Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1)

by Phil Scott Mayes

“No, not we. We’d have to fight while holding hands. I’m not sure that would even be an advantage at that point. But you being invisible while their focus is on me is the perfect advantage. You can flank, disarm, and attack from the Pneuma Rigma while I have their attention. And you can pull me in with you if we need to disappear.”

  “I don’t know, Mel. It’s safer if you’re in here with me the whole time.” I say, tightening my grip.

  She sinks her fingers deeply into the notches between mine and says, “Ted, I know you mean well, but I think you’re forgetting which of us is the best fighter in the alliance. I don’t need your protection. Now, let go of my hand and let’s do this.”

  Her grip goes limp and she pulls her hand forcefully from mine. After a slightly longer delay than the first time, she’s vaulted through the void and back to the other side. She relaxes her spine back to human form and opens the office door.

  “Come on. Coast is clear,” she says.

  Mel leads the way from the other side and I follow through the rising, shifting mist of the spirit rift, careful to avoid contact with passersby and always keeping an eye on our six o’clock. It’s impossible to predict when the warlord might arrive with his beast army. For all I know that Nephilim monster can fly through the Pneuma Rigma like a bird. Our own swiftness in dealing with Jan and Harvey is the only insurance we have against being blindsided. Of course, he could already be waiting on the roof.

  Like the hallways and offices of Pentastar, the remaining flights of stairs are more desolate than usual for the time of night. This would normally be a busy hour for Orchid Song. Its kitchen shares a wall with the stairwell, and at all hours of the day it’s normal to hear the muted clanging of plates and gonging of pots and pans when passing the sixty-fifth floor, but tonight it’s chillingly silent. It’s late, but not so late that everyone should be gone. In retrospect, I wonder if the cleaning woman I passed in the stairwell was on her way out of the building. Does Jan have enough power to evacuate Milburn Tower? It’s possible. The right lie can make anyone powerful. Maybe she just had Harvey call in a bomb threat, although I doubt they want police combing the building.

  After five tiring minutes, Mel and I reach the rooftop door, which Jan was smart enough to close. She would know we’ve arrived as soon as the door swings open whether or not we’re visible. Mel looks back so I give her shoulder a quick squeeze, knowing she can’t actually see me. She offers a brief smile and nod before her face hardens with taut lips and an intense brow. Fire flashes through her eyes as she turns and plows through the door.

  Against the backdrop of a cool, overcast sky, Jan sits patiently atop the far concrete ledge while Harvey paces wolfishly in front of her. The radio equipment to the right and industrial air-conditioning units to the left form a wide corridor in which we’ll make our stand. Slow-burning city lights reflect off the wet troposphere, leaving the rooftop aglow in a pale, sickly orange. Mel steps slowly but confidently in Jan and Harvey’s direction, and I follow in her wake.

  Jan stands from the ledge, saying, “Melodia Galanis, our mutual acquaintance told me that you’re an alliance fighter, but it wasn’t always that way, was it?” She looks at Mel with an accusatory sneer. “I remember our interview after Ted killed Joel. You guarded your secret well. I bet you were a terrific liar. You must’ve been good at it to build the small empire you abandoned to live as an impotent beggar. Is it true that you were the sweetheart shoo-in for mayor of Corellia Falls?”

  Mel stands firm and says nothing, unfazed by Jan’s attempts to worm into her head.

  Walking slowly toward Mel, Jan continues. “I mean, Corellia Falls is no Port Ellis, but it’s a city of what, two hundred thousand? How did it feel to stand on their backs? I bet it was like a plush, memory foam rug. You made a lot of money off of those desperate young ladies, didn’t you?”

  “Shut up, Jan!” Mel barks fearfully.

  Harvey continues pacing, head on a swivel. The massive air-conditioning units come to life with the click of a relay, drowning out the honking and grumbling that climbs weakly from the street hundreds of feet below. It’s the perfect opportunity for me to move around with impunity, both invisible and silent. I move swiftly into the grid of air conditioners, ducking and sliding between the units to flank Harvey. Once inside, the giant fan blades cut through the air, creating waves of turbulence that are nearly visible in the Pneuma Rigma, yet their volume is somehow lower than that of the vocal range.

