Angels and the Bad Man

by

M. K. Gibson

Copyright © 2018 by Michael K. Gibson

Published by

Amber Cove Publishing

PO Box 9605

Chesapeake, VA 23321

Cover design by Steve Beaulieu

Visit his online gallery at https://www.facebook.com/BeaulisticBookServices/

Interior Logo by T.J. Salyers

Edited by Valerie Kann

Book design by Jim Bernheimer

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Visit the author’s website at www.mkgibson.com

First Publication: January 2018

Dedication and Acknowledgments

In previous books, I’ve thanked a lot of people. My wife/editor Valerie, my son Jack, my mother Bonnie, my friends, and of course my publisher, Jim Bernheimer. And naturally, I thank them again, now and always.

But for this book, I want to thank you.

Whoever you are, I thank you.

A lot of writers, especially first-timers, pour a lot of themselves into their protagonists. And I’m no different. Salem is me in many ways. No, I didn’t live through a biblical apocalypse, I’m not a superhero, and I don’t know any gods or demons.

But I do know my demons.

My issues with alcohol in past. My issues with connecting to others. Isolation. Fear. Sadness. Depression. And all the dark, dark thoughts that come while in those places.

This particular series is where I work a lot of those demons out. I punish Salem, perhaps because part of me thinks I deserve it for my past sins.

During my years, especially when I was in the military, I had some dark times--being in the world, but not feeling like I was part of it.

I’ve worked out a lot of my issues, but I think we both know those feelings never truly go away. You manage them. And for me, writing helps. It helps a lot.

So I thank you, for allowing me to connect with a stranger. I hope my books bring you amusement. If nothing else, they are fun tales of action and adventure.

But if you feel, or have felt as I have, alone and unwanted, then please, seek help. Keep your head above water no matter how easy it would be to just let go. Find something on the horizon to focus on. Swim to shore. Pull yourself up. Reach out a hand. Even if you’re rejected over and over, never give up.

You--we--are not alone.

The Technomancer books are about hope. But hope isn’t needed when things are good.

Hope is needed when times are dark.

And in a self-serving way, I thank you for reading my books because it leaves behind a piece of me. A fraction of my psyche that my son might one day read and come to understand his dad as a person.

For all that, and so much more, I thank and dedicate this book to YOU.

Cheers

M. K. Gibson

Prologue

Chapter One

Giant Flesh-Eating Demons and Morons

Chapter Two

A Great Lance

Chapter Three

Forty-Four Reasons

Chapter Four

Eleven Herbs and Spices

Chapter Five

Gnashing Wails of Hatred and Violence

Chapter Six

Ground Beef

Chapter Seven

I’m Going to Hurt Them

Chapter Eight

A Good Ol’ Fashioned Herd-Stomp

Chapter Nine

Against All the Fae

Chapter Ten

As Long As Wakinyan Wishes

Chapter Eleven

Trophies

Chapter Twelve

To Be Cold

Chapter Thirteen

I Just Condemned My People

Chapter Fourteen

Born or Hatched

Chapter Fifteen

Godly Vomit

Chapter Sixteen

A Wise Child Obeys

Chapter Seventeen

Old Blood and Power

Chapter Eighteen

To Ask for Help Is To Expose Weakness

Chapter Nineteen

Trust But Verify

Chapter Twenty

Chimera

Chapter Twenty-One

Orphans

Chapter Twenty-Two

Plan B

Chapter Twenty-Three

You’re Late

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hooks

Chapter Twenty-Five

It Was Never About You

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hope

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Too Much Blood

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A Big Ass Farm

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Just a Bed

Chapter Thirty

I Can Smell You

Chapter Thirty-One

Liquid Poo-Goo

Chapter Thirty-Two

Fragments and Fluid

Chapter Thirty-Three

All Forty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Old Grudges and Older Scores

Chapter Thirty-Five

Final Warning

Chapter Thirty-Six

Many People

Chapter Thirty-Seven

A Choir of Pissed-Off Angels

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Whispers of the Dead

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Room With No Doors

Chapter Forty

Just A Prayer

Chapter Forty-One

Are You Worthy

Chapter Forty-Two

We Were There

Chapter Forty-Three

Beyond Strangers, Beyond Enemies

Chapter Forty-Four

The Return of Something Lost

Chapter Forty-Five

The Shuddering Pain of Loss

Chapter Forty-Six

God’s Gonna Cut You Down

Chapter Forty-Seven

My Own Personal Skynet

Chapter Forty-Eight

Innocence of a Child

Chapter Forty-Nine

Help Has Arrived

Chapter Fifty

Kneel Before Zod

Chapter Fifty-One

Mischief and Johnny Cash

Chapter Fifty-Two

A Certain Ring

Chapter Fifty-Three

Homecomings

Chapter Fifty-Four

Redemption

Epilogue

About the Author

Prologue

Three months ago, at Dante’s Bar & Brothel

The entity known as Mr. Rictus, or Ricky, sat as he normally did: with his arms over his head, his fingers interlaced, and an expression of amusement at the world around him.

Rictus was often amused by the events around him. For more often than not, those events were the direct result his machinations. If he were guilty of a singular sin, it would be Pride.

Pride in his work.

Pride in his skill.

After all, the first Archangel, Lucifer Lightbringer, the Morningstar, was the Sin of Pride.

“Explain yourself,” Father Grimm said to the shorter, heavily muscled, bald man sitting at the glossy black table.

“What’s there to explain?” Ricky asked.

Leaning forward and removing a cigar from an ornate wooden box sitting on his large desk, Ricky bit the end, spat it away, and lit the cigar with the tip of his glowing red index finger. Puffing the cigar to life, Ricky turned his gaze towards his old apprentice. Even through jet-black sunglasses, Ricky’s gaze was unsettling.

“Is this about Salem?”

“You know it is,” Grimm said, his eyes narrowed.

“What’s the big problem?” Ricky asked. “A little prison time will do him wonders. Toughen him up. Give him the perspective he so desperately needs.”

“But Flotsam?” Grimm asked. “That place is a nightmare.”

“Is there another kind of prison?” Ricky asked with a smile. “Oh, lighten up. It’s all part of the plan.”

“Damn it!” Grimm yelled, slamming his fist on the table and cracking its polished veneer. “Why send him to prison? You played us both!”

“Sit down,” Ricky said.

Grimm remained standing. The ancient mage adjusted the black leather gaucho stetson atop his head, brushed phantasmal dirt from his ancient black cassock, and crossed his arms. Grimm’s gray eyes locked onto the dark black sunglasses. He stood, resolute, in defiance of his former master’s request.

Ricky had to admit, he was once again proud. Proud of Grimm, his creation. The former pet project-turned-student-turned-unknowing-instrument-of-his-will had grown so very strong.

But it was time to remind him who he was.

“SIT DOWN,” Ricky commanded, pouring a fraction of his power and will into the words.

Grimm’s body acted of its volition, divorced from his will, and took a seat at the table. His hands rested on the tabletop,next to the spiderweb fractures. While his body moved independently, his face remained hard, locked in frustration.

“I do not appreciate this,” Grimm said though gritted teeth.

“Noted,” Ricky nodded. “But you were beginning to walk very close to a line.”

“And if I wished to cross it?”

Ricky smiled. “Trust me, kid. You don’t want to find out.”

Grimm forced himself to relax. Slowly he nodded, willing his emotions into check. “Fine. What about Salem?”

“You’ve grown fond of him.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve figured it out then?” Ricky asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s all part of the plan. You will just have to trust me on this.”

“And your plan, has it remained the same?” Grimm asked.

“Checking to see if I’m still telling the truth?” Ricky asked. “Yes, the plan is the same, more or less. Everything we mapped out. But . . . variables have to be considered as they arise. This is one of them.”

“Will he be safe?” Grimm asked.

“No,” Ricky said honestly. “He won’t. In fact, he will suffer greatly. But he will survive. And he will come out stronger, which is what I’ll need.”

“Why?”

“The boy has to be made ready for what is to come.”

“I do not understand,” Grimm said.

“You’re not supposed to.” Ricky smirked, puffing on his cigar. “But since he means so much to you, you have my assurance that Salem will be fine. . . relatively. But that’s not what you need to be focused on at the moment.”

Grimm’s face twitched as he cocked his head to the side. “Then what should I focus on?”

Ricky laughed. “Come on, don’t act like I don’t know. You’re dying to know. Is he alive or isn’t he . . . Freischütz?”

Grimm made a grimace at his old name. “I should never have made that deal with you.”

“Probably not.”

“Now the hex bullets are back. Rasputin was the only person I shared that secret with.”

“Rasputin,” Ricky confirmed. “Your old apprentice. Grigori Rasputin. Josef Mengele. You thought he died as . . . Wolfgang Gerhardt? Back in what, 1977?”

“1978,” Grim corrected. “Drowned off the coast of Brazil, swimming of all things. Years after he fled Germany. I thought he was gone. Yet there is evidence here, now, to the contrary.”

Ricky nodded. “I see. And how could you investigate while your friend is in prison? Go,” Ricky said with a bemused smile. “The smuggler will be well taken care of, I promise.”

Grimm pondered for a moment, mulling the information over. Ricky smoked his cigar, waiting for his old pupil to make up his mind to leave.

“Yes,” Grimm said, coming to a decision. “Vali seems to be genuine in his recovery. The arm that was recovered from Andromalius’s vault is now with Tesla. If you give me assurance that Salem will not suffer any more than absolutely necessary, then yes, I will see what came of my old student.”

“Salem will not suffer any more than necessary.” Ricky repeated his promise, pantomiming crossing his heart. “So where will you go first? Straight to Brazil?”

“No.” Grimm shook his head. “Red Testament. The items needed for the hex bullets are more readily found there. The wilds of South America along with the Abominations have taken over almost all outposts and cities there. The materials would be far more scarce.”

“That’s a long trip and a lot of power. Do you have the juice?” Ricky asked.

“Probably,” Grimm replied. “If I use The Lines, then I could. But I will be drained.”

“Be careful. He was always tricky.”

“I am aware.”

“What did you see in him?” Ricky asked.

“I thought he had potential. I could not foresee what he would become. Not even you have that manner of foresight.”

“You’d be surprised.” Ricky grinned. “Now, go on. I’ll take care of things from this end.”

Grimm stood, paused, and began to laugh.

“What?” Ricky asked.

“I came in here angry, looking for conflict. Yet now I am leaving with a sense of resolution. After all this time, you still are capable of educating me.”

“It’s what I do. Contact me if you get into trouble.”

“I will. Thank you, Rictus.”

Grimm departed Ricky’s conference room, deep below Dante’s Bar & Brothel. Holo-displays projected from Ricky’s desk fed him the security footage confirming Grimm’s departure from the establishment. Once Ricky was assured his former protégé was no longer on the premises, he opened a secure comm-link.

“My lord.” The distorted voice came over the link. The voice modulator made identification impossible. “How may I serve?”

“Cut the shit,” Ricky said with a chuckle. “You know I hate that ‘lord’ crap.”

“I know,” the voice said, laughing, “which is why I do it.”

Ricky laughed, deeply from the stomach. “Oh, that’s why you’ve always had my favor.”

“So, is everything a go?”

“Yes. It’s taken time, but I’ve gained access to all of Löngutangar’s security systems. When the time is right, the squad will be able to get in.”

“Excellent,” Ricky said.

“But why the children?” the voice asked.

“Bathin and Maz’ael will need to use them as leverage. If you’re worried about the children, don’t fret. I’ll only need enough to make the threat credible. But there is one in particular I’ll need.”

“Oh, do not mistake my questioning for concern. I’ve done far worse to many children in my time.”

“I know,” Ricky said. “I taught you.”

********

Grimm first traveled to the former Russia, to the eastern supercity of Red Testament, where St. Petersburg once stood. Red Testament was at constant war with its western neighbor, the supercity Cold Dominion. Both cities were in truth one massive city split down the middle along the old Russia/Finland border and divided by a history of mutual hatred.

Upon arrival, Grimm’s nostalgia forced him to visit the Malaya Nevko, at the Bolshoy Petrovsko bridge river where Rasputin had been killed by the attendees at the Yusopov Palace. It was there that Grimm first met Grigori, floating face down in those black nighttime waters. He was late to the party. Late to stop the assassination. Because Grimm wanted to be the one to kill him.

Grimm sensed something in the nephilim. He had the potential to become a great mage. He already served as a mystic, because he was able to sense the world beyond. But like all would-be mages, he needed the final push. The ability to see the foundation of the world in a way those living could not.

Therefore, Rasputin needed to die.

Before his death, Grigori would have been one of the practitioners of magik, those known as Cunning Folk. A witch. Those who could influence the world rather than shape it.

Rasputin had been a great apprentice to Grimm. However, Grigori’s tastes began to run . . . dark. He became obsessed with cruelty and evil. Grimm suspected it had something to do with Mastema, the angel who had sired him.

After investigating Red Testament and knowing for sure Rasputin was not there, Grimm traveled once again along the Ley Lines of creation, bringing himself to Brazil, the last known resting place of Mengele.

