The Long Night of the Gods: Lilith Awakens (Forgotten Ones Book 2)

by M. H. Hawkins

  Mea called out after him. “Wait. Can you… can you come back tomorrow? I have so many questions, but right now… Right now, my head is swimming.”

  He smiled and lied. “Yeah, of course. Tomorrow night.” Then he vanished into the shadows.

  CH 19: You Owe Me

  “Oh, it’s you,” Blackwell said, not overly surprised.

  And Lilly, aside from the two headless corpses in front of her, she looked absolutely stunning, gorgeous. The New York City skyline lied just behind her, and the moonlight and soft city lights made her glow while contouring her every curve. Her lips were pouty, and her dress was tight and black. Her hair glowed golden as the city lights shimmered off her perfect blond mane, sparkling like ocean waves beneath a full moon.

  Beautiful and elegant she was but… there were still two freshly decapitated bodies in front of her, headless and handless. While the three out of the four severed hands had managed to land somewhere on the beautifully lacquered table, the two severed heads had begun to settle on their newly-trimmed, perfectly-leveled necks—also on the beautifully lacquered table—and were staring directly at Vincent Blackwell.

  He glanced back at them, into the dead eyes of Michelle and Timbon, as the wobbling heads slowed their wobbling before finally settling on their perfectly level necks. Thin drizzles of smoke were still rising from the precise slices that had separated the heads from their bodies. Strangely enough, there wasn’t any blood. The cuts to their necks and hands sizzled and were already cauterized and perfectly straight. Lilith’s venom, he remembered. His eyes moved over to her hand, the murder weapon. Her fingernails were long and sharp, and along the ridge of her hand and wrist, blood dripped and steamed off the paper-thin and clear-as-glass edge she used to dismember Michelle and Timbon. Their blood soaked into Lilly’s flesh as the glass edge did so as well. It reminded him of a similar edge. Although, at the moment, he could not pinpoint the memory.

  Mildly displeased, he asked, “Was that really necessary?”

  “It got your attention, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, but now I have to do something with these.” He lifted his left hand and fanned out the two golden coins he had just flipped into the air.

  “My heart bleeds for you and your dilemma.”

  Blackwell ignored the sarcasm. “I appreciate your concern, but I will make do and find an alternative recipient, I suppose.”

  “Speaking of recipients, you have something that belongs to me.”

  “Yes,” Blackwell answered overly confidently. “Your golden coin,” the one meant for Dr. Patterson, before she killed him. “I’ll return it to you later, soon enough.”

  Lilly didn’t like the answer and strutted nearer, nudging the heads of the other dead businessmen—the ones with bullet holes—out of her way, until the lifeless heads flopped forward and thumped against the lacquered oak table. “No, I wasn’t talking about the gold coin, but I’ll take that too. I mean, they are limited edition after all.”

  “That they are,” Blackwell agreed, absently. Thinking about something, Blackwell punched his tongue into his lower lip and wrinkled up his forehead—thinking about something. “Huh?” he said then began looking around and observed the dead bodies sprinkled throughout the boardroom. He shrugged then returned to the conversation. “You sure this isn’t about the coins? Seven coins for each of the seven gods—”

  “—To bypass the final judgement of humanity,” Lilly added, finishing the creed. “For those that hold the coins of the gods, let them be thankful and grateful, for they have earned the favor of the gods and are blessed.”

  “Yes, yes… all that—I’m thirsty.” Blackwell turned his back to Lilly and moved over to the wet bar, the one next to the large, double doors entrance of the board room. “Fancy a drink?” he asked before pointing at Lilly and then wagging his finger at some crystal carafes that were half-filled with brown and clear liquors.

  Blackwell grabbed one of the short glasses off the side of the crystal carafes as he waited for Lilly’s answer.

  “No, thank you,” she relied, agitated at his casualness and before noticing the countertop.

  Blackwell shrugged and flipped over his glass. And as Lilly watched and grew irritated, she noticed something else. The wet bar, it had the look of a black-marbled countertop. It was nice, fancy even. “What is that?” she asked. “Onyx?”

