In Eden's Shadow

by Amanda Churi

  “I am aware,” Gannon coolly replied, “but the moment they set foot into any one of the districts, they’re just fodder for the Bots’ rage. They won’t find an ounce of help past the walls now—only enemies set on tasting their lives. It will be impossible for them to reach the palace, and if in the event they do, they’ll be so exhausted and few that their demise will be humiliatingly easy.”

  A rigid silence descended upon the heinous duo, but Typo found the strength to break it. “Griffin will take a bit longer; Justus has encountered some complications.”

  Gannon huffed. His eyes never strayed from the addictive screen-life. “Of course, he would; he’s great at falling short. What seems to be the problem now?”

  “We believed the test of darkness was a strong indicator of his body’s stability, but just like all the others, once we inserted a fraction of Kevin’s marrow, Griffin’s body went into shock. He is holding on better than any of the other experiments, but the outcome is up in the air right now.”

  The Lord couldn’t help but scoff. “Even with all the advancements in technology, biology, and science that we have made, we currently have a 100% failure rate when it comes to creating a supernatural after birth… And then you have Desmond, who simply chugs a vial of festering blood in the Middle Ages, and he walks it off. What a commendable man.”

  “With all due respect, it’s easy to create a supernatural off of your line while in vitro, my Lord, since you all are living and breathing, but another line… Kevin’s… His body is eight hundred years old. It’s only probable that his genes would prove difficult to properly manifest after all that time. Why don’t you just—?”

  “What? Forget the experiment? Use what forces we have? I will do no such thing. Who knows what sort of ploy Pinion is conjuring under our noses? We can’t just kill them; we have to obliterate them so that not a scratch of their influence remains on our reborn ground. Besides… The Reveres sifted through Eyla for decades until they finally came across the one responsible for Kevin’s powers, and getting there took uncountable tests and sacrifices. Now that we have both that and his body together, I’m putting him into use and using Kevin exactly as Calla would have wanted.” He paused to catch his breath. “…But nevertheless, we can overlook Justus’ lack of competency for the moment. We don’t need him yet.”

  Typo eyed Gannon suspiciously. He had seen more than his fair share of coldhearted tyrants in his centuries of hunting, but Gannon was a specimen who always stood out—a combination of an unyielding compassion for a peaceful future with a festering hate for careless humans. Even after so many years beside him, sometimes not even Typo could see what was coming, and Justus poking his nose back into the palace was certainly one of those blindsiding moments. “Why did you even put that boy back in the laboratory?”

  Gannon’s smile returned, set on watching a woman be eaten from the gut out. “Why not?”

  “Perhaps because of his initial betrayal? I knew you didn’t want him dead, but I figured that was for torturing purposes. Never would I expect such a pardoning—”

  “Justus is anything but. Once he serves his purpose, I will gladly change my course. Even the largest of defects all have a degree of value in the end.” Gannon’s usually composed voice dwindled, falling off and then astray as his focus was redirected to a small scroll-ball on the opposite side of his desk. Flat eyes stared for a moment, and then he proceeded to run his free palm across it.

  Off in the corner of such bloody madness, an image popped up on the vast screen—a picture of a younger, unscarred version of himself standing beside a woman with long gray hair. She held a newborn girl in one thin arm; a sickly, ghost-looking boy clutched the other.

  “I look identical to every other Lord Revere,” he sourly observed.

  “As you should,” Typo agreed. “Such is a consequence of the strictly regulated DNA recombination process—take as much as possible from the Revere and little from the partner chosen by DNA compatibility.”

  “I’m just grateful that the sequence chosen for me happened to give rise to a much-needed change in mentality. But look at those kids… One utter failure, and the other a failure at heart… Neither bear any resemblance to me now, only their dumb mother. It’s truly a blessing that they will never have to take rule; they would just send this world further into a downward spiral.”

  “…Indeed.”

  The strained tone captured Gannon’s attention. “What is it?”