Father Grimm materialized in the middle of a green grassy field. The rolling hillside was lush and untamed with vegetation.

Sao Paulo, Brazil was once a thriving metropolis. A jewel of South America. Now, it was a desolate place where nature fought to remove any record of human existence.

Grimm knew it was dangerous to be there, but Brazil was the supposed final resting place of Wolfgang Gerhardt. Or as the world knew him during World War II, Joseph Mengele.

Grimm was one of the very few who knew that Mengele was once his apprentice Grigori Rasputin. Grimm heard that Rasputin had reinvented himself into the German named Josef Mengele. And under Hitler and Thule society, Mengele performed dark acts for worse men.

Grimm never believed in the axis powers. But he believed in their hatred, evil, cruelty, and hunger for the occult. Stopping Hitler was his first and foremost reason for infiltrating their ranks. Stopping his former protégé was his second.

Standing there in Brazil, Grimm knelt on a grassy hill, the very spot where Gerhardt’s grave was. Grimm sensed that something of Rasputin was in this earth, but that was not enough. Grimm had to know. As he placed his hand into the earth, a languid, greenish energy poured from his mouth and eyes like a thick, putrid syrup into the ground.

The earth absorbed the energy and the ground beneath Grimm started to glow with a similar phosphorescence. The energy delved deep into the ground, searching for a host to reanimate. Then, the power found what Grimm sought, and Grimm took control of the find.

“Rise,” Grimm commanded.

Moments later, a skeletal form pushed its way up through the soft, energy-soaked ground and presented itself before Grimm. The decayed form was mostly mud and bone, with clumps of carrion insects and worms clinging to it.

The spectral energy clung to the skeleton in chunks of ectoplasm, giving the creature form. The thing before Grimm began to resemble a human, one from an age long ago. Still not complete, for there was simply not enough of the original corpse to create an exact reconstruction. The being looked familiar, but not quite how Grimm remembered.

“Speak. In life, were you the person known as Wolfgang Gerhardt, known also as Josef Mengele and Grigori Rasputin?”

The creature cocked its newly-formed head to one side, taking in the world.

“Answer me.”

“Yes and no,” the zombie croaked.

Grimm scowled. The creature should have been under his command. Completely. Yet it was showing signs of resistance. As if another force were combating his authority. Grimm pressed his will, demanding complete obedience.

“Explain.”

“I . . . created from . . . host. A copy. Also . . . ”

“Also, what?”

“Also . . . ” The creature paused. A new energy flooded into the creature, and a reddish-orange light flared as the zombie lunged for Grimm, gripping his head swiftly.

“Also, I am the trap for you, my master’s master,” the creature said, and the world began to blink away into a blue-white blinding vacuum.

The Lines! Grimm realized. The undead was trying to suck Grimm into the Lines. An ancient trap set for him and him alone. He had reanimated the corpse, and in so doing, powered the trap.

The zombie’s grip on his face was strong. Grimm fought back, forcing the zombie’s hands away from his head. Mustering the remaining power he had left, Grimm augmented his physical strength, slowly prying away the undead hands. But the iron grip of the undead was too strong, the trap too well planned.

The creature’s hands snapped down, clamping Grimm’s wrists. “My Master’s master,” the being hissed, “it is time to go.”

The power of the transportation spell flared up and Grimm felt the world slowly dissolve around him in a cascade of red energy and pain. Projecting his senses outward, Grimm knew in an instant where the teleportation spell was taking him. The one place that was an almost certain death sentence. The one place he would not, could not go.

Before the spell was complete, Grimm had one final thought:

Salem.

Chapter One

Giant Flesh-Eating Demons and Morons

Now, in the Waste

I heard the roars of the three Abominations getting closer. The two flying Fleshwings would be on us in minutes. A colossal, four-legged Walker was also barreling down on us.

Being teleported from New Golgotha’s False Liberty district to wherever the hell we were in search of the Tears of God was bad. Being plopped into the snowy middle of nowhere, only to be eaten by giant demons from Hell, was worse.

However, at that particular moment, finding my friend’s thirteen-year-old stowaway son in the trunk of the car covered in blood and vomit was the icing on the shit-sundae.

“TJ?! What the hell are you doing here?! You were supposed to be with the other kids going home!” I yelled at the boy, pulling him from the trunk of the Outrider.

“I thought you needed some backup,” the boy said weakly.

“Are you OK?” I asked checking him for wounds, eyeing the blood.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” TJ said, pushing my hands away. “A couple of Grimm’s blood bags popped when I was puking. Why does he have bags of blood in his trunk? What happened? Where are we? And what the shit are those?!” TJ screamed as he pointed over my shoulder at the Fleshwings closing in.

“That’s about a few tons of flying death,” I said as I heaved the boy up into the Outrider’s passenger seat. “We need to go!”

“Hello small one,” Chael said to TJ, looking down at the boy with a lopsided grin.

TJ smiled back and waved at Chael. “Thanks for not telling on me.”

“Wait! You knew he was in there?” I yelled at Chael as I lugged two of the three heavy auto-turrets out of the trunk and set them on the ground.

“Yes. He asked me not to tell you.”

“And you listened?”

“He said ‘please’,” Chael retorted, moving slightly to allow room for the collapsible turret.

“Morons! I’m surrounded by morons!” I yelled, setting the turrets into position and activating them.

Grabbing the third auto-turret, I tossed it into the back seat with Chael. The pale, ten-foot giant looked like one of those dogs that was too big for the car but enjoying the ride. Despite the snow, the cold, and the threat of giant, flesh-eating demons, the impossibly large man seemed as relaxed and as comfortable as if he were back on the prison island.

But the biggest moron in the bunch was me. Why? Because I was the moron who took on the responsibility of two thousand people, went broke, and ended up in jail. Now we were lost in the goddamn snow, in the middle of fuck-knows-where, and my companions were as useless as a one-armed trapeze artist with an itchy ass.

The ground rumbled as the Walker drew closer. The Fleshwings were circling, waiting for their perfect moment to strike.

Moron, thy name is Salem.

“Get ’em, ladies!” I yelled, slapping the activation buttons. The two auto-turrets sprang to life. The stabilizer legs engaged, extending into the ground. The plasma cannons and .50 cal turrets unfolded and began swiveling about calibrating, while the tracking laser emitted IR/NV beams, targeting the Fleshwings.

A barrage of plasma and conventional firepower sprayed mercilessly at the airborne Abominations. Using the brief reprieve, I slammed the trunk closed and hopped up into the Outrider’s back seat, half standing on Chael.

“Gimme the turret!” I yelled at Chael.

“Freedom is the illusion of a mindful demagogue,” Chael babbled in his usual insane speak.

“Say please,” TJ offered.

Oh goddamn it. “Please!”

Like magic, Chael lifted the turret up, handing it to me. “For the worthy shall know the darkest of eternity.”

I ignored the giant’s insanity, accepted the third turret, and placed it on the mounting bracket on top of the Outrider’s trunk. I flipped the activation switch, then hopped into the driver’s seat, firing up the fusion engine.

“Chael, which way?!”

“Direction is as meaningless in the void as Courage was to the Dragon’s grasp.”

“Chael!” I yelled, clapping my hands together.

“We are not where we need to be, powers conspire, The Faithful Thunder moves against me.”

“Focus, Lenny. You teleported us here, buddy. Remember the Tears of God? The whole reason we’re out here? Which way?”

Chael hung his head so that his long black hair hid his naked torso as he began licking at his nipple.

Aww, fuck it. Any direction was better than sitting here. I slammed my foot onto the accelerator. The carbon composite tires engaged the snowy, uneven terrain, fishtailing slightly before catching.

“This is awesome!” TJ yelled as we bounced along. We took a small hill, catching air. TJ went airborne and I had to reach out to snatch him before he flew out of the damn vehicle.

“Buckle your ass in!” I yelled at TJ, who was looking over the seat at the two turrets left behind firing at the Fleshwings.

“Don’t treat me like a child!”

“Screaming louder as the gyre widens only proves the resolve of the melancholy poet.”

“See! Even Chael says to buckle up!”

“He doesn’t even know where we’re going,” TJ said as he buckled up.

TJ shot me that sad, pouting kid look. All big eyes and jutting bottom lip. The kind of look kids try to make you want to hug them and tell them it will be all right. If he were younger, it may have worked. But like most early teens, the adult features on his growing kid body just made him look weird.

Plus, I knew this kid. So the look just made me want to backhand the snot-nosed little thespian.

The look continued and I relented. “Oh OK, it is kinda awesome.” I half-smirked, whipping the steering wheel to the side, avoiding a rock formation. TJ immediately turned in his seat to look past Chael and see if the Fleshwings were still pursuing us while I looked in the rear-view mirror.

The grotesque mix of bat, dinosaur and flying squirrel screamed while they arced in the sky. I could just make out their pale white underbellies contrasted with their mottled, reddish-brown fur. They were kinda . . . doofy looking, with angular heads, massive under bites, and large bulbous black eyes.

“Can we outrun them?” TJ asked.

“Hope so,” I said, downshifting and avoiding more rocks. “Despite how dumb they look, damn things can scent prey for miles.”

The Fleshwings practically swam through the sky. Thin front arms with talon-like fingers extended outward, while excessive, veined skin folds acted as wings. Fleshwings were dangerous, no doubt. But heavy tremors reminded me that the Walkers were the juggernauts of the old demon hordes.

All Walkers ranged in size and form, and the brute behind us was a big mamma-jamma. It galloped on what looked like four front arms with ape-like hands, and it moved with surprising speed. Its boxy head had ram horns and a large mouth full of asymmetric black and yellow teeth. The Walker had thick, grayish skin in overlapping calloused plates and spiked bony protrusions along its spine and the joints.

The auto-turrets managed to knock one of the Fleshwings from the sky and wound one to the point of giving up. The turrets then turned their auto-tracking sights onto the Walker and unloaded. Despite the firepower the turrets were throwing at it, the beast trampled over the automated weapons.

Damn it.

Back during the first wars, it had taken a lot of creativity and high explosives to deal with Walkers.

Like the Fleshwings, once a Walker had a scent, it didn’t stop. I just kept my foot down on the accelerator and smiled. As fast as it was, there was no way it would catch us. Grimm’s Outrider wasn’t much to look at, but it could move when you needed to.

So of course, that was when Chael started laughing.

“What’s so funny, big man?” I asked

“We need to go that way,” he said, pointing back the way we came.

Right at the Walker.

Morons. Freaking morons. I was beset by giant, flesh-eating demons and morons.

“You’re kidding,” I groaned, rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration.

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me when I asked?!”

“You wouldn’t have liked the answer.”

“Ahh--” I started to say something, then stopped. No point in arguing.

Damn it. I turned the wheel hard and pulled the power brake, locking up the rear wheels and sliding the Outrider around to aim it right at the oncoming Walker. No matter which way I tried to drive, the creature’s legs allowed it to move like a crab. It would cut us off whenever I tried to drive around it. Well, only one way to go.

Right at it.

Fuck it. Who wants to live to old age anyway?

Chapter Two

A Great Lance

I revved the engine while an idiotic plan formed. Back in the day, when we were out of explosives, our creativity for bringing down a Walker forced us to try some really dumb stuff. There was one cold night during the war when all our ammo was depleted. All we had left was the humvee and some sheet metal.

That was when “The Lucky Strike” was born. I didn’t have any sheet metal, but I did have a few tricks thanks to Tesla.

I looked to my right. “You know how to drive?” I asked.

“Yes?” TJ said, his voice cracking slightly.

“Good. Aim right for the Walker. Right down the middle and don’t let off the accelerator. No matter what. You understand?”

“Are you freaking insane?”

“Apparently.”

“Amateur,” Chael rumbled.

“You just drive straight at damn thing and let me worry, OK?” I told him as we switched places.

TJ was tall for his age, taking after his father. He gripped the wheel and got a feel for the pedals.

“Hit it, Short-Round!” I yelled, and TJ just looked at me. “Forget it, before your time. Just go!”

TJ hammered his foot down and the Outrider responded like a ram charging a would-be challenger. The Walker lowered his head and picked up speed, coming right at us. The massive creature was almost fifteen feet at the shoulder and could crush the Outrider with ease. But the game of chicken was on. The Walker wasn’t going to move. And sadly, neither were we.

If I didn’t retrieve the Tears in a week, then Löngutangar would fall. A douchebag demon Bishop named Andromalius would buy up my land, sell my people into slavery, and burn everything to the ground.

Sorry, Walker. Wrong place, wrong time.

I just hoped this wasn’t one of my dumber plans. Well, point of fact, it was. I just prayed it was one of the dumb ones that actually worked.

As we barreled down on the Walker, I yelled to Chael, “Grab that turret, and open that side panel.” Chael obliged by ripping the panel off like it was paper. “Good enough. Hand me it to me.”

Chael handed the turret over. I yanked out the fusion power cell and tossed the remaining turret into the back seat. Connecting the power cell leads to my tech bracers, I immediately felt an additional hum of power.