  Jan keeps talking, clearly stalling and trying to divide our ranks. “How did it go? A scared, pregnant girl would walk into your nonprofit looking for advice and you’d listen for all of two minutes before directing her to the abortion clinic one block over? The clinic where you were a silent partner; the one where the doctors paid you a hefty percentage of each operation, like a finder’s fee. You were such a powerful god of deceit that the humans actually celebrated your genocide, calling you a champion of women’s rights.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say, I’m not that Nephilim anymore,” Mel says with deflated conviction.

  “Oh, but I’m just getting started. That nonprofit was just a pet project, wasn’t it? It’s not what made you a frontrunner in the race for mayor. But first, to set the record straight, you are that Nephilim. You will always be that Nephilim. We’re all that Nephilim. You think I really care what you did to those humans? I don’t give a shit! They’re humans. Do humans care what horrors befall the chickens in a poultry plant? As long as they get their legs, thighs, wings, and breasts, they couldn’t care less. But you know who will care what you did, Mel?” She pauses with raised eyebrows and no intention of waiting for a reply. “Ted. Ted will care about what you did and who you are. Does he know who you really are?”

  Again, she stops for a moment and looks around the roof, leaning from side to side as if to peer around the trees. “Speaking of Ted, where is that little bitch?”

  Now a little rattled, Mel replies, “You don’t know me. That was a long time ago.” A heavy pause ensues while she regroups, “As for Ted, he’s getting closer as we speak. You’ll see him soon enough.”

  “Well, I also heard Ted learned a new trick. How should I know he’s not already up here with us, lurking in the spirit rift like a coward?” she asks pompously, continuing to goad us into a fight.

  Having regrouped, Mel pushes back. “From the note you left in your office I got the impression that we’re supposed to wait for your boss to arrive, but it really sounds to me like you want to take your shot now.”

  “You’re right. He wants you delivered alive, but I don’t think he’ll mind if we soften you up before he gets here.”

  Harvey speaks up, still scanning every inch of the roof, “Ma’am, Ted’s here. Don’t know where, but I’m certain.”

  “Of course he is, Harvey. They think they’re being clever. I wouldn’t have wasted my breath on Mel’s past if I didn’t think Ted was here to hear it. Take care of it,” she orders. “I’ve got Mel.”

  Jan walks toward Mel, taking Nephilim form, as Harvey finally stops pacing and draws the same revolver that made him so bold in that conference room. I wonder if he’d be half as tough without it. I step around the final air-conditioning unit to gain a straight shot at Harvey’s right side and start my charge still shrouded by the groaning machines. He raises his gun and pans around calmly, looking for any hint of my position but focusing mainly in Mel’s direction. In Nephilim form I gain incredible speed, enough to break human bones on impact. A rocketing specter, I close the distance between us in a flash. But only five steps away, the blowers shut off.

  In the milliseconds of stark silence that follow, Harvey hears something. A footstep. A scrape. A speck of loose concrete grinding. Whatever it is, he turns straight toward me as I lower my shoulder for impact, and he squeezes the trigger.

  Crack!

  Pain travels down my spine to the tips of my toes as my body crashes into his. Over the ringing in my ears I detect the distinct pop of broken ribs as my mo
mentum transfers to his body, launching him across the roof and against the nearby radio tower. The impact vibrates the tower pole like a ringing bell and I tumble onto the ground, delirious.

  Through the floating black dots in my vision, I see Nephilim Mel and Jan locked in combat. Jan, clearly outmatched, is still holding her own with scrappy ingenuity and no regard for fair play. She slashes across Mel’s abdomen with a blade, but Mel jumps back, parrying the attack and grabbing Jan’s arm at the end of her follow-through. She wraps Jan’s arm in her armpit and twists forcefully against her elbow. Jan shrieks and drops the knife, which Mel kicks safely away.

  As my eyes find clarity, I notice two things: I’ve returned to the human plane, and I’m bleeding from somewhere. Pushing up from my prone position, a pain—searing, stabbing, and throbbing—swells from the lower right side of my neck. I touch my neck and withdraw gleaming red fingers. I’ve been shot.

  At the base of the antenna tower, Harvey stirs and whimpers in pain. My bleeding neck suddenly takes a back seat to finishing what I started. The blood isn’t spurting, so he must’ve missed the artery, but he has at least four more attempts loaded in that revolver and I can’t give him another chance. I stagger his direction, gaining more agility with each step in spite of a growing numbness in my right arm. I stride past the revolver, sweeping it up from the ground and popping its cylinder open.

