Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet

by Kenyon T Henry

  He roared as he and the others leaped forward, swinging and slashing. They followed his lead, yelling and fighting with all their might. In a moment, the first wave of twenty or so were gone. The next wave, however, was almost upon them and had more than doubled in number. Stephen surveyed the group. A quick scan of their thoughts told him these were not pawns in the game, like the bodies that lay scattered around them. Instead, these were seasoned warriors and soldiers with a few prophets mixed in. Each one able to stand his ground and go toe-to-toe with a Mighty.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught movement off to the side. He looked and saw thirty or so Mighty running to the battle. Few of the Fallen noticed and turned just in time to be broadsided by what seemed to be a freight train coming out of the rolling blue mist. Stephen’s group charged again.

  Fallen were confused, turning this way and that to fight. They even fought each other in the chaos. Clashing and banging echoed down the street. Yells of victory and screams of defeat filled the air. Fallen couldn’t run and drag out the battle. They had been surrounded. Encircled and defeated, they disappeared in a plume of red mist, leaving behind their wounded and dead . . . and a warning that echoed through the air, “Your time is nearly up.”

  As those around him murmured, wondering exactly what the words might mean, Stephen knew this message was intended for him.

  Chapter 17

  Alistair stood in the street, looking around at the bodies scattered in the water, as his small unit from Enclave worked to clean up and get rid of any evidence they had been there. They had been fortunate this time. Often, Fallen would have already stirred the city up into chaos. Instead, the troublemakers had been engaged before the opportunity was available.

  “We were blessed,” Sam said, walking up next to Alistair. “It could have been worse. There must have been more than a hundred and twenty in all.”

  He turned around, looking for Stephen, and spotted him cleaning up alongside his own smaller team. “Yes, there must’ve been. God is guid.”

  Alistair walked toward Stephen and stopped just short of the team, Sam alongside him. He gave darting glances to a few men from Enclave as they hurried away after giving Stephen’s band a pat on the back for their help. “Thank ye for the assist,” Alistair joined in.

  Stephen turned and nodded, but said nothing.

  Alistair wondered if Stephen was probing his mind. He was certain he noticed a faint glow in the man’s blue eyes. “We came as soon as we knew they were on the ground. How did ye beat us here?”

  “We were already here,” Stephen said.

  “What? In the storm?”

  Stephen said nothing, which made Alistair nervous.

  “What for?” Alistair demanded.

  “Helping people. Do you know how many lives were saved before Fallen got here—how many injuries prevented?”

  Alistair felt the passion exude from Stephen as his voice grew louder. It was hard not to get swept up into the moment.

  “Alistair, we are here to help, right? We are Mighty. But we are God’s people first. Our calling is to help. We can’t save people if we aren’t on the battlefield with them.”

  “Battlefield? This is a battlefield!” Alistair shouted. “But could ye imagine what might happen if people knew of our existence?”

  “Same as now,” Stephen said. “They’d have a choice to make. We fight to give humankind more time to choose, right? What about these people?” Stephen made a wide sweeping motion with his arms as he looked around the city. “Don’t they deserve as much time as we can give them?”

  “Ye have endangered not only our way of life but yer own people—seven Mighty and two soldiers against more than a hundred.”

  “Nine,” Rex said.

  “Excuse me?” Alistair snapped.

  Shannon reached down, grabbed hold of the end of a compact car, and lifted the back wheels off the ground. Then, she set it back down and grinned.

  “Wha—?” Sam mumbled. “But how?”

  “Stephen,” Rex replied.

  “It does nae matter,” Alistair yelled. “Seven. Nine. Ye could’ve been killed. Then what?” he asked as he tried to convince himself that it really didn’t matter.

  “Alistair, this isn’t you. Don’t you remember wanting to share information about Mighty with me at Waltz’s funeral? You didn’t know I was his son. No one knew. You only wanted to ease my pain.”

  “Aye!” Alistair snarled. “And now yer making me believe it was a mistake to include ye. Benjamin Buchanan may have been wrong to allow ye to stay at Enclave. Ye’ll get all of yerselves killed!”