At two hundred yards away and closing fast, the Walker lowered his head. Shit. I needed that head up.

“TJ, high-beam headlights!” I yelled, and the Outrider’s floodlights flicked on. The Walker’s head moved slightly aside as the light hurt its eyes for a second.

At one hundred yards away, I pulled my blasters, flicked them to full-auto and let loose with a barrage of fire, aiming for the eyes. I didn’t need to be precise, just close enough.

The beast roared as I scored a couple of hits. The Walker swung its head up and to the side, giving me the clear shot.

Now the hard part. I stashed my guns and puckered my ass.

“Chael, hold me and DO NOT LET GO! TJ, GUN IT!” I ordered as I stood up in the seat with my back to the rollbar. Bringing my fists together, I commanded The Collective to turn on my full-body shield, fired up my mass inducers for extra weight, and activated the tech bracers’ hard-light projector.

Mentally, I shaped the force field generators into a large, wedge-shaped sword.

TJ drove us just under the beast’s throat. As the tip of the sword punctured the Walker’s thinner under-body skin, I felt the shearing force resistance through my body, even with Chael’s massive strength holding me. The Outrider slowed some, but kept moving directly under the Walker, cutting the thing open from throat to gut.

As we sped along, oceans of purplish-black demon blood flooded out in our wake. Innertube-sized intestines spilled out, staining the white snow of the ground in steaming piles of effluence. We were almost completely past the Walker when the extra power of the turret’s fusion cell gave out and the strain on the hard-light projector was too much. I gritted my teeth and squinted, trying to maintain the power, but the hard-light force field blade flickered.

Something hit me so hard in the head and chest, the force ripped me from Chael’s grasp and flung me from the Outrider. I flew through the air and tumbled like a rag doll, hitting the ground in a heap. The Collective maintained my body shield, keeping me from breaking anything, but the inertial force from the impact stole the breath from my lungs.

From where I lay, I saw the Walker take a few steps and collapse. With its guts hanging out and bleeding dry, the Walker wailed a death cry. In moments, the demonic beast shuddered and died.

Good. At least we were safe for the moment.

Collective?

//ONLINE//

How bad are we?

//CONCUSSION WITH MULTIPLE STRESS FRACTURES - NOT AS BAD AS HOST’S USUAL BODILY DAMAGE - HEALING ALREADY BEGUN//

Good to hear. Thanks for saving me again.

//HOST IS MOST WELCOME - WARNING: BEWARE MAMMOTH PHALLUS IN THE FUTURE//

. . . A say what?

Before I could discern what The Collective meant, I heard the Outrider pull up. Chael got out and stood over me. He was laughing.

TJ got out of the vehicle and knelt beside me. He was also laughing. What the hell was so damn funny?

“Are you OK?” TJ snickered.

I sat up slowly. My head swam a little from the concussion. After a moment, it was manageable as I felt the Collective do its thing.

“Yeah, I’m cool,” I said as I glanced over my shoulder once more at the dead Walker.

I had to admit, I felt a little impressed with myself. I doubt even Luke Skywalker himself could have done any better against that AT-AT. I smiled a little self-satisfied smirk as I turned back around and saw Chael and TJ laughing like children. They fell to the ground in gut-shaking, full-blown guffaws.

“What is so damn funny?”

“You . . . you . . . ” TJ tried to speak, but he was on the snowy ground holding his sides.

Chael suddenly sobered and sat up, his white skin blending into the snow-blanketed ground. He looked incredibly wraithlike at that moment. He stared at me with his possessed, opaque white eyes.

“You were unhorsed. Like a jousting match. A great lance took you down--down down down into the dark.”

“A lance!” TJ yelled, and laughed even harder.

“Lance? What lance?” I asked, and Chael inclined his chin back towards the Walker.

I sat there a moment confused, waiting for my head to clear and the pain to subside. I remembered speeding along under the Walker, cutting it open. Then, the power to the hard-light projectors faltered, and I was hit by something that launched me from the vehicle.

Something? What on earth could have . . .

. . . Oh dear sweet lord, no.

I wiped at my face and sniffed my hand, breathing in a powerful musky stink. Oh . . . shit, no.

“. . . I got punched the face by a dinosaur dick, didn’t I?”

“HA!” TJ pointed and laughed even harder.

“I hate you both.”

“Come on, you have to admit that was funny.”

“Har-de-freaking-har.” I made a sour face at the kid but shot him a wink. It was a little funny.

I pulled out a smoke and lit it, letting The Collective finish its work. “OK Chael, which way?”

Chael pointed. “The Tears lie that way.”

The wind kicked up, blowing cold air across the open plains. Pulling my coat tighter around me, I stood and looked around.

“We need to find shelter,” I said to Chael and TJ. “I know we’re on the clock, but we’re not going to get anything done flailing around in the dark.”

“W-works f-for m-me,” TJ said through chattering teeth.

“Get back in the Outrider, kid. The energy shield temperature control system will keep you warmer than standing out here.”

“Y-you g-got it.”

“What do you think, Chael?” I asked the big man as he stood shirtless with his arms crossed, surveying the landscape.

“We are in an old land with old gods whispering for our deaths and worse.”

“Really?”

Chael shrugged. “Or we’re lost.”

“Maybe both,” I said. I switched my eyes into night vision and telescopic mode. Scanning the relative plains, I saw several rock formations and mesas on the horizon. The natural formations seemed safe.

“That way,” I said, pointing. “Let’s look for a cave and hunker down for the night.”

“The land here betrays us. It calls out to winged death and thunderous vengeance,” Chael said.

“Well that’s perfect,” I said, walking towards the Outrider. “Winged Death and Thunderous Vengeance was the name of my old metal band in college.”

Chael got into the back of the vehicle and looked me over. “You preferred the Spice Girls in college.”

“Three things, butthole,” I said, squinting at the giant in the rear-view mirror while holding up three fingers. “One, the Spice Girls were a phenomenon. Two, they had Girl Power. And three, I have a gun, so watch your mouth.”

“Just drive, Posh,” Chael said with a lopsided smirk.

“Just for that, you get to be Baby Spice. You like that? Big freaking baby.”

“Salem?” TJ asked.

“What?”

“What’s a Spice Girl?”

Sigh . . . kids.

I drove towards the rocky range I spotted earlier. Once we were concealed for the rest of the night, I could get my head in gear and figure out just what the hell I had to do.

Come sunrise, the clock would be ticking. I had a week to find the tears and get them back. When I was in prison, I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of thinking of home and the people of Löngutangar.

Now?

Now it was all I could think about. I thought about Gh’aliss. About her last words to me before Mastema slaughtered her. I thought about her daughters and how they died: Khlabra’s killed by Chael’s hand and Yeela in an explosion with Twitch.

Damn . . . Twitch. I couldn’t have escaped without the cyber-hacker’s skills. She deserved better than to die in Flotsam. But I had to bury those thoughts and feelings. I had to focus on what had to get done.

I looked momentarily at TJ. They boy was supposed to be with the rest of the kids. If Khurzon had done her job, then they should be making it home by now.

Damn it. TJ was supposed to be safe.

The kid caught me looking at him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Kids,” I said, puffing my smoke.

“Pervert.”

Sigh . . . fucking kids.

Chapter Three

Forty-Four Reasons

Now, in Löngutangar

“I hate you,” Vali said. “I hate you so much.”

Vali shifted at his desk. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he chose his next words carefully. “I want nothing more than to hold you. But I can’t. If I do, you’ll destroy me.”

The whiskey bottle sitting on his desk said nothing in return.

“Gods,” Vali said with a sigh, sitting back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Who ever heard of a Viking deity who doesn’t drink.”

“No one,” Vidar said, walking into Vali’s quarters. “Wimp.”

Vali said nothing in return, instead giving Vidar the finger, which only made the other god chuckle.

Vali returned to staring at the bottle. In the last fifteen minutes, the bottle had not moved an inch. He had not put it away, nor had he moved it in his direction. And blissfully, the bottle refused to whisper in Vali’s mind about how much better he would feel if he were to have just a sip.

Vidar plopped down into one of the handmade wooden chairs in Vali’s quarters. The wood creaked under Vidar’s weight as the Slayer of Fenris pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

“Do you have to do that in my room?” Vali asked.

“Do you have to talk to a bottle?” Vidar asked in return.

“It’s aversion therapy,” Vali said to his brother.

“At three in the morning?”

“It’s something Grimm told me about. Forcing someone to face the thing they are either scared of or addicted to. Especially during time of personal weakness. It’s late, I’m tired, I’m frustrated, and I want to drink. Hence the bottle.”

Vidar raised an eyebrow. “Work?”

“So far,” Vali answered. “Grimm used to be a psychologist. He forced patients to practice it a lot back in the day. There were success stories.”

“For humans,” Vidar rumbled. “We’re not human.”

Vali shook his head. “Technically, no. But as gods go, the Aesir and the Vanir were closest to human. Without the apples, we died like them.”

“Even with them,” Vidar said, to which Vali was forced to nod in agreement.

Vali thought of their pantheon, long gone. “Do you still feel like a god? When was the last time you even dreamed of Asgard?” Vali asked.

Vidar’s face darkened, and he couldn’t look at his brother. Instead of answering, he found a spot on the floor and stared at it.

“Me too, brother. Me too,” Vali echoed the silent sentiment.

Moments went by in silence before Vidar broke it. “How long? How long since Bilskirnir? Watching Thor boast and battle? How long since Freya’s field of Folkvangr?”

“Too long,” Vali said. “But to answer you, I don’t have a clue if staring at the bottle helps. But it keeps my mind focused on what I need to do rather than what I want to do.”

Vali grunted in understanding as he lit another smoke. “The kids.”

“Of course the kids,” Vali said, pushing himself away from the desk and standing. “I want to find them and then hurt those who took them. I want them to suffer in ways that Surtur himself would find horrifying.”

Vidar said nothing. He simply stared at his brother with his dark eyes.

Vali shook his head. “You know I can’t. I have to be here. To . . . lead.”

Vali walked to the holo projection along the far side of his quarters. Swiping the air caused the ultra-def video to rewind to the beginning of the security footage.

“Play,” Vali commanded.

The video once again unfolded before him. He watched as a strike force comprised of demons and human conscripts detonated charges outside of Löngutangar. Swiping the air to forward the recording, Vali watched as Vidar and his response force rushed out to meet the threat.

But it was what he did not see that troubled him. Over numerous viewings, and under the technomantic tutelage of Tesla, Vali reconstructed the other videos. As Vidar’s forces engaged the demons, Vali brought his hands up then brought them together, shrinking the display. Raising his left hand, Vali brought up other camera footage from all over Löngutangar.

These supposedly secret cameras caught glimpses of smaller secondary and tertiary forces sneaking in. Once they were inside the land, they immediately detonated—what did Tesla call them—EMP devices? Something to do with electricity and how to negate it.

Vali had no mind for the humans’ modern marvels, but he did have a mind for the things he was literally born to do.

Killing.

When Allfather Odin lay with Rindr, it was with the sole purpose of siring a killer. In one night, Vali was born and grew into adulthood, as the myths claimed. What the Edda did not convey was what Odin poured forth into his unborn son: the sum of his knowledge of warfare, death, and deceit.

The Allfather was the highest of Aesir. The wielder of magiks and the god of war. Odin’s mind for war, coupled with his devious nature as the Grey Traveler, made him, and therefore Vali, a formidable presence.

While his brother Vidar was a great raging beast of a warrior, Vali’s mind looked elsewhere. It looked for angles of attack most would not look for. So when Vidar led the response force, a few days prior to fend off the attack, Vali looked at it as an assassin would: as a feint. A feint hiding the attack’s true purpose.

Over and over Vali twisted his hand rewinding and playing the holographic image, watching each angle of the attack the cameras recorded before they were disabled.

“It’s thanks to you,” Vidar said.

“What?” Vali asked absently as he continued to stare at the various images.

“It’s thanks to you, seeing the attack as a diversion, that they didn’t get more of the children.”

“It wasn’t enough, was it?” Vali asked. “They still made off with forty-four of our children.”

“You killed seven of them with your bare hands,” Vidar said.

Vali shook his head. Vidar saw bloodshed as a sign of glory. In that way he envied his brother. While not a simple being, Vidar was perhaps the most Norse of them. Vidar never learned that prowess in battle was not enough. Leadership comes at a cost, and he had his reasons to focus now on what must be done. 

Forty-four reasons, to be precise.

“How many times are you going to watch that?” Vidar asked.

“As many as it takes,” Vali said, waving his hand in frustration. “You don’t get it, brother. There is something here. Something worse than the attack.”

“You mean how the attackers knew the children’s location during a lockdown, and where the hidden cameras were,” Vidar said as he put out the cigarette and lit another.

Vali’s hands dropped as he looked at his brother, partly shocked but mostly impressed.

“I’m not an idiot.”

“I know, brother,” Vali said, holding his hands up. “And I’m sorry if you ever feel that I think so about you. I could not do any of this without you.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Vidar smiled, giving his brother a friendly slap in the face.