  One, two, three, four, I drop the remaining rounds to the ground then toss the handgun away, eager to level the playing field. Harvey sees me drawing near and stands slowly, babying his ribs with his left hand and pulling a switchblade with his right. So much for a fair fight. He notices the stun gun that must’ve flown from my pocket during our collision and stomps it to pieces as he tramps my way. As soon as I get within reach, he lunges with an agonized growl. I strike his arm aside and land a right cross to his healthy ribs, lackluster on account of the tingling weakness in my arm. He cries out and stumbles around me, flailing haphazardly with the blade that finds the back of my left shoulder and sinks a couple inches deep.

  He leaves the knife in my shoulder as he buckles and gasps, arms wrapped around his torso. Fighting for air and in serious pain, Harvey drops to his knees.

  “Shit!” he barks angrily as he takes frantic, shallow breaths.

  Looking over at Mel, I see blood trickling from her brow, and she’s looking more fatigued than I would’ve expected. My only reassurance is the sight of Jan, whose right eye is swollen nearly shut, and who is clearly favoring her left leg. No matter which of them is winning at the moment, I need to finish this with Harvey and help Mel, not because she needs it but because without a stiff electric jolt, Jan will fight to the death before she talks. If that happens, we’ll be no closer to answers about the Nephilim warlord. Now, with the stun gun trashed, I’ll have to find a new way to loosen her lips.

  With his knife still stuck in my back, I stride toward the folded-over Harvey and line up for a finishing kick to the head, but as my leg swings through, he pulls up, blocks my kick with both hands, and grabs my ankle. Holding it tightly, he sweeps around, taking out my planted leg and sending me into an uncontrolled fall. The wind quits my lungs as I thud flat onto my back, driving Harvey’s knife even deeper into my flesh and bone.

  A resurgent Harvey finds his feet and moves under the power of his second wind. Meanwhile, I struggle to find any air at all as I wheeze in anguish and watch helplessly while he targets my ribs with a simple but effective soccer-style kick. Then another. Then a stomp on my abdomen. I try to fend off his attacks with my right arm, but it’s like blocking a baseball bat with a pool noodle. He continues his flurry of kicks and stomps, softening my right arm and ribs to the point of breaking. He’s so fixated on my ribs that he fails to notice me reaching over my shoulder for the handle that protrudes from my back. He draws his leg back for another blow and I roll toward him, yanking the knife from the notch in my bone and slamming it through his foot with enough force to chip the concrete beneath.

  He howls in pain and tries to remove the knife, but it’s too late. My scintilla are already raiding his blood stream, flowing from his foot to his heart, and then to his brain. Harvey crumples limply to the ground and I roll away, wincing and gritting my teeth. I sit upright and watch the human lump, cautiously at first, then confidently, because it’s clear that his sowing has begun. My work here is done. Live or die, the outcome is up to him.

  I gingerly rise and make my way toward Mel and Jan, who trade a series of blows as I approach. Mel lands a glancing left hook, then a right jab that Jan absorbs and turns into a grapple and headbutt. Their brawling isn’t pretty. It’s as savage as one would expect from a street fight to the death. They’re bloodied and swollen, Jan far more than Mel, and each blow is a little weaker than the one before, but Jan refuses to relent. Of course, I’ve been shot in the neck and stabbed in the shoulder, so I don’t have much room to talk. The right half of my shirt down into my pant leg is soaked red, and my lightheadedness has me worried that the gunshot wound is more serious than I originally thought. If I could fully feel my right arm, I’m sure I’d be in agony, but its partial paralysis and my stiff slug of adrenaline have dulled nearly all sensation.

  Still locked in a grapple, Jan and Mel each try to kick the others’ legs out and throw the other down with no success. Mel quickly pulls Jan close and launches her right knee into Jan’s stomach, causing her to release Mel, double over, and puke. Mel takes the opportunity to wipe the blood that’s running into her eye from her brow and notices my approach. I vanish into the Pneuma Rigma and beeline to her, pulling her into the rift with me just as Jan brandishes a firearm of her own and takes aim at Mel. Jan pulls the trigger repeatedly, expending several rounds of hot lead where Mel stood only an instant ago. The bullets perforate an HVAC unit with a wallop and hiss that rival Jan’s enraged growl.