  Stephen glared into Alistair’s eyes. “Don’t act like your concern is for us. You aren’t concerned for the people either. Instead, you hide in Enclave on a borrowed throne in all your piety while others do the work all Mighty were called to do.”

  Before he knew his own action, Alistair slapped Stephen across the face.

  Anthony and Vincent moved to step forward, but Stephen held his arm out, stopping them.

  “We’ll leave Enclave to clean up what’s left,” Stephen said.

  Alistair had only blinked, and the Outcasts were swallowed by the strange purple mist.

  ****

  “How dare he!” Patty yelled before the mist had fully dissipated from operations center, revealing Stephen and the others. “He hit you, didn’t he? I felt the pain.”

  “It’s all right, Patty.” Stephen hugged her, trying to diffuse the situation, which was difficult considering he was angry enough for the both of them. “It didn’t hurt.”

  “Not that pain. He might as well have stabbed you in the chest.” She placed a hand on his chest over his heart. “Why didn’t you tell him about Charles?”

  “He wouldn’t listen. He’ll have to see it for himself.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Anthony asked.

  Stephen turned to him. “He will. I can’t explain how I know. I just do.”

  “Stephen’s right,” Joe added. “Alistair will see it, and it’ll break his heart. There are more urgent things that Stephen and the rest of ya need to worry about. There’s been a huge upswing in Fallen activity. By Enclave’s estimation, there must be at least five times as many Fallen than there are Mighty that still report to Enclave. Even if we pull reserves from across da world, we’ll still be grossly outnumbered.”

  “We’ll be there, right, Stephen?” Shannon asked.

  “We will,” he replied.

  “How many Outcasts have joined your ranks?” Joe asked.

  “We have about three hundred regulars here, overseeing operations. Plus, we have a few thousand committed to the cause that’ll fight with us.”

  Joe shook his head. “A drop in the bucket.”

  Rex spoke up. “You ain’t seen what this drop can do.”

  “For now,” Stephen said, “we need to help the others with this storm.”

  ****

  Less than an hour after all the Outcasts were recalled from the weakened storm, Stephen watched as Jax punched on the warrior pole—a pole filled with concrete and encased in large tires—grunting and crying with each strike. Kicks and punches flew one after another, violently striking the rubber.

  “Well,” Stephen said aloud, making sure Jax would hear him, “this looks familiar.”

  Jax dropped his arms to his side. Even from behind, his countenance looked like one of defeat. Sweat rolled down his neck and arms. His shirt was completely soaked. He looked down at the floor, trying to wipe sweat from his face with the back of his glove.

  Stephen walked around to where he could see Jax’s face, only to see him wiping tears. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m working out,” Jax replied, trying to sound casual.

  “You know what I mean. Don’t make me read your mind.”

  “Sandy and Andrew,” was all he said, as his body quivered.

  “Who?” Stephen fought the urge to pluck the information from Jax’s head. He sensed a deep hurt and thought an int
rusion into Jax’s mind might make things worse.

  “I was with them at Enclave.” Jax looked up at Stephen. “You were too . . . briefly.”

  Two faces appeared in Stephen’s mind. He didn’t know them well. Still, he remembered them. “They were there, weren’t they? We fought them after the storm.”

  Jax nodded and sniffled as he wiped more tears from his cheeks.

  Jax’s naïveté had not escaped Stephen. He knew the teen’s mind was strong, and that he understood what was at stake. The one thing Stephen hadn’t been certain of was how Jax would deal with fighting against friends.

  “Are they okay?” Stephen asked.

  “Sandy disappeared in the mist with the others.” Jax looked at the ceiling for a moment before refocusing on Stephen. “Andrew didn’t. I saw his body after it was over. He had a dagger in his chest.”

  Stephen wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t sure what to say. Did he need to say anything? He felt the need to fix the problem. Only he couldn’t. He simply watched as Jax walked over to his gear and threw his gloves into a bag.