“Asshole,” Vali said, smiling.

“True,” Vidar agreed. “Don’t worry, you’re still quicker. Only figured it out after you watched that thing a hundred times. What you thinking?”

Vali looked back at the videos. The scene was paused the moment the various demons and humans released their EMP bursts, knocking out the cameras. Vali’s jaw clenched at the only practical possibility.

“We have a traitor here.”

Vidar looked at the monitor once more, cracked his knuckles, and nodded at his brother’s assessment. “Makes sense. Plan?”

“Nothing,” Vali said. “Whoever it is, they think we’re not smart enough to figure it out. We’ll let them think that for as long as possible. Their hubris is our ally.”

“Prefer an ax.”

“I know, brother. But for now, we have forty-four missing children. We have to track them down and get them back. That is all that matters for now. After that, we’ll sniff out our traitor.”

“And then?”

Vali smiled. “Then we use the ax.”

The door to the room burst open as Erik, the former captain of the guard in Midheim, now Löngutangar, burst into the room.

“Vali, Vidar, the children! Demon!”

“What?!” Vali said, crossing the room towards Erik. “Have more been taken?! Vidar, get the response force into position!”

“No,” Erik huffed, shaking his head. For the normally fit captain to be this winded, he must have sprinted to the brothers from the main gate. “No . . . attack.”

“Then what?”

“The kids, they’re . . . here! A goddamn four-armed demon just drove them up to the gate in a transport truck.”

Chapter Four

Eleven Herbs and Spices

Now, in the Waste

The cave wasn’t much, but it was what we needed for the remainder of the night. It was still dark, which means we were west of New Golgotha. Since dawn was still hours away, it only made sense we were several time zones away.

Collective?

//ONLINE//

Any idea where we are?

//IF HOST’S QUERY IS LOCATION-BASED, THEN HOST SHOULD BE REMINDED THAT ANY USE OF PERSONAL TRANSPONDER SIGNAL TO GEOLOCATE COULD BE RECEIVED BY ENEMIES AND RESULT IN DEMISE OF HOST’S HOME - IF HOST’S QUERY IS SITUATION-BASED, THEN COLLECTIVE ASSESSEMENT IS THAT HOST IS AFLOAT AN AQUATIC PATHWAY OF EXCREMENT WITHOUT A MEANS OF MANUAL PROPULSION//

So I’m up shit creek without a paddle?

//AFFIRMATIVE//

I couldn’t really argue with The Collective on that one. What was it Granddad and Dad used to say? When faced with a problem, pick one thing you can control and do that. Afterward, everything will fall into place.

So for the moment, we needed warmth and food. I checked the back of Grimm’s Outrider. Under the trunk’s false bottom, I found a couple of blankets, freeze-dried food, and a portable heater.

And several more bags of blood. Ignoring the millions of questions running through my head, I gestured for TJ. “Gimme a hand here.”

The kid obliged and grabbed the blankets while I carried the box of food and the heater. I could have carried it all, but one of the things I learned when I was a soldier was to keep the troops busy. If they’re left with nothing to do, morale goes to hell fast.

“Wanna help make camp, Chael?” I asked the giant while TJ and I began clearing an area.

Chael sat cross-legged with his back to us, at the mouth of the cave staring out. His long black hair hung to his waist and he had yet to move since coming in.

“Hey, Chael. You with us, bud?”

“The fountains run cold. The Hall is nearly empty. Void continues to languish in a prison of existence.”

“Yeah, I hate it when that happens,” I said, firing up the heater. In moments, the small cave was bathed in the warm red glow of the heater. TJ finished laying out the blankets and we looked at our campsite.

“It ain’t pretty, kid, but it will do for tonight.”

“I’ve slept in worse,” TJ remarked, claiming the spot closest to the heater as his own.

I had to remind myself that TJ had grown up in the wastelands. Even in Midheim, he never knew the “normal” comforts of the city. So a night on the cold ground was normal to him. Hell, during my time in the first war, we would have killed for the relative comfort this cave provided.

Literally killed.

“OK, let’s see what Grimm packed for dinner,” I announced, opening the box and hoping it wasn’t smaller bags of blood.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a few wrapped packages of a protein-infused granola and a bottle of water. Grimm even had a “Salem Special”: a couple packs of old-world smokes, an extra lighter, base-material composite bars to keep my internal cybernetics running, and a flask of scotch. I tossed TJ some of the granola and water.

“Hey Chael, hungry?”

“It’s coming,” Chael announced.

As he spoke, thunder boomed across the snowy plain. Epic cloud formations rolled in, blotting out the moonlight. Snow mixed with freezing rain began falling in sheets. Lighting crackled in time with the thunderclaps, illuminating the winter storm.

“Come inside, bud,” I told the pale giant.

“I was inside once. I was with the others when they came inside me. I am never alone but always afraid. Courage fell to the fear of They.”

“Is he always like that?” TJ asked, nestling into his makeshift bedroll.

“Pretty much.” Lighting a smoke, I crawled into my own spot and tried getting comfortable.

“Salem?”

“What’s up?”

“Are we going to save the town?”

“That’s why we’re here, kid,” I said. “We don’t have a choice. We have to do it.”

“I just wanna save my dad,” TJ said.

“Whatever it takes to get you through it, you hang onto that thought,” I said, closing my eyes.

“Salem?”

“Yes?” I sighed. I was personally convinced kids’ primary function was to keep adults from sleep.

“What was prison like?”

“It was bad,” I said. “Very bad.”

“Did you have any friends? Besides Chael?”

Immediately I thought of Gh’aliss. I thought of lying in bed with her. I thought of the decades we spent together when I was a different person. I thought of the mutual hate, and love, we felt for one another. I thought of her last words to me before Mastema tore her apart.

Her last, incomplete sentence. I L—

A tear welled up in my eye as my throat constricted. “Nope,” I squeaked out, trying to maintain my composure. “Just Chael. Goodnight, TJ.”

“Night, Salem.”

I rolled over and tried to control my breathing. Pushing my feelings away, I forced all my emotions back into the dark recesses of my mind. Burying your feelings may be bad. But facing them, right then, was worse.

“Salem?” TJ said.

“Goddamn it, TJ, what?!” I asked, sitting up.

“I . . . I just wanted to say thank you,” the boy sputtered in shock at my outburst.

“For what?”

“Going to prison for us,” TJ said with earnest sincerity. “And for saving me and the other kids.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The damn broke and the tears came hard. Everything. Everything came to me at once.

The prison.

The torture.

Gh’aliss.

I brought my hand to my face, hiding my shame. I felt the scar under my chin from the hook, and I shook harder.

“I’m sorry, Salem!” TJ pleaded.

“It-it’s OK,” I said. ‘T-thank you, TJ. Just . . . thank you,” I said between sniffles. I brought another cigarette to my lips and forced my shaking my hands to obey my command to use the lighter.

TJ came and sat next to me. Taking the lighter from my trembling hands, he flicked the wheel, sparking the flame. He lit my smoke and handed the lighter back to me.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry you had to go to prison because of us.”

After a few puffs, I willed my emotions in check. I regarded the boy. He didn’t know the impact of his words. “For you all, I’d do it all over again. Now, I need some sleep, kid.”

“OK.” TJ nodded, going back to his blankets.

I finished my cigarette and took a healthy swig from the flask of scotch. Then I took two more. I let the alcohol burn down my throat and numb myself just enough to try sleep.

Closing my eyes, I saw Chael looking back at me. The giant said nothing, but he too had a tear in his eye. The big man nodded in silence, then returned to staring out of the cave. I let myself drift as exhaustion claimed me.

********

A Long Time Ago

It was night and Isaac was almost home. It was winter, and he was frozen to the bone. He was starving and tired. Isaac had long since abandoned his militia-issued rifle and most of his gear, for it only weighed him down. His squad had been wiped out. Dead. He only survived because of his Collective and the appearance of the man known as Rictus.

Isaac shook his head, burying the memory with the rest of his squad. Danvers, Keller, Chuckles, Abernathy, Tiny, and Ortiz. All gone in the attack.

Isaac traveled across the country at night, sleeping in dug-out warrens by day.

If you could call it “sleep.”

Always afraid.

Always hungry.

Alone.

Over the next ridge, Isaac saw the chimney fire against the night sky. His family’s cabin was nestled deep in the backwoods of western Maryland. A place far from the fighting. Far from the blood and horror. A place where he could get through the night without screaming.

Just one more ridge to go.

Isaac was so focused on getting home that he never realized he was being followed.

Isaac found himself running despite the knee-deep snow. Pure joy drove him. He saw the cabin, and it awoke something in him. A need for home. He could smell the chimney smoke, even late at night. His mother always made sure to keep a fire burning.

As Isaac ran, he called out. Damn him for a fool, but he called out. All his training about keeping silent at night to avoid detection, moving in short bursts, not running in straight lines . . . gone.

"Mom! Dad!" Isaac yelled, his voice cutting the snowy night. He was too far away for them to hear him. Yet Isaac swore he saw a light turn on. This gave him just the surge he needed to finish what he had started. To go the final distance and be “home.” The war was finally behind him.

But so was a cohort of demons.

Isaac was tackled from behind when he reached the property line. A hellion mutt, strong with a bulldog's underbite, wrapped up his legs. Isaac fell face-first into the hard snowy ground. He got up as fast as he could, swinging hard and cracking the hellion that tackled him in the jaw, breaking it.

The mutt moaned and tried to crawl away. Isaac saw the remaining pack, three more hellions and a pair of hellhound Kudjas. Isaac was weaponless. But the hellion wasn't. He had a kraak, a spiked mace-like weapon from the infernal realm. Isaac took the weapon from the mutt and caved its skull in with one swing.

The oncoming pack of hellions hesitated. Isaac was no easy target.

Then the front door of the cabin opened.

********

“Salem, Salem!”

I snapped awake, blinking away the dream and the bad memories.

Damn. It’d been a long time since I’d had that particular dream. The events from that night forever haunted me. Hell, the events of that night shaped who I would become in each incarnation of myself, be it Reynolds, Winston, or Salem.

I realized TJ was still calling my name.

“What, what’s wrong?!”

“It’s Chael!”

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and looked over at the giant. He was balled up in the back of the cave. He rocked back and forth, shaking his head.

“Chael, snap out of it.”

Outside, the winter storm raged and howled. Blizzard-like snow mixed with purple lightning. Deafening thunderclaps echoed like artillery fire.

Damn . . . how did I sleep through that?

“Chael, it’s just a storm. Relax, bud.”

“The land called and a response was heard,” Chael said, his hair hanging down, obscuring his face. “Go south. South and east. Find the river which bears the name. Follow it. Find The Tears. Remove the light so darkness may shine.”

“What are you babbling about?!”

Chael stopped, as if a switch inside him were suddenly flipped. Standing, the ten-foot giant walked to the cave’s mouth, past the Outrider and looked skyward.

“She is here. I must go.”

Chael suddenly blinked out of existence in a swirl of blue and black shadow-like mist.

“Chael? Chael?! What the shit?! We don’t even know where we are!” I yelled at the empty space where Chael was. “Get back here, you giant bastard!”

“Uhh, Salem?” TJ said.

“What?!”

“What is . . . that?” TJ asked pointing to the sky.

I looked up, trying to see what was freaking TJ out. “I don’t see anything. What is it, another Fleshwing?”

“No, bigger. Way, way bigger. How are you not seeing it? There! Do you see it?”

I looked, and between the lightning flashes, I saw the clouds move slightly, but nothing more. TJ grabbed my hand and pointed. “There!”

Then . . . I saw it.

“Jesus,” I whispered.

The clouds weren’t moving; they were swirling around an eagle. A goddamn giant eagle.

No, calling it “giant” was disrespect. It was . . . godly. The wingspan on the creature was hundreds and hundreds of feet across. Its black and white feathers shifted into reds, blues, and purples along the tips and tail feathers. The creature was so large it looked like it was swimming through the sky instead of flying. It owned the sky and the land that lay below it.

Churning the clouds across the entire sky, the eagle soared through the storm. No . . . it was the storm. With each flap of the creature’s incredible wings, thunder boomed and lighting crackled across the opens plains. The clouds and storm followed in its wake, a byproduct of its passing.

“What is that?” TJ asked.

“I have no clue, kid. I’ve never seen anything like this before. But my guess is that’s what scared Chael away.”

“No kidding. If you weren’t here I’d shit my pants,” TJ said, staring at the eagle in awe.

“That makes two of us, kid.”

A lighting flash lit up the plain for a brief second, and that’s when something caught my eye. Staring into the dark, I strained to see. I didn’t dare switch my eyes into night vision, lest a random lighting flash burn my retinas. Instead, I switched into thermal vision.

Across the plain and through the winter storm, I saw an ocean of blue. But in stark contrast, there were red heat signatures on the horizon. A lot of them. They were too small to be Abominations, but too many to not be a threat. Whatever they were, they were coming right for us.

“Shit,” I whispered.

“What is it?”

