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

by M. H. Hawkins

  In truth, Raven’s blood was a shade lighter than jet, almost black, and his rattled eyeballs only thought they saw maroon. Either way, it didn’t really matter. With each passing second, Raven’s life was quickly nearing its end.

  Fenrir grunted. “I’m growing tired of playing this game with you… vulture,” he said, dabbing at his red, wounded cheek. It was deep, a good hit. Fenrir showed his bloody hand to Raven and nodded with approval. “A good cut, but this game has grown very old, very quickly.”

  Raven didn’t think so. I can still fight, he told himself as he struggled to stand. Wobbling like a newborn calf, progress was slow. He was half-way up; then it happened again, the sledgehammer. Fenrir’s foot slammed into his chest and sent him shooting across the great hall and through the horde of wolves—which parted like the Red Sea as he slid past them. “You were foolish to come here,” Fenrir shouted then scratched his beard.

  Seeing red, Raven still wasn’t listening and was still ignorant of the crowd. Only seeing Fenrir, he again attempted to stand and fight. Maroon, my blood was maroon. There’s hope. His wings flared out behind him, and he blasted forward. But… a half-step in, Raven was yanked backwards, and his back slammed against the ground.

  Then, only then, did he finally hear it, the growling. A crunching sound sent pain shooting through his wings and rippling through the rest of him. What the hell just happened? He belted out an agony-filled scream.

  Twelve spotlights, six on each side, were now hanging over his shoulder. But as he tried to look behind him, towards the pain and towards the spotlights, more crunching sent lightning shooting through him. Only able to muster a glance, Raven saw them, six giant wolves, three on each side, latched onto his wings. Growling, their jaws were filled with ivory fangs filled with chunks of his leathery black wings. Grinding their teeth on them like they were nothing but rawhide, the wolves didn’t look like they were planning on releasing them, at least not anytime soon.

  Fenrir strutted towards Raven with the same casual confidence he had before. He dabbed at his wounded cheek again, slightly surprised that it was still wounded at all and hadn’t already healed. Oh well. He shrugged then casually slung his glaive over his good shoulder. “Huh.” Again scratching his chin, Fenrir pondered why the reaper attacked him and why he didn’t see it coming. “Stupid little reaper, very stupid. Your efforts were… brave—brave but extremely disappointing. Eh, regardless, as much as I mock the foolishness of your efforts, I can admire your ambition.” I’ve never fought a reaper before; figured that it’d put up a better fight, he thought.

  Raven hissed, and his eyes turned reptilian. Then he growled, revealing a pair of long white fangs that weren’t there before. “I’ll kill you,” he screamed. Now more demon than man, Raven cocked back his claw before wildly lashing out at Fenrir, like a wild animal; savagely, vicious, and feral. But as two wolves released his wings and clamped down on his wrists, the swinging stopped, and Raven’s efforts were quickly quelled yet again.

  Raven fought to shake them off, but the wolf fangs digging into his wrists were more painful than the ones gnawing on his wings. And when they all crunched down at the same time, just a bit harder, his efforts were thwarted again.

  “Hmmm,” Fenrir pondered. “Huh, guess that explains the fear, or the lack of it. You are more demon than man.” A savage. “No wonder I couldn’t sense your presence.”

  “I’ll kill you,” snarled Raven.

  “You already tried. You failed.” Why’d a reaper attack me in the first place? Fenrir wondered, maybe he was sent. “Did… Oh, what is his name again? The Dark One? What is it that he is calling himself now?” Fenrir smiled and snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Blackwell. Yes, that’s what it was. Vincent Blackwell, yes.” Always the sly one, he was. Fenrir cocked his head to the side and nodded at Raven. “Did he put you up to this?”

  Raven pursed his lips together, unwilling to say any word at all.

  Fenrir replied to the silence with another nod, this one intended for his wolves. They got it, and the four wolves on Raven’s wings and the two at his wrists crunched down again. And again Raven buckled in pain and snorted angrily.

  Raven could have answered the question. After all, he didn’t owe any loyalty to Blackwell, and in fact, he didn’t even like him. Raven still didn’t say a word. Figuring that one answer might lead to another and eventually one of those other answers might lead them to Mea, he decided not to say anything. Instead he just gritted his teeth as the pain boiled over inside him.