  “Limestone.” Blackwell said as he finished pouring himself a drink—a thirty-year-old scotch that looked like liquid gold and tasted twice as smooth. “The countertop is limestone—although they call it Ashford Black Marble. I prefer soapstone myself—less gaudy, less pretentious.”

  He sipped his drink then moved over to Jacob’s corpse, pushing it out of the chair with little effort before taking the seat as his own. After a long pause where Blackwell was mostly focused on his scotch, he finally looked up and said, “Oh, you’re still here?”

  “Yeah,” Lilly said dismissively as she examined her nails.

  “Well, you don’t want a drink, so what is it?”

  “I got blood on my hands.” She showed him. Droplets of blood were spotted along the tips of her smaller fingers. A few more droplets were splattered across the ridge of her hand.

  “Yes, don’t we all.” As Blackwell took another sip of his drink, he watched at Lilly’s hand moved up to her lips. Then, as if it were no more than some splattered barbeque sauce, he watched as Lilly sucked at the red droplets on her fingers and on the bottom ridge of her hand. Indeed, blood was on her hands, he thought. “So what? You got blood on your hands. We all have blood on our hands. What’s your point?”

  “I want some more,” Lilly said, punching out her lower lip and sounding like a pouting child.

  She moved closer and sat on the edge of the long table and crossed her legs. “And I want what you owe me.”

  Blackwell feigned ignorance and shrugged as if he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Half. Half the monsters,” she reminded him. “Half of the inhabitants of the stone tower, that was our deal.” Once gods, now monsters. The things I could do, if I had all of them, she thought. But half will do, for now.

  After taking another sip of scotch, Blackwell answered, “How about demons? I got a lot of demons nowadays. How about five? Five demons for each captive, huh?”

  “Five?” Lilly asked incredulously. She didn’t know if Blackwell was joking or just insulting her. Either way, she didn’t like being condescended to. “Five for one? Demons are mindless, savage beasts. They only know two things, how to kill and how to get killed.”

  “So, I’m taking that as a no.”

  “We had a deal,” Lilly said as she grew noticeably flustered. “No renegotiations, no stalling, it’s time, and now, I want what’s mine, half. Half of the stone tower.”

  “And you will have it.” He took another sip of his scotch and paused to examine the severed hands of Timbon and Michelle. Michelle’s were petite and pale. Timbon’s were large, dark, and shiny as polished onyx with perfectly manicured nails that sparkled. A man that took great pride in his appearance. Impressive, Blackwell thought. “Yes, the inhabitants of the stone tower. You’ll get them, in time.”

  Apparently Lilly didn’t like answer. She screeched through her fangs—fangs the size of silver knives, and venom rose from somewhere within her throat and shot across the room, aimed at Blackwell’s face. It missed it target, and the venom ended up splattering against the headrest, sizzling and melting the leather headrest instead of Blackwell’s face. But his face wasn’t there. It was gone, and so was the rest of him. Up and moving, Blackwell was already on top of Lilly; his hand was wrapped around her neck and slamming her into the wall. And as he again slammed the back of her head against the wall, Lilly let out a muffled “Hmmp” through her oversized fangs.

  Blackwell’s hand was latched onto her jaw like a vice grip and left her speechless. Her fangs hung over her ruby red lips like melting icicles and dripped venom as such. “Well,” he said. “That
was brash.”

  Lilly made a few more “Hmmp-ing” sounds then gave him a restrained shrug of her shoulders. With Lilly’s jaw clamped shut, and Blackwell’s grip made it impossible for her to retract her fangs, speaking was impossible. But her fangs, they squeezed against her lips like a cobra getting milk for its venom. All the while, her venom dripped down the ivory spears she called fangs and was splashing and sizzling on Blackwell’s hand.

  Strangely calm, Blackwell continued, “Lilly, we had a deal, and you will get what is owed to you. But… as I’m sure you know, you’re early. So, you will get what is owed to you at the agreed upon time and not a second sooner.”