“We’ve got incoming,” I said, my mind switching to my military days, immediately assessing the situation. An unknown number of hostiles twelve to fifteen miles out and closing. We had a functional vehicle and a working turret.

“OK TJ, get in the Outrider. Get the engines warmed up and be ready to punch it.”

“What about our stuff?”

“I’ll take care of that. You just focus on your job.”

I quickly gathered our meager supplies, and hauled the remaining turret up and mounted it in the back of the Outrider.

“You sure you want me to drive?”

“You ever fired a weapon from the back of a moving vehicle at high speed?” I asked, hopping up and taking the gunner spot.

“No.”

“Then you drive,” I said. “You got this, kid. Chael said to go southeast, and that’s what we’re going to do. “Just don’t run me into any more giant demon dicks.”

“I can’t make any promises,” TJ laughed as he slammed his foot down.

The Outrider hauled ass over the frozen, snowy ground. TJ did his best to maintain control, but the icy ground made our getaway difficult. I hated to make things worse, but we needed to be in stealth mode.

“Kill the headlights!” I yelled over my shoulder at TJ.

“Why?!”

“We need to hide in the storm! No lights!”

“I can’t see shit out here!”

“Just do it!” I yelled, summoning my old sergeant voice.

TJ flicked the headlights off and did his best to drive, using the lighting flashes to course correct. Keeping my eyes in thermal mode, I saw twenty-five heat signatures moving fast towards the cave.

Shit.

Well, at least they hadn’t spotted us yet.

High above, the whole freaking sky shook as an otherworldly shriek boomed across the land. I dared to look up. Amid the lightning flashes, the god-like eagle slowly turned in the sky, arcing right towards TJ and me.

As the storm shifted, the twenty-five incoming shifted with it. Double shit.

“Oh, fuck you bird!” I yelled. “If I could, I’d deep-fry you in eleven herbs and spices! I bet you’re delicious!”

“What now?” TJ asked. “Should I just go ahead and close my eyes to drive, make things even more dangerous?”

“No need now. Hit the lights and gun it, kid,” I yelled, pointing to the sky. “That eagle just guided our welcoming party right towards us.”

Unless my thermal vision was playing massive tricks, the outlines looked like . . . buffalo? But buffalo shouldn’t be able to match, let alone gain, on a vehicle pushing one hundred miles per hour.

As the lead buffalo approached to within ten yards, I took aim with the turret. I didn’t want to hurt an innocent animal, but I damn sure couldn’t take chances. I switched my eyes back to normal mode and held my finger on the trigger.

One look into the creature’s big, black eye, and I couldn’t pull the trigger.

That’s when the buffalo winked at me.

Chapter Five

Gnashing Wails of Hatred and Violence

Three months ago, The Hitherlands

The sounds of chirping birds and rattling chains brought Grimm to consciousness. Rolling over, he felt the damp earth against his face. He took a deep breath and he smelled the heavy, musty scent of the old forest. He did not need to open his eyes to know where he was. He knew precisely where he was and who was waiting for him.

“Coming here was foolish, old man,” a deep, rolling voice said in the Hidden Speech.

“It was not my choice,” Grimm replied in the same language.

As Grimm sat up, his head swam, and for the first time in a very long time, Grimm fought the urge to vomit. The trap that had transported him through the Ley Lines had sapped a great deal of his strength and power. Deep in the very core of his being, he felt the hunger begin. He would need to feed, and soon.

“Yet here you are. You know what that means for you, do you not?” the voice said.

Focusing his will, Grimm forced his body once again under his control. When he felt the nausea pass, he looked about him. Grimm was lying on a moss-covered stone dais. About him, he once again saw the forested majesty of The Hitherlands, the last kingdom of the Fae Folk.

Grimm knew the place well, for he’d helped to build the realm centuries ago. The reservation served partly as penance for his crimes against the Fae.

Grimm realized he was atop the stones of Baylor’s Eye, the hallowed place of judgment. The Eye rested within Loreholm, the capital of The Hitherlands, and represented all seasons and none. The last time he stood here, he was sentenced to death should he ever return.

Underneath a dark canopy of dense forest, the eyes of the gathered Fae flickered and glowed, like those of a hungry cat stalking its prey in the twilight. Silent they stood in their beautiful and horrible forms, bearing witness. Alien and otherworldly, the Fae seethed at the sight of their former tormentor.

Almond-eyed elves, in their wooden lacquered armor, stood alongside massive ogres, green and brown trolls, domovoi from Russia, dwarves from Scandinavia, and kobolds from Germany, among others. Every type of Fae creature from all mythologies was represented. And each one of them held an undying hatred for Grimm.

Well, if I am damned, then I shall be so with dignity, Grimm thought as he stood.

Picking up his hat, he brushed away the pine needles and dirt. He placed it atop his head, then smoothed out the folds of his ancient black cassock. Sweeping his gaze upwards, he looked to the voice that addressed him.

The being, even without sitting high above the gathered audience, would tower above every creature gathered.

The Green Man.

Nearly twenty feet tall with skin of the richest green and deepest earth, the Green Man was adorned in the crisp leaves of autumn and clover. The antlers that grew from his forehead swept along the ridge of his brow, creating a majestic crown. Thick field grass hung from his shoulders and back, forming a regal cape.

Had Salem been there, no doubt the snarky cyborg would have had a colorful turn of phrase.

“Well, fuck me running,” Grimm muttered, satisfied his wayward companion would have been proud.

“The language, while inappropriate, conveys an apt assessment,” the voice mused.

Grimm looked upwards at the giant being sitting high atop his monumental throne of stone and wood. “By which name should I address you now?”

“Do names matter, Grimm? You of all people know that a name is simply that.”

“Well, in this particular moment, I feel a name is important,” Grimm said.

“Why?”

“Because which identity you are currently under determines whether I bow, curtsy, or just tell you to simply fuck off.”

A murmur ran through the gathered Fae, accompanied by rasps of weapons coming unsheathed and the angry grunting of the more bestial creatures.

“You know how this will transpire, young one,” the Green Man said, standing up from his throne.

“I do.”

“Good,” the Green Man said, raising his arms and stepping forward. Vegetation sprouted with each of his steps, only to wither and die once his foot lifted away.

“Gathered children, we all know who this . . . person is. He is the adversary to your existence. The being who exposed your secrets. Exposed your weaknesses. The craven one who ensured your divine right to life was wiped from history and reduced to that of folk tales, fables, and myths.”

The creatures began to roar. From Grimm’s right he heard a cohort of goblins snigger and laugh. In their gutteral, perverted language, they discussed what to do with Grimm’s guts when he was dead. Elves slammed their spears against their wooden shields while winged creatures in the trees cawed, scratching at the boughs above him.

“I also saved all of your lives,” Grimm said, holding his head high.

When he spoke, what he spoke, caused the cackling ruckus to cease. In moments, it was silent. Grimm turned his head in a slow sweep, his gray eyes looking at each creature directly. A new burning anger swelled within him.

“You exist because I helped to create this refuge. You continue to breathe because of me. You have been kept safe when Hell invaded the Prime plane and tore it asunder. You remain safe because of my foresight. Hate me if you wish; I do not care. But you WILL show me the respect I have earned.”

The gathered Fae cursed and spat at Grimm, unmoved by his words. Gnashing wails of hatred and violence rippled through the Fae. Grimm simply took in the abuse while looking upwards at the Green Man, who tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. A bemused smile crossed his brown lips. His emerald eyes locked onto Grimm’s, and the two shared the briefest moment of understanding. The Green Man slowly nodded with the slightest hint of respect.

“Friends . . . he is correct,” the Green Man said. As the crowd began roar once more, his voice deepened and rang out clearly, sending waves of power behind it. “Silence!”

The Fae responded instantly, as all grew still and tranquil. Grimm prepared himself for what would come next. Once more, the Green Man spoke, this time in a lower, harsher tone.

“For all his sins, for all the blood on his hands, this foul thing before you did one good deed: assisting to create this . . . refuge, as he called it. But we know it truly for what it is. A prison. The sky we see is not the true sky. The forest is a facsimile of the lands we once ran freely through. The air tastes false and the game is meek. Our ways are no more. But . . .” The Green Man trailed off, once more catching Grimm’s eye.

The ancient mage nodded, accepting the decision.

“One of our traditions, perhaps the grandest, still holds to this day. Sinned against you he has. In his own twisted way, he helped us once. For that, he has earned this one chance of freedom. Once chance to escape The Hitherlands. Tonight, we enact The Wild Hunt.”

Chapter Six

Ground Beef

Now, in the Waste

There was a time when I’d consider a buffalo running at almost one hundred miles per hour, who then winks at you, pretty damn strange. Downright bizarre, even. But ever since God left and Hell rose, I’ve seen demons, gods, and wars. Hell, I’ve been in prison and fought a fifteen-foot tall demon while falling off a super skyscraper. So a roided-up, furry cow making eyes at me didn’t even crack my personal top twenty.

At full sprint, the lead buffalo suddenly sprang forward into the air and shifted into a woman-buffalo hybrid. The creature landed on the back of the Outrider and roared a war cry of triumph.

OK . . . that just cracked the top twenty.

“Stop or be stopped!” the buffalo-woman yelled.

Top ten. Oh yeah, definitely top ten.

Unsure how to respond, I screamed and punched the were-buffalo right in the face. “Ahh! Bad Bessie!”

My cybernetically enhanced strength took the buffalo-woman by surprise, knocking her from the Outrider. I may not be able to shoot a buffalo out of a lingering sense of respect for animals, but I’ll sure as shit punch one that talks.

Food shouldn’t talk. Just a personal rule.

“Did that thing just talk?!” TJ yelled over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” I nodded as the buffalo-woman tumbled across the frozen ground. Without missing a beat, the creature shifted back into the buffalo form as she rolled and continued running with the herd.

“What did you do?”

“Punched her in the face!”

“That’s one way of dealing with things,” TJ said as he jerked the wheel hard to the left and pulled the emergency brake, drifting the Outrider across the frost-coated ground.

The sudden lurch damn near threw me from the vehicle. I grabbed the rollbar for dear life. “What the hell, kid?!”

“Hang on! I have an idea!”

“No! You say ‘hang on’ before you pull a bullshit stunt like that!”

I had no idea when the kid was doing, but as he accelerated in a new direction, the buffalo couldn’t turn as well as the vehicle. As the lead buffalo’s hooves skittered out from under it, the following beasts crashed into their comrade. In seconds, the herd was a massive pileup of ground beef.

Heh . . . ground beef.

“Nice move, kid!”

“I see you’re done bitching!” TJ yelled over his shoulder as he spun again, correcting his course. “I thought prison made people tough?”

I’d shiv the kid if I wasn’t so proud of him. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

“Now would be a good time to start shooting them!”

“I can’t!” I yelled.

“Why?!”

“They’re people . . . sort of! They haven’t done anything more than chase us.”

“Not to tell you your business, but what do you think they’re gonna do if they catch us? Seems like they are looking specifically for us!”

I had the same thought. The fact that they were out here and coming for us was too convenient. There was clearly something we weren’t seeing. I didn’t want to hurt them, but I couldn’t let them catch us. I had no idea how far we had to go, let alone where we were.

Well, that’s why man created suppressing fire.

I opened up with the turret, firing plasma charges at the ground, just ahead of the charging buffaloes. The explosive blasts forced the herd to dodge and turn, slowing them down. The tactic gave us much-needed distance.

Just as my plan was working, the buffalo changed their tactics. Yipping and roars broke through the storm. From the rear, herd members shifted into their buffalo-man hybrid forms. The hybrids jumped onto the back of a running buffalo, leapfrogged forward, and landed in their full animal form, ready for those in the rear to repeat the process.

“Oh, that’s just not fair!” I yelled, while switching out plasma to conventional ammo in overhead bursts. I wasn’t trying to take any of the buffalo out, but I was trying to send a clear message that continuing to chase us was hazardous to their health.

“Oh shit!” TJ yelled.

“What? Oh SHIT!”

The ground suddenly dropped out a good five feet as the terrain shifted from hilly plains to more terraced, rocky ground. The Outrider sailed in a moment of weightlessness before impacting. The vehicle bottomed out as TJ tried to regain control. The wheel was pulled from his hand as we spun out of control.

The g-force was too much, and I was thrown from the vehicle. The Collective threw up my full body shield as I tumbled across the frozen ground. When I stopped moving, the shield was released. Over my shoulder I saw the herd coming fast, leaping over the drop point.

I turned my head to try and see as much as possible as I forced The Collective to begin an overclock. My mind raced at lightning speed while the world slowed to a crawl. Lying on my side wasn’t the best way to get a perspective, but it was the best I could do.

To my left, I saw the buffalo herd leaping majestically. They were right behind us and would be on top of me in seconds. To my right, TJ and the Outrider were over fifty feet away, and there was no way I could get up and run to the car in time.

A stupid, stupid plan popped into my head. Since it was dangerous and just plain dumb, I knew it was a Salem original. Stopping the overclock before my brain melted, the world returned to normal speed.

“TJ! DRIVE!” I yelled.

“I can’t leave you!”