  “Huh,” Fenrir decided to answer for him. “He did, didn’t he?” Looking at Raven, Fenrir chuckled then started laughing even louder, so hard that his armored chestplate started bouncing with each bellow. Through his manic laughter, Fenrir tried to speak. “He sent you, you… to kill me? to kill a god? Ahhh, stupid reaper.”

  By now, Fenrir’s laughter had settled though he was still smiling big. “Silly little reaper, don’t you know anything? You can’t kill a god.” Fenrir watched Raven, waiting for a response, but received none. Instead, he saw Raven’s eyes shift away from his own eyes and to the side of them. Raven smiled. Despite Fenrir’s victory, Raven’s lips curled up into a shit-eating grin, and Fenrir’s smile disappeared. Knowing what Raven was looking at, Fenrir’s smugness was put in check. Fenrir’s slashed cheek, his half-missing nose.

  Though Fenrir’s nose was much better, his cheek was still nagging him and gashed open. He dabbed at his wounded cheek again. Less blood, still not healed though… weird. Fenrir shrugged again. Oh well. “Huh, you didn’t know, did you—that the gods are immortal?”

  Raven’s face went blank, and Fenrir sighed. “It figures. Blackwell. The king of liars, he is. Yet, he knows—as any good liar does—that the key to any good lie is the truth. Layers upon layers of truth and trust… all wrapped up and around a seemingly righteous, little white lie. So when he finally needs to lie—a big lie, you’ll eat it up like a starving puppy. Of course, it’s only then that you find out what his little white lie really is, a bomb, a ticking time bomb that you just ate… like a starving, little puppy.”

  Fenrir was now standing over Raven, his glaive still slung over his shoulder. Giving it a twirl, its blade spun and began to glow and gleam like a purple disco ball. Smiling, Fenrir continued taunting Raven. “But don’t worry, little puppy. Don’t feel so bad. You were outwitted. You were bested, that’s it. First by him, then by me. And if I had to guess, the Dark One had this planned for years, maybe even centuries. Well… maybe not this, but something like it. He always liked to keep a few options open.”

  Raven’s face was still puckered in pain and anger, but he remained silent. Die with some pride; don’t tell him about Mea; he kept telling himself. He gritted his teeth and huffed.

  Fenrir grinned. “But I wouldn’t worry about being fooled though, not now. In fact, I wouldn’t worry about anything, not at all. Because… while gods can’t die, you can. And it’s time to do just that.” Fenrir nodded at the wolves latched on to Raven, and they clamped down harder and pulled Raven down closer to the ground.

  Fenrir raised his glaive and aimed it at the condemned, wounded reaper. The wolf-god glanced at the black-blade of his glaive. It was diamond-edged and razor sharp. “Huh,” he said. “I never killed a reaper before.” He pulled back his weapon like he was holding a spear, ready to jam it into Raven’s chest. “This will not be like the way you tried to kill me. Unlike the way you tried to kill me, in my sleep, I have more honor. And I will kill you as such. And… well… At least you’ll see it coming.”

  CH 31: Lights

  “I like it here.” Lilly stepped through the foyer and over the bodies, the previous owners, and made her way onto the deck of her newly acquired penthouse. The corpses, they were an older couple. You weren’t even using it, not really, thought Lilly.

  The once-living couple was older and relatively attractive, but now they certainly weren’t. Their skin was pale and shrunken and wrapped them up like shrunken t-shirts. Their fa
ces were pulled tight, too tight, and their lips curled up to the base of their teeth, frozen somewhere between a smile and a scream. Each of their necks was marked by two red circles with bright red capillaries spread away from the holes like spider webs of red silk. The couple, alive just an hour ago, was now nothing more than a pair of stiff corpses with faces frozen in terror.

  Lilly continued out onto the deck, a deck that overlooked New York City. Her black dress was silk and swayed like the sheer curtains she had just stepped through. Her bare feet pattered across polished marble that covered the path out and onto the penthouse’s terrace. Lilly paused to squish her toes together and released them. Enjoying the feeling, Lilly let out a squeak and smiled. The marble was cold and smooth and felt good on the bottoms of her feet. It’s good to be awake, to be alive, she thought. She wiggled her toes again and smirked. She didn’t need shoes. She was home, almost home.