  Typo hunched his shoulders to his neck in discomfort. “I do not lack faith in you, my Lord… But hypothetically speaking, if this plan were to fail, who would take your place? Your current heirs would never do the job, and if you do not have another child, the Revere bloodline will—”

  Gannon closed the photo and waved his demon away. “As I said, no one will come after me. God is eternal.”

  The demon did not know how to reply, so instead, he let his Lord continue. “I need the heart of an angel… Prysm’s heart, Pinion’s, either will do. There will be no more of the fiasco of having to transplant Calla’s Eyla and breed the supernatural gene. I will have demons and angels—ice and fire and power in its truest form—a creature of Hell and Heaven wrapped up into one pretty package: God.”

  “And if that were to fail?”

  Gannon scoffed. “What a pessimist, Typo… Can’t you see?” Gannon swiveled in his chair to face the toxic being. “There is no chance of failure, not now. I have them all under my thumb, about to be squished at any moment.”

  Typo frowned. “Please do not get too cocky… I would hate for someone as just as you to fall to this disgusting world.”

  “Cocky?” he repeated with a smile. “Typo, never. Confidence and arrogance are two brothers dancing the same tango at different tunes. Arrogance arises out of misplaced, false confidence; real confidence, however, comes from clarity of just what one can do. I know my limits—I also know that I am in the right. I am paying the price for the past mistakes of all Reveres. The world can hate me all they want, but remember, they only breathe because I say so. If I were truly the impudent monster they see me as, I would just pull the lever, wouldn’t I? I am saving the world, and the Encryption is intent on destroying it; therefore, it would only be in God’s best interest to smite those who threaten His perfect world, no?”

  Even as an ever-shifting mound of vapor, Typo’s grimace shined through. “I just brood over what such ignorance from the Encryption will create… Why can no one see your way? It is not like taking away emotions will destroy all humanistic qualities; we just need to obtain those most sensible. I figured the idea of young, lush forests, clean, released springs, and full stomachs would allow anyone this day and age to let you dispose of those who threaten it, but—”

  The Lord rose, cutting Typo and his string of concerns off. Forebodingly, he stepped up beside his loyal soldier with a beaming smile—one that was aglow due to the electrical currents flying through his enamel. He touched Typo’s vaporizing shoulder, holding on tight to the strands of mist to mentally keep the demon in place. “It’s because Pinion has no interest in my future. You and I both know that she failed to disclose the bargain and our intents to the rest of her force again and again. The good of this world is not her concern. But it is yours—ours. Don’t forget that, because remember…” He tightened his hold. “You have no place to go. You are a traitor to both Earth and Hell—there is no place that will ever accept you besides right here. Just follow my word, and we will rebuild what was so boldly stolen. Remember: God never breaks a promise.”

  And then, Gannon just left—vanished first into the dusk and then exited the room, never looking back.

  Even being a figment of air, Typo was rooted down for minutes by the audacity of Gannon’s subtle threat. He didn’t question Gannon—he didn’t; he was just worried… Fretting over whether or not rebuilding Eden was actually possible. Perhaps that was what really brought such unrest to his soul. He was the demon growing wings, the one wanting to save, and Pinion, th
e angel, was slowly filling his boots, using them to crush the planet and its people.

  Moving slowly, Typo placed himself before the control board, reopening the recently closed picture and reliving those simple times. Every Revere had been power hungry, and Typo always got a high off it himself, but the structure that Desmond established long ago proved to be inferior… There were many more obstacles to conquer now than then, but when they did, there would never be a structure that would stand taller nor longer than Gannon’s.

  But if the Encryption succeeded, everything and more would be turned on its head, and it was all because of one slight miscalculation that Gannon’s heart had made way back when.

  All attention violently fell on the baby in the picture: the girl swaddled in plush white blankets, her black hair identical to that of her wicked ancestor—Gannon’s ultimate experiment that began this terrible upset of balance.

  Typo snarled, zooming in on the baby’s innocent face. “My apologies, Seek, but capture is no longer an option for you.”