“GODDAMN IT, DRIVE! I’VE GOT AN IDEA!”

“Oh, we’re screwed,” TJ said as he hit the pedal and the Outrider took off.

Rolling over, I took aim and fired a nano-filament line from each of my tech bracers. The chisel tips penetrated the back of the speeding Outrider as the micro-actuators engaged. The lines snapped taut and suddenly I was being hauled along behind the vehicle at high speed across the rocky, snowy ground.

“Ow ow ow!” I screamed as I tried to roll and get my legs under me. Looking back, I saw the herd coming fast.

A lifetime of movies convinced me that when the good guy is dragged behind a stagecoach or a car, they can get themselves to their feet and climb up. Well lemme tell ya, that’s complete bullshit. It took everything I had to keep my head up and roll away from rocks zipping at me at near a hundred miles an hour. And on top of that, the herd was gaining.

“Take another drop!” I yelled, spitting snow and gravel.

“Hey, you’re back there! Cool!” TJ yelled back.

“Just take a drop!”

“Got it!”

The Outrider swerved, moving towards another terraced drop just as the lead buffalo got closer. From the angry look, along with the swollen eye, I was guessing this was the same one I punched in the face.

The buffalo gnashed its teeth and bit at my feet. Yup, that’s the same buffalo lady.

“For what it’s AH . . . worth, I’m sorry for . . . damn it! . . . for punching you. Ow!” I yelled to the buffalo while also eating a mile of rough terrain.

The buffalo accepted my apology by biting the back of my calf. “Ow! All right, never mind. I’m NOT sorry! In fact, I’m going to enjoy this!”

As the Outrider accelerated off another small plateau drop, I rolled to my back and brought both my legs up. As the buffalo got closer, I slammed my feet down on her snout, activating my pulse boots.

The blast launched me skyward while singeing the buffalo’s snout. She turned her head and brayed in pain, skittering to the ground when the herd slammed into her.

“No one likes teeth!” I yelled from high in the air.

Twisting in the air, I uncrossed the nano-filament lines and fired up my Higgs-Boson inhibitor. The device was based on my mass inducer. Instead of drawing mass from ambient matter, the HBI greatly reduced my mass. This little baby once saved me from falling from to my death. And now it was going to help me water ski on land.

Once more I activated my pulse boots. But instead of a single concentrated blast, I emitted a low, consistent boost. With the vast majority of my mass reduced, I glided across the terrain as I was pulled by the Outrider.

“HA!” I laughed over my shoulder at the buffalo herd.

Swerving in lazy, wide arcs, I caught myself actually laughing a little. Sure we were being chased by were-buffalo while the god of all birds crapped a winter thunderstorm, but the ride was exhilarating.

It’s the little things that make you happy, you know?

Without anyone manning the turret, the herd moved in. I released my right nano-filament line. Immediately, I swung wide without the second guide line. Pulling my blaster, I dialed the weapon down to a hard stun and let off round after round into the herd.

Several dropped from my initial volley while the rest flowed around the fallen. One of the hybrid buffalo-men leaped from the back of a herd member directly for me, landing beside me as it shifted back into a full buffalo.

“Stop!” it shouted to me.

“Fat chance, Angus!”

“Cliff, you idiot!”

A say what now?

I looked over my shoulder and as the lighting flashed, I could see that the Outrider was sure as hell heading for a big-ass ravine. We were nearly on top of it and at our speed, we had no way of stopping.

“Oh shit! TJ, brakes! BRAKES!”

“I see it! I see it!” TJ yelled back, once more whipping the wheel around and locking up the rear wheels.

The Outrider was a fairly wide vehicle, but as TJ tried a power slide, the driver’s side came up a couple of inches from the ground, threatening to flip over.

Five of the hybrid buffalo forms jumped and landed on the vehicle, adding enough weight to keep it on the ground as it slid to a stop several feet from the lip.

I, however, shot right past the car and over the edge. Physics, you’re a cruel, cruel bitch.

“Shhhiiiiiiiiittt!” I yelled as I went over the edge.

My nano-line snapped taut and I damn near dropped my gun as I dangled at least a couple hundred feet from the ground. Stowing my weapon, I activated my left bracer’s nano-line winch and reeled myself up. Grabbing the lip of the cliff, I pulled myself up and reeled in the rest of my line as the HBI returned my mass.

“Uh, Salem?” TJ said. “Any ideas?”

The storm was slowly subsiding, and the clouds were rolling out almost as fast as they rolled in. The moonlight showed we were surrounded by a semicircle of buffalo and buffalo-man hybrids. They were breathing heavily and up close, these bastards were huge. They smelled of musk and anger.

“Put your hands up, kid,” I said while I raised my own arms.

“You sure?”

“They tried saving us instead of letting us fall off that cliff. I don’t know what they want, but I don’t think they want us dead.”

“I wanna go on record saying this is a bad plan.”

“Noted.”

One of the buffalo lumbered forward. It had a black eye and scorch marks along her muzzle.

Oops.

The buffalo shifted forms, shrinking down to a Native American woman with long black hair and large dark eyes . . . and she was completely naked.

“TJ, look away.”

“You kidding? This plan just got awesome.”

Thirteen-year-old kids. What can you do?

The woman walked up to me. Up close she was beautiful, even if she had a black eye and slight burn marks.

“Uh, hi,” I said, trying not to ogle. “Again, sorry about the punch and the blast to the face. But you did get a nice bite on my leg. I’d say we’re even?”

The woman punched me right in the mouth so hard I had to grab the Outrider or else fall off the cliff again. I righted myself from the blow and shook my head.

So she hit me again.

“Now we’re even,” she said “Prisoner.”

Sigh . . . Bad Bessie. Bad.

Chapter Seven

I’m Going to Hurt Them

Now, in Löngutangar

“You mind lowering those?”

The Löngutangar response team all trained their weapons on the large Wrath demoness. Vali cocked his head to one side and crossed his arms.

“Give me a reason.”

“How about all those reasons?” the demoness said, nodding her head over her shoulder to the back of the transport truck where the children were being unloaded.

“They’re why you’re still alive,” Vali said, taking a step closer to the demoness, who leaned casually against the truck. “The guns stay aimed right where they are for now. Normally I’d say no offense, but to be honest, I don’t give a shit if you’re offended.”

“Your sympathy is boundless. Mind if I smoke? I’m dying for one. Salem insisted I refrain while I was in the truck with the kids. Like kids don’t smoke.”

“Here,” Vidar said, lighting the demoness’s cigarette.

As Vidar finished lighting Khurzon’s cigarette, Vali shot his brother a look. “Seriously?”

Vidar shrugged. “Know her. Name’s Khurzon.”

“So? Demons, even ones waving flags of truce, are suspect.”

“Salem sent me. Obviously,” Kurzon said, blowing out a gray cloud.

“So you say.”

“Don’t be a bigger asshole than you have to be, godling. I’m on your side.”

“Where’s my son?!” a loud country voice roared out.

Vali looked to see Taylor. The tall, lanky mechanic come running towards the situation, his tool belt jangling as he did. Aside from fixing things, Taylor Junior, TJ, was all the man had in this world.

“Where? Where’s muh boy?!”

“You gotta be more specific, hick,” Khurzon said, puffing the smoke while her remaining three arms stayed crossed. “There were a lot of kids on that truck.”

Taylor pulled a heavy wrench from his tool belt and brandished the improvised weapon under the demoness’s chin. Khurzon looked at Vidar, ignoring Vali and Taylor all together.

“You might want to think about getting a leash for your pet.”

“Don’t toy with me, demon. My son. TJ. Where is he?”

“Oh, that one. Yeah, about him.”

“What? What happened?” Taylor asked then paused as if he figured something out. The mechanic exhaled deeply, putting the wrench away. “Yeah, lemme guess, he ran off with Salem, didn’t he?”

“Yup. I was halfway here when one of the kids told me.”

“Damn that boy,” Taylor sighed.

“So Salem is OK?” Vali asked.

“Took you long enough to ask. Some friends.” Khurzon smirked. “And would you PLEASE lower the fucking guns?”

Vali looked at Vidar, who nodded to his troops. They slowly lowered their weapons, aiming the barrels towards the ground, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

“Thank you. Now, is there a place we can talk? Maybe get a drink? I just chewed up a couple hundred miles of road to get here and could use something . . . strong,” Khurzon said while giving Vidar a wanton smile.

“I’m taken.”

“Too bad. You should see what a gal with four arms and the sex drive of a rhino can do.”

Vidar said nothing while the demoness maintained her smile. The silent god looked to his brother for some kind of help.

“That way,” Vali said, breaking the awkward moment and pointing towards the mead hall. “We can talk there. Erik?” Vali said, looking for his top lieutenant.

“Here,” the tall red-haired man said, stepping forward.

Vali placed a hand on Erik’s shoulder, then looked around at the rest of the men. “You and the men wrangle the kids,” Vali whispered. “Get them to the infirmary.”

“Sir?” Erik asked. “What about the families? They’re gonna want to see their kids.”

“Erik, listen to me,” the god said, dropping his voice to just above a whisper.

“We’re going to do this right. We’ve been hit brother, hit bad. And the people are ready to break. But we have a chance to return hope to them. So, if any of these kids has been infected by some demon bullshit, I need to know, now.”

“Of course. But—”

“Shh,” Vali shushed his friend. “I will not let a parent see their child, only to let something we should have seen slip by us, taking them away again. So, get them to infirmary. Get them checked over. Make sure they’re good. Then get the parents. Then we end their suffering. Then we give them hope back. Tonight, we celebrate. I think they’ve earned it. Can you do that for me, brother?”

Vali released Erik, who stood up straight. The captain of the guard pursed his lips, then wiped the corner of his eye. Coming to attention, he saluted. “Goddamn right, sir.”

********

After the night’s celebration was over, when people returned to their homes with their children Khurzon detailed everything from the moment Salem escaped Flotsam Prison to those remaining. She explained how Salem hatched a plan to break out and improvised a plan to rescue the children, and how The Brotherhood gave them aid in getting back to Löngutangar.

When she finished, their table in the mead hall was silent. No one knew what to say or to ask.

“That’s our boy,” the digital projection of Elena McMillan said to her equally digital husband.

Abraham’s hologram beamed with pride. “What’s our next move?” he asked.

Instinctively, all eyes turned to Vali. The god nodded, accepting the role. “Salem and TJ are safe. That’s the most important thing. Now, what happened when you left? Where did Salem and TJ go?”

Khurzon finished her beer and lit another cigarette. “Well, that’s the bad news,” she said, breathing out a plume of smoke. “Salem wanted me to tell you all everything once the children were safe and you were all gathered.”

“Tell us what?” Vali asked.

Khurzon took a moment to gather herself. “He was set up. He didn’t go into all the details, but he explained the entire vault robbery, prison sentence, and the kidnapping of your children was a part of a plot against him. The Archduchess Lady Bathin and Archduke Maz’ael gave him an ultimatum: get the Tears of God within one cycle of creation, or else Löngutangar would be razed to the ground. The inhabitants would be captured and sold off. Those who resisted would be killed.”

“Just Salem and TJ?” Salem’s father, Abraham, asked. “Alone?”

“No. They had this . . . thing with them. Some giant called ‘Chael’.”

“Chael?” Taylor asked.

“Yeah, this big—and I mean bigger than a demon—human with long black hair and pale white skin. So anyway, they all got into Father Grimm’s outrider and then literally vanished in a flash of energy. It wasn’t until later the kids in the transport told me that they saw TJ hide in the trunk of the vehicle.”

“The Tears of God,” Taylor said quietly.

“What is dis, Tears of God?” asked the short mech that held the disembodied head of Nikola Tesla.

“I don’t know,” Khurzon said. “It’s something the rulers want but a demon can’t get. I guess blowing up Abraxas and everything else Salem did racked up a massive bill. Apparently this was the only way he could make reparations. So, they sent their favorite errand boy to do it.”

“No,” Vidar said. “We helped in that. All of that. It isn’t fair.”

“No shit,” Khurzon said with a shrug. “But that’s demons for you.”

“Where are The Tears of God?” Salem’s father asked.

“Salem said Maz told him they were in The Temple of Solomon. And that Chael creature seemed to know something about it. But, to be fair, that big bastard seemed to be insane. Come to think of it, Salem did say Chael was possessed by the Deep Ones.”

“What?!” Taylor said, getting to his feet as he slammed the table.

Khurzon stared at Taylor blankly. “Yeah. It’s like I said, Chael seemed to know something about it. And since Salem, and I doubt TJ, have the power to teleport, that meant Chael is more than a ten-foot possessed psychopath. Salem guessed he was a nephilim, which could explain why he was giant and powerful.”

“Nephilim.” Taylor shook his head and sat back down, putting his elbows on the table and his face in his hands.

“So vat do we do now?” T asked. “Find Salem? We contact him!”

“Can’t,” Khurzon said, shaking her head. “Salem was given very strict guidelines. Maz said he had all of Salem’s transponder signal codes. Contact with Löngutangar in any way made you culpable in his escape and thus they would move on you instantly. The only thing he can do is get The Tears, bring them back, and have his debt wiped clean.”