  “Well… it’s no Babylon, but it’ll do, for now.”

  The walls of the terrace were made of marble as well and served as beds for the lush green shrubbery that enclosed the hanging terrace. Expertly sculpted and landscaped, the bushes were perfectly spaced and square. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, they were not. A generic imitation, Lilly thought before huffing and shaking her head in disappointment. She missed home, her real home.

  At the far end of the deck was a long infinity pool. Water gurgled up from somewhere beneath its tiled edge and shimmered in the moon light. The calm, flowing waves swayed lightly and sparkled as they stretched out from the marble wall before dropping off the sharp ledge at the end of the high-rise. “Huh, a floating river.” She smiled and reconsidered. They didn’t have these in Babylon. ”Savage bastards that they are, every once in a while, these mortals sure can surprise you… every once in a while—every once in a great while, they can surprise you. I’ll give ‘em that much.”

  Lilly looked back at the old tenants. After a long pause, she shook her head at them. “If your wife only knew what you did to get here, to earn your money to buy a place like this, she would… You do not deserve to live in a castle in the sky… but I do.” Lilly moved a few steps closer to the dead couple. Oddly enough, their frozen eyes were seemingly fixated on her.

  “Eh, but your wife, she was no better. Glamour and glory rots the soul—remember that. Indulging in extravagant luxuries earned on the backs of the poor and those paid in slave wages… Well, that’s all good and fine. That is, of course, until all the glitz and glamour that you use to polish away your sins wears off and leaves your soul all rusty and tarnished. Then what do you got? Nothing. Then, there’s nothing you can do, because there’s nothing left, nothing left of your soul. You’re too late to save yourself. Then, you look in the mirror and find out that you are nothing but a shallow, hollow, sparkling shell of your former self.” Lilly sighed, shook her head, then looked up at the moon. “Oh, the things you could have done had you only opened your eyes.” She moved a few more steps closer to them.

  “Instead, you both are just lying there. Smiling, rotting corpses on the floor of my new castle—Oh!” Lilly leaned back in shock. Frozen as they were, the pale corpses with their tight, shrunken skin had blinked. Slightly confused, Lilly’s golden mane flowed over her shoulder as she wiggled her toes, thinking. Then they blinked again. Bringing a surprised hand up to her chest, Lilly gave the two corpses a confused look and paused to think. Then she giggled and covered her mouth. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing. I thought you guys were dead. I mean, I really thought that you guys were dead. Don’t get me wrong, I totally meant to kill you, but… not like this—I didn’t want this. I mean, look at you guys.” They blinked again.

  “Huh.” Lilly’s forehead wrinkled up as she tried to remember What kind of venom did I give them, the good stuff or the painful kind? It mattered. Frozen in time, the couple was either stuck in a euphoric fantasy or their worst nightmare. I don’t know, she shrugged.

  Something else drew Lilly’s attention away from the not-dead couple. The wind started to whistle loudly and sharply. Thin clouds swarmed her, swirled around her, then moved on to circling just above her head and around her neck.

  “Huh? What?” Lilly told the swirling clouds, her banshees. “What? Hold on.” Lilly looked up at the sky and bobbed her head gently from side-to-side, thinking about it again. What kind of poison did I give them? She shook her head then huffed, “Dammit.”

  “Here,” she relented and flipped two coins into the air. “Finish them off, quickly.” The swirling smoke whispered back to her. “Yes. Yes, My Queen.” Then they snatched the coins out of the air and did as they were told. Lilly snapped back at the blinking corpses again. “You’re welcome. You guys are getting off easy.” Then she thought about it. What if they got the bad stuff? “Okay, maybe you’re not getting off easy, but you’re still getting a free pass so... I don’t know.”

  Flustered, she realized that she was rusty, because you’re early. The thought made her snarl and think about her encounter with Blackwell. The episode played and replaying itself inside her head, over and over and over again. The nerve of him, so arrogant and hypocritical. She wanted what was owed to her, and she didn’t want to wait. The stone tower, half of the stone tower, that was the deal. “Two more days. I just have to wait… two more days.” Who does he think he is? Vincent Blackwell. He’s no one, that’s who. He’s…

  “Huh?” Lilly smiled. What an interesting idea. She nodded to herself. Why not? “Couldn’t hurt, I guess.” Why take half when you could take all of it? “Sure, why not.”