  Nineteen

  Break Them

  The bed was so comfy… She never wanted to leave it!

  Smiles smothered her face as she rubbed her cheek against her blankie, letting it tickle her peach fuzz. In the safety of her fluffy quilts, an aura of heat kept her cocooned in happiness. She had no desire to get up and eat breakfast that morning; she could have lay there forever, watching the beautiful snow fall from beyond the ice walls that protected her.

  “Prysm! Honey, come on!”

  The airtight silver doors of Prysm’s sanctuary parted with a mechanical whoosh. Prysm shrieked; she burrowed farther under the covers so that she was completely hidden, not even coming out when her bed sank with the addition of new weight.

  “Hmm…” the person who entered contemplated. “Now, where did my little girl go?”

  Prysm couldn’t help but giggle. Was she that blind?

  “GAH!” A massive weight toppled onto Prysm, nearly crushing her, but the youngster couldn’t focus on her compression—not when the tickle monster struck, attacking Prysm’s weakest points until she nearly wet the bed out of painful laughter.

  The monster retreated, pulling the blankets back to reveal Prysm huddled in a ball. She was still giggling, panting as she tried to recover from the brutal assault, but the monster just smiled. Their lush gray hair was spun into a crown of braids, an elegant ivory dress with bursts of stardust contouring perfectly to her white skin. Perhaps her mother’s most stunning feature was her lustrous purple eyes. Those beautiful orbs always scared people, but Prysm never understood why. Her mother was the gentlest creature; even in a palace filled with soldiers who tried to act all rough and tough, she remained true to herself, and that meant enjoying what she was given—especially her two children.

  “Come on, sweetheart.” She gently took Prysm’s pudgy hand and led the sleepy six-year-old out of bed. It was far too early to be awake; Prysm had slept so soundly that her hair looked like a black, scorched bush, while dried strings of spit coated her lips and cheeks.

  The princess tiredly put on her soft blue slippers and tiny white robe, still yawning as her mother escorted her out of the room and through the palace.

  Nearby Elites bowed as the royal duo passed. Only Elites reigned in the sector of the palace where the Reveres were housed; they kept the glittering blue walls polished and in pristine condition, making sure that the rooms and passageways were kept up to par with the Reveres’ requests.

  But even though they served as part-time housekeepers, they were the biggest and baddest soldiers—the ones who were at the family’s beck and call, ready to protect them at a moment’s notice—especially Typo. At either birth or induction into the family, each Revere was given a small fraction of Typo’s demonic being: if in the event their blood spilled, he could immediately sense it and teleport to the specified location—the ultimate security system.

  Today, however, Prysm noticed that there were more soldiers than usual, and they seemed more active; even the wise, deformed elder Orione was more alert—not enough to leave his small den, where most all he did was sleep, but he did keep a watchful eye that peered out at Prysm from thin, iced glass.

  “Mama, what’s up? Orione isn’t napping!”

  Her mother smiled. “Dear, your father is about to achieve something great; he wants all of us to be there for it.”

  Prysm gasped in excitement. “Really?! I get to see Daddy at work?! AWESOME!”

  She quaintly smiled. “Well… It does make sense that he would want you to start learning. You are the future Lord, after all, and in time, his Eyla will be yours.”

  Giggles attacked Prysm for the second time that morning. “Yay! Auntie Calla is the coolest!”

  Her mother chuckled, but she did not say more—and because of that, Prysm found it hard to talk as well. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something different about her mother today too… Something ever-so-slightly different, but it was there, desperately trying to stay hidden.

  They walked for minutes more through elaborate blue halls and up and down icy staircases until they entered the militaristic side of the palace—one which Prysm had never been to. Haxors that she so rarely saw dominated the sector, intermingled with Elites whom Prysm was unfamiliar with. While these Elites looked identical to those in her home, their natures were hardly similar; they were more rushed and scurrying about—definitely less cordial and more focused on training.