  Lilly mumbled, “Half.”

  “Yes, half the inhabitants of the stone tower as payment for standing down during the last Cleansing, the great flood. Yes, I remember. And I also remember that you hardly stood down.” The venom from her fangs continued beading up at the tips of them before dripping off and sizzling on Blackwell’s hand. The clear liquid started to pool before flowing down the back of his hand and curled around his wrist bone. The sizzling venom smelt like roasted turkey on Thanksgiving.

  “I did stand down. I only killed the wicked,” she mumbled while grinning. “Mostly only the wicked.”

  “Only the wicked?” he said incredulously. “It was a flood for the history books. Noah, Gilgamesh… only the wicked… Right.” He shoved her jaw away.

  Huffing, Lilly stretched out her jaw and rubbed at it to relieve the newfound stiffness and retract her fangs halfway, leaving the tips to dangle just below her lower lip. “I held up my side of the deal—my side. Seven arks. And seven arks survived. Seven arks for seven lands.”

  “Continents, they’re called continents. And there were only six—six arks.” Blackwell began to suck at the venom that was on the back of his hand.

  “There were seven. It’s not my fault that one continent is frozen and lifeless. You can blame that on your little Golden Lion. I saved seven arks. I didn’t touch them… not at first—but she interfered.” Lilly grinned slyly. “So, then there were six—how is it?” The venom.

  Blackwell’s made a slight smacking sound as he finished sucking at his hand. “Sweet, but it’s still weak. Because you’re powers haven’t fully returned.” He raised his voice. “Because you are early.”

  Lilly laughed as she ran her tongue over her fangs one last time before allowing them to fully melt back into her mouth. “Early and ambitious. Standing down from the great flood, it left me… less than satisfied.”

  “Satisfaction isn’t in your nature. And early and ambitious? Angry and ambition would be more accurate.”

  Lilly moved closer to him and adjusted his tie, same as Mea had done earlier. Rising up on her tiptoes, she whispered into his ear, “You would know, wouldn’t you.”

  As she batted her eyes at him, Blackwell pulled away. Another slight. Lilly huffed then let out an evil laugh. “You are still the fool. You gave up half—half—your kingdom, for them.” She glanced down at the slumped-over corpses then grinned. “No, not for them… For her. And yet, she will never love you, not as you are.”

  Blackwell adjusted his suit and picked up his drink. “Maybe not, but you know, no one’s perfect.”

  “Save the girl, save the world; is that it?” Lilly grinned and shook her head. “You probably didn’t even tell her. You, secrets upon secrets, just to cover up the lies.”

  Blackwell stared at his drink. She was right. He took a sip of his scotch and shrugged. Too late now, he thought.

  “I wonder if you can even admit it to yourself how scared you are.” Lilly waved her hand towards the glass window, and—as if hit by some invisible blast—it exploded into the night’s air and onto the city street. “You’re pathetic,” she taunted.

  “I’ll hold onto that gold coin for you,” Blackwell said dismissively.

  Lilly took a step back, and her black dress melted into a glossy black and red body suit. Half armored, it maintained a hint of sex appeal. Red silk ribbons streamed from somewhere behind her neck and down her arms and to her wrists before dangling wildly in the wind. Elegant and enchanting, the ribbons streamed and shined as they danced in the breeze and shimmered in the moonlight. Her red-and-black tail with the sharpened tip swayed behind her like an angry serpent. “But as much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. I am early, two days early.”

  Black leathery wings whipped out of her back. Their curves and design were almost identical to that of a bat’s. She floated out of the boardroom with open arms and floated above the city street. “See you in two days.”

  Her wings whipped in front of her like an oversized blanket, and she dropped out of sight.

  Alone again, alone in the boardroom, Blackwell downed whatever was left of his drink and slid the glass across the table, watching as it glided across the lacquered oak like a hockey puck until it bumped into Timbon’s well-groomed, severed hand and came to a stop.