  Inside the Pneuma Rigma, I relay a quick plan of attack to Mel, explaining the broken stun gun and pointing out the radio equipment behind Jan. Releasing Mel’s hands, I send her back to the human plane, now at Jan’s flank and in the perfect position to disarm her. Mel clamps down on Jan’s gun, staying clear of the muzzle, then twists and throws an elbow into Jan’s diaphragm. Hands on her knees, overwhelmed and reeling, Jan glances across the roof at Harvey’s still body.

  “Harvey!” she snarls as I pass behind her on my way to the stairwell door.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Harvey, get your ass up!”

  Still nothing. She huffs in pride-fueled rage and grunts in pain.

  “Really? You lost to Ted? TED?!” she harasses, but Harvey’s not home.

  I bridge back from the Pneuma Rigma near the stairwell. “Shh, he’s sleeping,” I taunt. “He may be back soon, but he won’t be the same. Whenever he does wake, it’s going to be too late for you anyway.”

  “Just give up, Jan,” Mel offers. “Tell us who that Nephilim warlord is; tell us everything you know. It doesn’t have to go down like this.”

  Jan shakes her head in disgust. “How did you two fools find each other? Please, do our kind a favor and sterilize yourselves.” she scoffs with a snort. Then, angrily, she continues, “Why would I give in to you? I don’t fear you. You’re not going to kill me. You need me alive or you get nothing. But him, the Nephilim ‘warlord’ as you put it, he’ll skin me alive if I tell you anything. He’ll feed my pelt to his devil dogs and remove my eyelids so I have no choice but to watch as they gnaw me to death from the legs up. Unless you have something worse than that in store for me, you’re wasting your time.”

  “At the risk of sounding ominous, Jan, I think you’ve underestimated Ted and me. While you were mastering the art of deceit and building your fortune, we’ve been mastering our Nephilim abilities and plotting your end. You have no idea what we’re capable of.”

  I slink around in the background during their dialogue, searching for a new weapon against Jan until I find exactly what I need to loosen Jan’s lips. Attached to the outside of the stairwell s
haft wall is a fire hose coiled around a reel, a halon extinguisher, and a fire axe. I snatch the axe from the wall and slide enough into view for Mel to see me nod.

  “We’re not stopping until we have what we came for. You’ll talk,” Mel predicts.

  Jan smirks tiredly and quips, “Better get to it, then. You’re running out of time.”

  Mel immediately pulls up her fists and closes the distance. Jan backpedals, hastily raising her defenses, but it’s too late as Mel lands a couple of jabs to her face. She sends several body shots, right and left, that Jan mostly blocks before landing a kick against Jan’s weak leg. Jan yelps and drops down to a kneel then rebounds, barely avoiding Mel’s incoming knee. But as she throws herself away from Mel’s attack, she loses her balance, stumbling back several steps. I raise the axe high, preparing for my moment.

  The spacing between them is perfect, so Mel unleashes a powerful front kick that sends Jan careening toward the intended path of my axe. I muster every ounce of strength that remains in my wounded arms and swing. Jan’s staggering feet snag on the radio equipment’s low concrete platform, felling her like a tree. With my window closing rapidly, I aggressively accelerate the axe to my target. My timing impeccable, the sharpened edge cuts through the air only a few millimeters from the back of Jan’s descending head, and as I strike my target squarely—the high voltage power and ground cables coming out of the radio tower’s base unit—the bit of the axe embeds into the metal conductors, creating a short circuit through its head. Sparks fly as Jan’s neck bounces off the butt of the axe and a loud pop resonates from inside one of the nearby radio cabinets. As Jan’s limp body settles next to the cables, the red strobe at the top of the tower fades out.

  Mel and I stare, frozen, wondering if Jan got the proper dosage of electric anesthesia. She’s not moving yet, which is promising, but if that pop of the circuit breaker came too soon, she may not be out for long. Of course, if it came too late, she could be out for good. We share a look and Mel dashes over as I crouch to feel Jan’s neck for a pulse. Her artery taps a sinus rhythm against my fingers, and her warm breath condenses in the cool evening air. Somehow, we’ve managed to arrive at the desired result. Now we just need to get Jan back to my apartment to ask our questions.