  “You can take this feeling away, right?” Jax stooped down to his gear to wipe his face with a towel. “I don’t know if I can do this—fight against friends and people I know.”

  “I could take the feelings away, or at least make them not as strong.”

  “But you won’t,” Jax replied.

  “Emotions or not, your mind still knows what happened, and what could happen. You’ll still have to find a way to deal with it—to reconcile it.”

  “You could make me forget.”

  “If you had to forget each time, you’d never grow.” Stephen walked over to Jax and placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Jax, if you need time, no one will question it. There are Mighty who find other ways of helping for this exact reason. Not everyone is cut out for it.”

  “I’m a warrior, Stephen,” Jax shouted as tears flowed again. Then he mumbled, “What good is a warrior who can’t fight?”

  Stephen said nothing. There was a certain validity to Jax’s argument. Even though he knew it wasn’t that simple, he understood how Jax must be feeling. In fact, he allowed himself to be washed in the emotions and confusion that Jax wrestled with so that he would understand.

  “What else would I do?” Jax asked.

  “There is plenty you can do. You can help in the OC. You can be on a team that helps people, like what we did in the storm. People still need to be trained and to spar. There is so much more you can help with. If you’re ever ready, you can fight against Fallen then. If not, there is always a place for you.”

  “What about the battle that’s coming?” Jax asked, sounding much calmer. “I don’t want to let you down. What will the others think?”

  “No one else needs to know why you’re not in the battles. You’ll just be following my orders. Again, there are other ways to fight. I promise you, when the time comes, you’ll do your part.”

  “You think so?”

  “Jax, I’ve seen your heart. You are probably the most caring, loyal, and fearless friend I have. I know you have my back, no matter what.”

  Chapter 18

  Gregor held Jonas tight in his grasp, watching the life drain from him as it empowered and fueled his own physical body. This was Jonas’ punishment for failure. Though the man was never instructed to destroy Stephen, he was supposed to take the lives of everyone else.

  The Fallen leader looked around the office, which stood atop an abandoned steel mill. It was filthy, not a place suitable for the soon-to-be victor. Elizabeth and Bernie stood nearby, watching with crooked smiles. Elizabeth, nearly drooling, stared longingly at Gregor as a puppy would stare at its owner, waiting—hoping—for affection. Her eyes flickered with the light of candles around the walls, yet somehow still seemed dead, as though they were black holes that even the light could not escape.

  Bernie simply watched with arms crossed, seeming pleased enough at Jonas’ punishment. As Jonas continued to struggle against the drain of life, Bernie spoke up. “I understand why you didn’t want me to go last time. But Jonas was one of our most experienced people. Perhaps I should lead the next assault, to make sure it goes da way we want it to.”

  “Mercy, please!” Jonas yelled. “I didn’t know Mighty would come so soon.”

  Gregor held on. He had expressly told Jonas to take as many as necessary. He could have taken a hundred more—two hundred more. His arrogance would cost him, and hurt Gregor’s plans.

  Gregor was feeling euphoric from the surge of power—the new life pulsing through his veins. To instantly feel the muscles strengthen—to feel the hands of time move backward—there was nothing else on earth like it. But it wasn’t enough. The feeling faded after a while, and time continued ticking.

  Jonas’ body thudded against the cold hard floor, looking as though he had been dead a long time.

  “No,” Gregor growled, turning toward his two generals. “You’ll both go. Stephen has had enough of victory. Now I want his spirit crushed!” The last word, which he had yelled, echoed through the warehouse.

  Gregor pulled a picture from his pocket and paced as he mumbled to himself. “Pastor Buchanan’s death should have done the trick. Still, he fights with unequaled strength. His hope fuels the others, making them fight harder. It begins and ends with Stephen.”

  “I can get close to him. I can kill him,” Bernie offered.

  “No,” Gregor snapped. “I will take him in the end. I want everyone to see that even the Mighty Stephen—son of Waltz—cannot escape me.”