“We have to do something,” Taylor said. “I have to find my boy! Vali, we have to do something.”

“There is nothing we can do,” Vali said.

Immediately the table broke out into multiple conversations and outcries. Each person had a different idea of what needed to be done. Vali’s mind reeled with the confusion, and his mind crystallized with the only way forward.

“Enough!” Vali said, slapping his hands down hard against the wooden table, rattling the bottles and plates. “There is nothing we can do,” he repeated.

When the table ceased talking and gave their full attention to Vali, he continued. “None of us know exactly where Salem and TJ are. We could possibly find out, but there is no guarantee we could get to him in time to help. If what the demon—”

“I have a name,” Khurzon said.

“What the demon said is true,” Vali said with a sideways glance at Khurzon, “then Salem must do this on his own. If he fails, then they are coming to destroy us. If we try and help, they destroy us. Which means we have to prepare for the worst.”

The table fell silent. Vali leaned forward with his head on the knuckles of his closed fists, his wavy blond hair in front of his face.

“Those children who were stolen from us are back. Thanks to the courage and insanity of Salem and—” Vali paused. “And also thanks to this brave, and oddly noble, demon. Khurzon.”

The Wrath Demon nodded in gratitude at Vali’s acknowledgment.

“Tonight we will celebrate the return of the children. But tomorrow preparations start immediately.”

Vali took a breath and began to pass out the commands, starting with his brother.

“Vidar, take charge of the garrison soldiers. Get this place ready for war. Taylor, get a signal set up that everyone knows about. When they hear it, they are to drop everything and take shelter. Tesla, we spoke before about excavations and expansion underground, adding on to Salem’s lair.”

“Da.”

“And? How has the work gone?”

“Shitty,” T said, the mech containment suit shrugging. “If you want the place to grow, topside or under, we need new source of power. Geo-thermal power insufficient for this many people. We up the shit creek without the paddle.”

“Damn it,” Vali said.

“Unless. . .” T said, his synth voice going up in mischievous thought.

“Unless what?”

“You know vat I want. You let me have that, and I think I able to supply power we need. Help underground expansion, power problem, HVAC for fallout shelter, and everything else we discuss. Possible tunnel under city walls as well, escape route into wasteland.”

Vali knew what the cyborg wanted. Up until then, he had intentionally kept it away from him. And not for the reasons T thought. But dire circumstances called for dire acts.

“All right, you can use it. It isn’t doing anything more than collecting dust. But you have to promise me, source of power only. Nothing more. The Hammer of Thor is a relic.”

“Svakako,” T said, his voice sounding hurt at the notion.

“Elena, please assist Taylor with the warning and emergency routes. Abraham, please assist T with the power situation.”

“Left yourself out,” Vidar noted. “What you gonna do?”

Vali took a deep breath. “I’m going to hurt them.”

Chapter Eight

A Good Ol’ Fashioned Herd-Stomp

Now, in the Waste

So, I escaped prison so I could help my friends. And, in less than twenty-four hours, I was a prisoner again. Life’s funny that way.

As funny as pushing a pufferfish through your peehole.

The herd surrounded the Outrider, and we were forced to drive along slowly as they guided us along a narrow path for the next hour in silence.

The silence ate at me. When I was in the heat of the moment, I was out of my own head. Reacting to my surroundings instead of dwelling on shit I couldn’t do anything about. Like the timetable I was under. Like Gh’aliss. Like the children and people of Löngutangar.

Hell, I think the reasons I actively sought out danger while scrubbing my brain with booze was so I didn’t have time to reflect on the past. All the little adventures of life that led a person to where they are. Silence forces you to spend time with yourself. Problem was, what if you hated who you were?

Ugh, silence sucks.

Each time I tried to turn on some music to pass the boring time, my new passenger in the back seat, the female buffalo woman in her hybrid form, would slap me in the back of the head.

“Not a music lover, eh?” I asked.

I was rewarded with a slap in the back of the head.

“You know it’s unsafe to hinder the driver’s ability to operate a motor vehicle?”

Another slap. “You’re in the passenger seat,” the buffalo woman said.

I did nothing in return. Considering I’d spent the last few months in prison, this was amateur hour by comparison. Plus, with the shield The Collective put up with each hit, I only felt a bit of the impact. But her hand must be killing her. So, victory was mine.

The scowl on TJ’s face told me he was plotting something stupid. I caught his eye and shook my head slightly. I appreciated the boy’s spirit, but hormone-fueled exuberance could get us killed.

“At the risk of another slap, may I ask, do you have a name?”

“Yes,” the hybrid buffalo woman growled, saying nothing more.

“Well, good for you then.”

Slap.

I shook my head at the situation and decided to just close my eyes for a bit. I had no idea how long the trip was, but these folks had interrupted my post-prison break sleep. For that alone I dubbed them assholes.

I know it’s weird to think I could sleep at a time like this, but as a former soldier, learning to catch a few Z’s wherever and whenever was a valuable skill. I knew TJ could use the rest as well, but he’s young. They seem to have nothing but energy. With my eyes closed, I let myself listen to the gentle hum of the Outrider and the clip-clop pace of the herd. With the steady white noise, I was asleep in seconds.

********

A Long Time Ago

The door to the cabin opened and Isaac’s father, Abraham McMillan, stepped out with an M-4 carbine. The older man set the weapon to three-round bursts, and stood side by side with his son, firing in controlled bursts, picking off the kudja. Abraham was smart, targeting the most dangerous of the pack first. He dropped the first one, but the second began a charge with the three remaining hellions following behind it.

The kudja was closing in fast. Isaac knew he had to act quickly.

The hellhound raced towards the cabin, its jaws wide with frothy saliva. Isaac sidestepped at the last second, bringing the kraak down on the back of the monster’s neck, cutting down to the spine. Even near death, it was formidable. The monster turned and swiped at Isaac with its massive clawed paw, spraying its lifeblood in a desperate attempt to take a life before it died.

Isaac rolled with the attack as best as he could, hitting the ground, shoulder rolling and coming back up to his feet. He brought the kraak up to swing it like a bat to finish the creature off when he was tackled hard to the ground by one of the incoming hellions.

Isaac felt a rib crack on impact with the ground, losing the kraak in the fall. The hellion was on top of him, trying to go for the kill. Isaac grabbed the hellion by the throat and held it away as it blindly clawed and punched at his face. Another three-round burst from Abraham and the hellion’s head sprouted bloody holes.

The hellion fell over dead, just in time for the wounded kudja to pounce on Isaac. It was weak and Isaac was slippery from all the blood. They rolled in the snow trying to kill one another. Isaac latched onto some of the demon’s exposed bone in its neck and wrenched as hard as he could. His enhanced strength snapped the creature’s spine and the monster at last fell dead.

The clean white snow outside the cabin was soaked in human and demon blood. Isaac lay there as his father picked off the last two hellions with the M-4.

“Son, are you all right?!” Abraham asked, rushing to Isaac’s side.

Isaac nodded, not wanting to talk or move. His ribs hurt like hell and any extra movement made the situation worse. He had to give The Collective time to get him to a mobile state at minimum.

A whistling sound cut the quiet night air.

Isaac knew that sound. Shriekers. Hellion mini-spears launched at a distance that came down in razor-sharp groups.

“Dad, move!” Isaac yelled as he lunged, pushing his father away.

Eight shriekers landed where Isaac had been, oozing Hell-made paralytic poison into the snow. More hellions were out there, and they were coming this way.

********

My eyes snapped open. I sat up straight in the Outrider, looking around.

Jesus. What was my subconscious trying to tell me?

There were certain memories I really needed to stay buried. Flotsam brought back the part of me who was once “Reynolds.” But the decades I spent as that sleazy asshole didn’t fill me with the self-loathing that night did.

I lit a cigarette and waited for the dream to melt from my conscious mind.

It didn’t.

I did get another slap in the back of the head.

“Put out that filthy thing.”

“No,” I growled.

I turned fast and caught the buffalo-woman’s wrist before she slapped me again. I slowly began applying pressure. At first she did nothing. Then I felt her try and pull her hand away, and I held firm. She was big and strong. But my cybernetics, especially after being tinkered on by Tesla, increased my strength far beyond that of a normal man.

I continued to squeeze on her wrist. Her bestial form, like a bison minotaur, was like Vali’s if not as grand as the king of the werewolves. But bone was bone, after all. All the muscle in the world didn’t mean shit against the necessary pounds of pressure per square inch it took to break bone.

“You’ve caught us, and since then we’ve been compliant. But if you hit me, or the kid, one more fucking time, I’m going to rip your goddamn arm off and beat you with it.”

I stared the hybrid in her black glossy eye, letting her know I was one hundred percent serious. “And this,” I said holding up the smoke, “is the only thing keeping my manners in check.”

I let her hand go and turned back around in my seat. And since I was feeling so goddamn cocky, I flipped on the digital music player and blasted “Kung Fu Fighting” for no reason other than to be a dick.

The large hybrid bruiser walking along side of the Outrider, however, did not care for Carl Douglas’s one-hit wonder. Or possibly for my treatment of the Lady Slaps-a-lot. The bruiser grabbed the back of my neck, pulled me from the Outrider, and tossed me to the frozen ground.

Remember that little speech about the required pounds of pressure to break bones? Now imagine getting trampled on by a herd of angry buffalo.

Lucky for me, my bones weren’t exactly bone. But a good ol’ fashioned herd-stomp still hurt.

********

Walking behind the outrider with my hands bound and a rope leash around my neck was another new low point in my long life. Nothing against a little light bondage, but this was another indignity in my life’s long line of little eff-you’s.

The gag in my mouth was overkill.

These people hadn’t actually done anything overtly harmful, which was why I played along. That, and there were twenty-five of them. I could snap the rope easily and make a break for it. But that did squat for TJ.

Short of another hour of walking, the sun broke the horizon, painting the frost-covered land in warm, red-gold light. I could see a path before us through the rocky pass. Through the pass, and to the bottom of the ravine, everything opened into a beautiful snow-covered valley.

Nestled into the valley I could see signs of life. Rudimentary and temporary homes were constructed in the open, while others were built more permanently into the rocky walls and caves of the ravine.

Children played games, running free, while adults worked. There was a sense of energy and life to the community. I couldn’t get an exact count, but there were easily a couple hundred people. Whoever these people were, they appeared to be nomadic, moving from one camp to another.

The herd stopped, as did the Outrider. I took the opportunity to plop down on the snowy ground. I was exhausted and starving. The rocky ravine offered protection while the open valley was not easily accessible. There was an overwhelming sense of peace to the land.

Not a bad spot.

The remaining herd came into the valley as people cheered, greeting them with welcome arms. The buffalo shifted, turning from their animal forms into their human ones. And not a one of them had a stitch of clothing.

I looked at the people. Not just looking at the nudity, but at them as whole. They were smiling. They were laughing. There was a general sense of happiness to the small community. Most, but not all, of the community seemed to be of Native American descent. I could see people of many ethnic backgrounds. Whoever these people were, I could tell they weren’t “evil.”

Another herd of buffalo, smaller than the first, came rumbling in as well. They were outfitted with rigging and harnesses designed to carry supplies. They took turns transforming back into human form, helping one another unload their burden. It looked like they were carrying large chunks of wrapped meat and skins.

The rope round my neck was tugged hard, jerking my head. “Up.”

The female buffalo Native American woman, now dressed in a warm robe made of Abomination skin, had cut the rope to the Outrider and pulled hard on my leash. Instead of obeying I remained on the ground, locking my eyes with hers.

“Get up.”

“Fnnk yun,” I said though the gag.

“Get up,” the woman demanded, and again I refused.

My little show gathered attention. A large man wearing only a pair of homemade leather pants and shoes walked up to stand beside the woman.

“Macha, do you need some help?”

“No Akecheta, I don’t. Help the others,” the woman said while she sneered at me.

What can I say? I have that effect on women. And men. Come to think of it, most people. Hmm . . . could I be the asshole and the rest of the world was normal? Nah.

“I said ‘up’,” Macha repeated.

“Nn I snd ‘fnnk yun’,” I said through the gag.

“Salem, just do what they want,” TJ said. “Other than her, I think these people are cool.”

TJ picked up on the same thing I did. I’d met a lot of people of various cultures in my time. People who smiled a lot tended to be mostly good. But what the kid didn’t have experience in was introductions.

When I first met his people, I had to make a show of myself in order to gain acceptance. A little bit of aggression mixed with benevolent temperance tended to impress the warriors and the leaders of most good-natured cultures.

As Macha tugged once more on my rope leash, I stood, popped one of the retractable blades from my tech bracer, cut my rope bindings and the leash, and removed my gag.

“There, now we can be civilized,” I smiled as I fished in my pocket for a smoke and a lighter.

Snapping the lighter shut, I felt a little surge of cocksure pride. No doubt the gathered people would be impressed with my little display and general restraint.

Looking up, I saw that every gathered person, including the children, had a gun pointed at my head.