  Pausing to reflect, Blackwell was noticeable frustrated. Lilly had a way of doing that. Still, it wouldn’t last long, and he’d get a welcomed distraction. Four reapers slipped out of the shadows and stepped forward. They bowed their heads as they stood solemnly and silently, awaiting their orders. They wouldn’t have to wait long.

  Huffing, Blackwell stood up then slapped something against the chest of one of his reapers. Four golden coins. “Here,” he said as the reaper fumbled to hold onto the coins. And as the reaper finally secured them, Blackwell stepped away before turning his head to the side and speaking over his shoulder. “Two for the girl’s children, and two for Timbon’s.”

  And the reaper nodded then stepped back into the shadows and disappeared.

  Blackwell, distracted by Lilly’s comments, was ignoring his visitors—half-forgetting that they were even there, and he made his way over to the now-missing window and stared out onto the city. What if she was right? What if it was all for naught? Did any of it even matter? Why did he even care? With his flurry of uncertainty, Blackwell questioned whether there was any life left in him. Or was he really nothing more than just a killer, death itself? He did not know.

  And his reapers didn’t seem to know either. Seeing their master unsure of himself was new to the them and made them unsure and uneasy as well. And reluctant and hesitant, they remained unclear at what they should do next. So, after sharing concerned looks with one another and shrugging at each other, the third remaining reaper took the initiative. Glaring at the first two as he passed them, his dark eyes lingering above his sharply sculpted mask, he stepped just behind Blackwell and asked, “Sir, what should we do with them?” nodding at the corpses scattered about the room.

  Blackwell glanced at the bodies on the floor, then at the ones still slumped in their chairs, then at Michelle and Timbon’s headless ones, and then at Michelle’s and Timbon’s frozen, neatly severed heads. “Take the heads—all the heads. Burn the bodies.”

  CH 20: Stone and Steel

  Fenrir made his way beneath the forest and through the great hole in the ground that he had ripped open with his trident. The walls of the tunnel were black soil patched with wooden roots. Some of the tree roots were as thick as steel beams, and others were weaker but as plentiful as leafless tree branches in winter. The soil and rooted walls soon gave way to walls of red clay, and further down the tunnel, the walls became a gray, gravelly sort of construct. After a few hundred yards, the gray pebbled wall became thick ones of solid stone flecked with sparkling quartz and silver. Moving deeper within the tunnel and beneath the mountain, the floors became polished glass. Then it seemed to shine and glow, and it soon began lighting up with an azure glow, the same glow as Fenrir’s icy-blue eyes.

  It was a good den, he thought. The stone tunnels and nooks would provide passage and resting areas for his growing pack. The blue light lit up the ridges in the wall and made the silver chunks sparkle like diamonds.

  Eventually his journey let him to an even larger cavern. The vaulted ceiling was untouched by light and dis
appeared into darkness. The granite walls were polished but only faintly lit by the glowing sapphire floor.

  Eventually the blue-lit walkway became more like a red carpet entrance that dissected the great cavern. It ended at a tall, wide stone staircase. At the base, the stairs were as wide as courthouse steps, but the stone staircase narrowed gradually as it led up to a smaller platform of polished stone. This is where I will raise my throne, he thought.

  His black armor clanked and echoed as he climbed the staircase of his throne room.

  The upper level was flat and wide as a basketball court. There was room enough for two thrones. Could he have a queen? he wondered. Who? Surely a god needed a goddess. A wolf needed a mate. He snorted at the idea, coming to the conclusion that the idea was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream. The gods were killers. Killers don’t get happy endings.

  Standing atop the stoop of his would-be throne, he pulled out his glaive and stabbed its black blade into the ground. As his polearm stood tall like a narrow sapling, his throne room rumbled with grinding rock and shook and erupted.

  One throne would be enough. Large, gray, and made of granite; his throne would be polished and hard, cold and pure, strong and solid; just like the god who would sit upon it. “This will do.” Fenrir’s words were bittersweet, though he did not know why. And the great, gray throne rumbled up from the ground like a newborn volcano erupting.