Fenrir’s pack was nearby handing out food, almost the same as he was. Their faces were slightly less blurry than before. One was carving slices of meat off a large slab of beef roasting above blue propane flames. Another one was pouring drinks from a large wooden barrel into plastic cups. “What are you doing?”
“Sharing bread and meat, as they did in the old days.”
Unbelievable! Lilly’s face showed her shock. “You would mock their savior?”
Fenrir gave her a confused look.
“The Christians. He fed them bread and fish. You know, turned water into wine.”
“I mock no one.” Fenrir paused and gave it some thought. He glanced over his pack, the one handing out the sizzling chunks of meat, the one who pouring and handing out cups of ale. Then, he turned his gaze to the third one. She was standing behind a table, scooping some sort of stew—brown and thick with onions and carrots—out of a giant steel pot and into serving bowls. The man next to her was handing out the steaming bowls to a line of more homeless. The last two were directing the incoming crowds to where they needed to go. “Huh, he fed them fish and bread. I feed these ones meat and bread. He poured wine, whereas… Yes, there are some similarities.”
He set the bread basket aside and walked up the concrete slant. “But no mockery was intended.”
After a frustrated headshake, Lilly followed him. “Okay, but what are you doing here?” She looked over the masses of homeless that were doomed to die. “Giving them a last meal?”
“Yes, of sorts.”
“Then what? they all die? Look at them? You give them mercy. Watch what they do with it.” She looked over the crowd. Some of them were already hording the bread and meat they just received. Others stumbled from drinking too much free ale. Others were creeping around or stealing clothes from the other’s unattended piles and over-stuffed shopping carts. Animals, she thought, undignified animals. “Just give them time, and the disappointment will come.”
Fenrir watched as his six followers continued handing out food and drink to the homeless horde. Give them time, she said. “Aside from a momentary reprieve of their misery, time is the one thing I cannot give them.”
A commotion brought their eyes to the large wooden barrel of ale. A fight was beginning to break out. Two men were shouting and swearing at each other and spilling their drink onto those nearby. A neglected child swayed with boredom next to her drunken mother, and another one was caught in the fray.
As she grabbed a dingy purse that was lying on the ground, a ratty-haired woman snatched her son’s arm and dragged him away from the crowd. That one made Lilly think of Dylan and his mom. But Fenrir thought about the waitress, Molly… and the manager, the abomination.
Lilly’s eyes flared red. Time? “You would give them time, but I would give them a different gift.” Her fangs grew in length and over her bottom lip while sweet venom pooled at the tips of them. About to drip down, she ran her tongue across them and sopped it up. The venom tasted of honey with a bitter aftertaste that numbed her tongue, a different kind of sweetness. Smacking her lips, she added, “A sweet gift, a kiss, a moment of ecstasy before the even sweeter kiss of death.
“No.” The black blade of Fenrir’s glaive slid up to Lilly’s jawline. “They are under my protection and off-limits. It is not their time… Not yet.”
“Fine,” Lilly huffed. “You feed them, but I go hungry.” Her fangs were gone, but their venom was seeping over her lips. Using a finger, she slowly and seductively wiped the thick suckle from her lips and flung it to the ground. As it splashed against the concrete, the venom sizzled and smoked like acid. Still, the thin smoke squiggles rising from the ground smelt almost as good as it tasted. “Happy?”
The Long Night of the Gods: Lilith Awakens (Forgotten Ones Book 2) Page 14