  “Why does he matter?” Elizabeth asked. “He’s only a boy. Sure, he’s powerful. But crush his army and he’ll be all alone.” She ran her finger across Gregor’s chest. “Then we can rule, our own unrighteous triune.”

  “Waltz bested me all those years ago. He humiliated me in the worst way possible.” Gregor glanced back to the picture in his hand. “I thought taking his life would be enough. I wiped out his entire family tree. With the boy alive, it all feels hollow. But taking the life of Waltz’s son will be the ultimate victory.”

  He walked over to a large window and drew back the curtain. The other two followed, looking out into the yard, where thousands of Fallen had gathered. “We are almost ready for the battle. I want Stephen weakened and hurting. Whatever it is that’s fueling his strength, I want it taken away from him.

  “More are gathering in clusters like this all across the world. The Mighty don’t have a prayer. I want Stephen to know that when we face each other again.”

  The sound of hurried steps pulled Gregor’s attention away from the window. He turned to see two people entering his chamber, a captain and someone he didn’t care to know. Grinning wide, he flexed his grip. “I hope this is important.”

  “It is, Gregor,” the captain spat out. “This one was with Jonas. She saw something that I believe is important.”

  “Well, girl,” Gregor snapped. “Let us hear it.”

  “Stephen had a powerful sword. It grabbed lightning and flung it into our midst, tearing through us before we had a chance to engage them. It looked like the blade was made of purple flames. I know—”

  The girl tried to continue, but Gregor held his hand up, silencing her as he paused to consider her testimony. Lightning? A purple flame?

  “There are many swords in the history of Mighty that have accomplished great feats. That, however, is a great feat indeed! I would guess that young Stephen has no idea of the power he harnesses with that sword.”

  “Do you want us to get it?” Elizabeth asked, sounding frenzied.

  “No. You know these type swords only respond to bloodline. I’m not one for keepsakes.” He pondered a moment longer before rendering his verdict. “Destroy it. Break it. Make certain it is of no use to him.” He chuckled. “This sword must be what’s fueling his power.”

  ****

  “How did he do it?” Alistair asked, walking through the corridors of Enclave, followed by his father and Sam.
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  “I don’t know,” replied Charles. “Perhaps it’s the sword.”

  “Why does it matter?” Sam asked. “Just as I suspected, Stephen has taken the brunt of Fallen’s focus. Besides,” he added, “we likely would not have won without his group there. I’ve never seen Fallen send so many after a storm.”

  “Yer right, Sam. They must’ve been intending to meet Stephen there. Perhaps next time we let them have a go at him.”

  Sam stopped in the empty hall. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Aye! I am serious,” Alistair barked, turning toward Sam. “Did ye see the way those men congratulated him there? Our men? We’ve already lost so many to Fallen. We can’t afford to lose any more to Outcasts.”

  “Like we lost Stephen?” Sam asked pointedly. “Do you even remember the prophecy, the one that says Stephen is the key to victory?”

  “Right! The vision that Stephen had. Who else can verify this vision? Can anyone step forward and confirm it’s true?” Alistair looked around, as though searching for someone. “That’s what I thought. No one.”

  “Alistair, I once turned my back on a friend in need. I’ve never forgotten it. And I’ll never get to make amends. Don’t make the same mistake I did. Just because you cannot see it, doesn’t mean it is not the truth.”

  Sam cut his eyes at Charles before dismissing himself and turning down a different corridor.

  “Where is he off to?” Charles asked.

  “Pfft! It does nae matter,” Alistair said, continuing on his way. “Do ye think I’m wrong about Stephen?”

  “Yes,” Charles replied.

  “Really?” Alistair asked quizzically, having expected a different answer.

  “Yes,” Charles repeated. “I think he’s far worse than you give him credit for, son. He’s powerful. And he will take everything from you if you’re not careful.”

  “I don’t care about me,” Alistair said, feeling the need to clarify. He never thought Stephen wanted to take anything away from him. “I worry for Enclave, and what’ll happen if she falls.”