  “Here we are,” Prysm’s mother announced. The thick, silver doors opened the moment they drew near and swiftly closed behind them. All that Prysm could do was gawk and stare.

  It was a laboratory—one with so many inventions that she did not know how to describe, let alone name them. Work stations were everywhere; there were so many scientists that they greatly outnumbered the available tables. Clear tubes with funny liquids within them stood throughout the room; odd devices cluttered every available shelf; the concrete floors and its illuminated drains connected each corner of the room like a grid.

  But the most astounding feature was the air—it was sparkling and whispering, the faintest traces of white mist floating aimlessly.

  The Eyla! Prysm realized. She tried to poke one, and it squirmed away, rushing into the back of the laboratory.

  “Oh, there’s Daddy!” Prysm squealed, jabbing her finger in his direction. Her father stood amongst the swirling white cosmos of Eyla, inspecting the piece of machinery where the concentration of souls was greatest. “DADDY!” she called again.

  His eyes quickly found her; he smiled and waved his family on back.

  Prysm took off and left her mother in the dust, throwing her short arms around her father’s thighs and hugging him tightly. “Daddy! Look! Look at all the Eyla! This where you put them when you find them in the palace?”

  He chuckled, patting her head and ruffling her hair. “Yes, now watch this…” He stepped back and lifted his palm from her head. Her black strands of hair reacted favorably; they rose straight up at first, but soon, he was fluttering his fingers and bending them at will, able to twist and mold the hairs into shapes.

  “Whoa!” Prysm gawked. “That’s what I’ll be able to do when you give me Calla?!”

  He answered with a haughty laugh. “Yes! That, and so much more! What a smart little girl I have.” He patted her head again in approval before turning to face the large contraption feet behind him. It towered at such heights that several holes had to be cut through the ceilings of the floors above them just so that the needle-like spire could touch the sky. “JUSTUS! For fuck’s sake, did you get it yet?!”

  “A-almost!” he shrilly answered, crawling out from behind the tower of gears and wires he had been working on with other scientists. The glasses he wore were so big that they hardly fit on his tiny head, and he was dressed in a jumpsuit—and covered in filth.

  Seek tilted her head as she stared at her brother. She always wondered why he looked so dirty and skinny… And why her father alwa
ys used mean words around him.

  “Gannon, don’t be so harsh…” Prysm’s mother gently corrected, walking past her husband and approaching her son. She gave Justus one of those warm smiles that she always had on the ready; she reached into the folds of her gown and passed him a small slice of dried meat.

  A gracious smile broke Justus’ mucky face. He gave his mother a loose hug and shoved the jerky into his mouth before jumping back to work.

  Gannon glowered; her mother smiled in return.

  In the growing crowd gathering behind them, Typo emerged from thin air, coming to stand alongside his Lord. “Sir, everything seems to be in order.”

  “Perfect,” Gannon replied. “We just have to wait for them to install the chamber. The scientists in the back are topping it off as we speak.”

  “Wonderful,” Typo said. He glanced down at Prysm beside his Lord, flashing her a charming smile. “Hello, dear. Fancy seeing you here!”

  She bared her semi-toothless smile wide, glowing with happiness. “Hiya, Uncle Type!”

  “LORD!”

  Her father drew his attention to two scientists as they pushed to the front of the tight crowd. They donned their clad, protective white armor, one scientist holding a large, sealed vial of spinning white energy. The one beside him possessed a vial identical in structure, but the contents could not be more different. Contrast to the beaming, frantic souls pressurized into one, the other festered and radiated heat, seas of sluggish smog trembling within the confinements in search of an escape route.

  A smile that Prysm had never seen her father display emerged. Wicked with excitement, he stepped off to the side, motioning for the scientists to proceed.

  Prysm found herself leaning forward as the engineers and scientists worked together to power the great invention. That energy… One so pure and the other so evil… It was amazing—so amazing that she couldn’t help but look up at her father in admiration. One day, she would do things as great as him.