  Lilly hopped onto the marble wall and stepped past the perfectly square bushes, suddenly in a much better mood. Lilly tiptoed along the outer edge of the marble wall, gazing out over New York City and down at the city street far below her. The wind sheared through her black dress, whipping it around her perfectly contoured body, and stretching out her golden waves of hair behind her like a golden banner. Lilly continued tiptoed down the edge of the wall, following it around until she reached the very edge of it, the edge of both terrace and the high-rise, right next to where the infinity pool dropped off. She looked out and over the New York City skyline and smiled. “Just two more days.”

  CH 32: Belly of the Beast

  Back in Fenrir’s stone throne room, he had his glaive pulled back and ready to thrust it into Raven’s chest, but he didn’t. A loud crunch and a shake of the earth gave him pause. Something strange was happening—something strange, and big. Gazing down one of the blackened corridors, he saw his wolves sprinting out of it, towards him and the rest of the wolves. The mountain shook again, and the squeak of frightened wolves came from another corridor. A flurry of sparks came from another corridor—flickering flames and blinking lights that looked like kindling logs from a collapsing bonfire. And the wolves that had filled that corridor were now gone.

  Another crunch and another aftershock sent Fenrir’s eyes down yet another corridor. Fenrir saw the same as before; kindle, sparks, and missing wolves.

  Then it happened again, but this time Fenrir saw something else. Long golden streams shimmered above rows of sharp ivory pillars, both appearing and disappearing with a quickness. A step ahead of the sparks and snapping ivory pillars, a handful of wolves had escaped whatever horror they were fleeing from and came bursting out of the tunnel and spilling into the cavern, sprinting and sliding until they started crashing into one another. Then regaining their footing, the wolves spun and began backing up and into each other, all the while their eyes stayed locked on whichever corridor they spilled out of.

  Despite the chaos, some wolves showed their bravery. The larger ones moved forward, growling angrily through their giant fangs, and stepped in front of the more timid ones. Still, all of them were still backing up, backing away from the corridors and closer to Fenrir.

  The smaller ones were more afraid and less vicious. Blending in with the rest and hiding behind the larger ones, they cowered low and whimpered. Tales tucked and ears flat to their heads, they were filled w
ith fear… and filled with uncertainty. Still unsure of what it was or where ‘it’ might strike next, the wolves’ yellow eyes swiveled left-to-right then back again. Searching for signs of the next attack, in a shrinking circle around Fenrir, they continued retreating.

  And soon, the wolf pack had formed a dense, growling circle of fangs and fur, surrounding both Fenrir and Raven, but not all of them. The six that had latched onto Raven’s wings and wrists kept their jaws clenched and locked where they were, but as they shifted with their pack, Raven felt his wings bending in all of the wrong ways, into two painful arcs.

  “That’s enough… for now.” The voice was smooth but firm and came from somewhere high above them.

  Blackwell followed the echo of his voice and floated down from the darkness that coated the ceiling of Fenrir’s throne room. “Hello, Wolf.” Landing just in front of one of the corridors, he jabbed his hands into his pockets and began strutting forward. As he approached, the frightened wolf pack found themselves, again, parting like the Red Sea.

  “You, Dark One,” Fenrir scowled. “You sent your slave to assassinate me?” Turning his glaive towards Blackwell, his wounded shoulder—from Raven’s earlier attack—splashed a dotted red arc of blood across the floor and across the tops of Blackwell’s glossy black shoes.

  Blackwell took notice and smiled. “And you just ruined my favorite pair of shoes. Let’s call it even.”

  “And now…” Fenrir growled. “And now, you would attack my pack!”

  “Well… not exactly. And as for him...” Blackwell glanced down at his tattered reaper. “Eh, he’s more of a rogue than an assassin—a freelancer, if you will. And that’s actually why I’m here, to retrieve him.” His comments were met by a silent, hateful glare from Raven, his wings still firmly planted between the clenched rows of wolf teeth.