Oh. Snap. “Man, y’all really don’t like cigarettes, do you?”

The gathered crowd said nothing in return. The weapons ranged from makeshift one-shot zip-guns to standard assault plasma weapons. The tension was high and eerily quiet. If something went sideways, I was going to end up on the receiving end of a shit-storm.

TJ hopped from the front seat of the Outrider and stood on the hood. He began yelling something in a language I didn’t recognize. The people did not react. TJ shook his head and began gesturing oddly with his hands, as if he was trying to remember something.

Once more, TJ yelled in a different language. The only thing I picked up was “Kola.” Murmurs rippled through the people and they began looking sideways at one another, waiting for a group decision.

Macha called out in the same language, as did the big guy, Akecheta. Slowly the people began putting their weapons down.

“Holy shit, kid,” I said, nodding in approval.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. I think these are The First People of the Nation. Or just The People.”

“The what now?”

“You wouldn’t understand, you’re a city dude,” TJ said. “Out in the wasteland, there are pockets of humanity. And there are groups of The People. They typically keep to themselves.”

“Who taught you this?” I asked. Granted, I hadn’t ventured far into the waste since the end of the wars, keeping mostly to a few outer towns and free-farms within a day or so of New Golgotha.

“My dad. He taught me a few phrases. He said some of The People used to trade with Midheim, but I never met one. And he never mentioned they could do . . . that.” The kid gestured at those who remained in their buffalo form.

The gathered people moved aside as an older woman made her way to TJ and me. She was dressed like Macha in clothing made from Abomination hide. But there was something else about her. She was fit, respected, older but not ancient. Her gray hair hung long in the front and braided in the back. Her clothing was adorned with small trinkets and she carried a heavy walking staff.

I assumed she was some type of leader based on her bearing and the respect given to her by the people she passed. She was flanked by two giant hybrid buffalo-men who, in the light of day, looked more like minotaurs.

Macha and Akecheta both bowed her head slightly as the older woman approached. “Ehawee.”

“Macha, Akecheta.” Ehawee nodded back to them before looking at TJ and me. The older woman regarded us with an appraising look.

Not knowing what to do, I snubbed out my old cigarette in the snow, placing the butt in my pocket, and lit another. Ehawee said something in another language, and one of the hybrid men grunted and stomped towards me. The big creature took the cigarette from my mouth and handed it to Ehawee.

The old woman accepted the smoke and took a long drag. Her eyes rolled back in her head for a moment in joy.

“Goddamn, I miss these,” Ehawee said with a grin. The old woman enjoyed the smoke as she once more stared at TJ and me. “You are not demons.”

“Uh . . . no?” I said, unsure of what the hell was going on.

Ehawee frowned. “Well, shit.”

Chapter Nine

Against All the Fae

Day Zero of The Wild Hunt

The concept of running for your life while being hunted was . . . unsettling. Being tracked to the point of exhaustion, collapsing, then being ripped apart was admittedly not an ideal way to see the rolling hills, forest, and endless glades representing spring, autumn, winter and summer.

But, Grimm mused to himself, it was definitely not boring.

Boredom was the bane of an immortal existence. Boredom was a creeping, gray, seeping sickness. Seeing the same types of people, the same history, and the same events play out over and over was maddening. But with the proverbial (and in this case literal) angry mob at his back, Grimm repressed a smile. In a masochistic sense, he was enjoying this. The thrill of the hunt, the excitement, the blood and adrenaline.

Grimm decided when this was over, it was definitely time to take up paintball again.

Of course, he would need Salem and Tesla to rebuild the equipment and reinvent the sport. But worthwhile endeavors were worth the effort. Now, all he had to do was survive The Wild Hunt.

Grimm was led to the gates of Loreholm by two lumbering, rough-handed ogres, who stripped him of his weapons and artificing equipment. He was shoved when his pace was too slow. The thick-skulled creatures were oblivious that his stride was deliberate.

Assuming the facade of a fearful man, Grimm took his time in silent, slow steps. To the Fae, he appeared afraid. In fact, he was assessing the gauntlet of would-be hunters. Grimm mentally noted which creatures were present, their strengths and known weaknesses.

The Green Man watched Grimm from atop a grand stag that resembled a deer, but was easily the size of an elephant. The majestic beast had eight legs, massive antlers, and a pair of razor-sharp horns that curled around its head.

“Father Grimm, this night you have been sentenced to be the quarry of The Wild Hunt. When I blow the horn, the hunt begins. You will be given a brief head start, then every Fae residing in The Hitherlands will stalk you. When you are killed, your corpse will be hung in the grand hall. And in time, I will personally carve out your skull to serve as my new drinking chalice.”

“I was under the impression that I had a chance to survive.”

The Green Man smiled. “Technically, yes. In order to survive the hunt, you must reach the portal that links The Hitherlands to the Prime Material plane.”

“I will greatly enjoy defeating you,” Grimm said in a low tone so that only The Green Man could hear.

“Oh, little man-thing, your hubris is delicious. But you forget the rules this realm. This place is not his His creation. My power holds it together. Therefore, my rules. You know what this means.”

Grimm’s smirk dropped and was replaced by a stone-faced glare towards The Green Man.

“I see you understand. Your magic? Meaningless here,” he said, shaking his horned head.

Grimm’s shoulders slumped. His knees bent involuntarily, causing his body to sway. He had to catch himself lest he fall over. The Green Man watched Grimm with delight in his emerald eyes. He pressed the fact, leaning forward on his mount, which growled and stomped its hooves, reacting to its master’s will.

“In this realm, you have nothing to draw from. Nothing to rearrange. In essence, you are impotent. You will run, and you will die. I do hope you give us a grand chase. But I believe you too reliant on that which made you special out there. In here, you are the weakest being in the realm. A feeling I am sure you are not accustomed to.”

Grimm said nothing, unable to return The Green Man’s gaze. He simply stared at the ground as the lord of The Hitherlands laughed.

“The feeling you are having right now is fear. Something you probably haven’t felt in a very long time. I am pleased to be the one to re-introduce you to it.”

Grimm mumbled something intelligible. The once proud and powerful mage was so shaken that even his normal candor was diminished.

“What was that?” The Green Man asked. “I was unable to hear you.”

Grimm lifted his head a little, still unable to look directly in his adversary’s eyes. “So,” he began quietly, searching for his voice. “So, I only have my wits, mortal skills, and present abilities then? Against all the Fae of The Hitherlands?”

“Yes.”

“How am I to survive then?”

“I do not expect you to.”

“Then I will die here.”

“Exactly. I think a honey wine will be the first thing I enjoy drinking from your skull,” the Green Man mused.

Grimm lowered the brim of his hat and walked on his own volition to the stone archway of Loreholm’s main gate. The large circular doors were swung wide open, revealing a vast, dark forest.

With a meek glance back over his shoulder, he looked towards The Green Man. “Let us just begin this charade,” Grimm said, his voice barely audible.

“As you wish,” the Green Man said as he produced a curled ram’s horn and brought the device to his lips.

Pausing, the Green Man looked down at Grimm who, with slumped shoulders, only looked towards the forest. He raised an eyebrow, considering the mage for a moment. Shaking his head in dismissal, the Green Man raised the horn once more.

With no flourish, and no additional words towards his people, The Green Man blew a single, piercing note.

The signal for The Wild Hunt to begin.

“Now run,” the Green Man commanded.

And Father Grimm ran.

Which he was very glad for, as he was unsure how much longer he could repress the laughter that threatened to burst forth.

********

“How long a wait do we give him m’lord?” an elf asked.

“Hmm? Oh, not too terribly long. We are only waiting for our Huntmaster.”

“You’re not leading The Hunt yourself?” the elf asked.

“I will orchestrate The Hunt from here. I have a very special individual in mind to lead,” the Green Man said, thinking over the events.

“My lord’s will, of course. But, if I may be so bold, why not just run him down yourself?”

“Because our enemy is crafty.”

“He appeared to be broken, lord.”

“That is what troubles me,” The Green Man said. “I have known that . . . creature for a very long time. I have never known him to be ‘broken’. Which is why I have called upon Chimera to lead the hunt.”

“The Chimera, lord?” the elf asked before adding, “And her Ghost?”

The Green Man smiled. “Yes. I think a family reunion is in order.”

Chapter Ten

As Long As Wakinyan Wishes

Now, in the Waste

The People’s venerable leader sat on a woven mat inside the large cave that served as a common area. Multicolored tapestries hung along the cave walls, giving the interior a comfortable, homey feel while also retaining heat in the winter. I sat opposite her by a small fire and she considered me with judgmental eyes.

“Explain yourself,” Ehawee demanded.

Explain myself? About a hundred smart-ass remarks ran through my head. But, looking at the older woman, I saw the respect and station she held. So I curbed my usual attitude.

Also, there were bunch of buffalo minotaurs in the cave standing guard. I doubted they would tolerate my brand of humor.

“What do you wish to know?” I asked Ehawee, trying to project an earnestness.

“I wish to know why Wakinyan led us to you.”

“Because I’m a popular guy?” Damn, I mentally kicked myself for the remark.

I turned with my hands up at the buffalo minotaurs. “Sorry, sorry.”

Ehawee gestured with her hand and the guards stood down.

“Apologies,” I said. “Look, Ehawee is it? Ehawee, hi, my name is Salem. I’m a land baron in the Razor Bay district of New Golgotha.”

“He works for demons,” Macha said from behind me.

“No, no no no,” I said holding up my hands. “I don’t work for demons. In fact, they hate me. I was just in jail and—”

“Jail? So you’re a prisoner.”

“I was, but I broke out.”

“You’re an escapee who’s hunted then?”

“Yes—wait, no. That came out wrong. Look—”

“Let’s just kill him,” Macha offered.

“Let’s not do that,” I countered. “I’m a good guy, OK?”

“Then why did Wakinyan want us to hunt a good person?” Akecheta asked.

“What the shit is a ‘Wakinyan’? Wait, do you mean that big bird in the sky?”

A guard behind me slapped the back of my head. “Ow, what the hell?!”

“For your offenses, you have been punished,” Ehawee stated flatly. “Like a child.”

“OK, cool,” I said, rubbing at the back of my head. “Can I know what I did so I don’t do it again?”

“A fair question. You referred to Wakinyan as a ‘big bird’.”

“OK, noted. But I still don’t know what Wakinyan is.”

“The Thunderbird,” TJ said.

“The boy is correct,” Ehawee said, eyeing TJ. “What do you know of her?”

TJ looked to me. I just shrugged, then gestured towards the gathered campfire. “Go ahead, kid. Obviously I’m not doing so hot.”

TJ nodded. “My dad told me a little. That the Thunderbird, Wakinyan, was—is—a great spirit that brings the storm and the thunder. She flies across the Great Plains and is a defender of The People. While she is not considered benevolent, she is a great power of justice.”

“The boy is wise beyond his years,” Ehawee noted.

“Tell me about it,” I agreed.

“Ma’am, honestly, we don’t know why Wakinyan wanted us. We don’t even know where we are. We’re searching for something very important, and we have no time. The lives of Salem’s people, my dad, are on the line if we don’t find it and get it back.”

“How did you get here?” Ehawee asked.

Shit. How did we explain Chael? TJ looked to me, and I took the reins. “A friend . . . He brought us here. We killed some Abominations, then took shelter in a cave. Next thing we knew, that big b—Wakinyan brought the storm that scared my friend off. Then your herd of buffalo came running and we ran, not knowing who they were. I think you know the rest.”

Ehawee nodded to the guards behind me, who struck me twice against the back of the head.

“Goddamn, what now?!”

“Two strikes for your continued ignorance.”

“Shit, you better get ready then, because ignorance and charm is what I have in spades. Now, may I ask—again—what did I say wrong?”

“You may. They are not ‘buffalo’. They are bison. Buffalo exist, or existed, in Africa and Asia. The North American bison were misnamed.”

“Gotcha,” I nodded, rubbing my head. “Why didn’t you say anything about the Thunderbird earlier?” I asked TJ.

“I was kind of busy almost shitting my pants and driving like crazy in the dark.”

I shrugged. Kid had a point. I reached into my pocket for a cigarette, then paused, looking at Ehawee for permission. The older woman nodded, and I offered her the pack and the lighter.

“Thank you,” she said, lighting the smoke. “Damn . . .”

“You smoke?”

“I used to. A long time ago,” Ehawee said, breathing out.

A long time ago? I was getting the impression that Ehawee was older than she was letting on. No one out here should even have any old-world smokes. But hell, who was I to judge. “So, why did Wakinyan want us?”

“That is the question,” Ehawee said. “Wakinyan does not directly interfere. She gives us guidance. And she guided us to you. Normally, Wakinyan shows our hunters where to find the Abominations, or a demon pack, so we may destroy them. Instead, she showed us you.”

“Like I said, we took care of a few when we got here.”

“I know. Thank you for the meat and the skins. The People are grateful for your gift.”

“Uh, you’re welcome? Since we’re not demons, does this mean we may leave?”

“No. You’re not demons, but you have the stink of them on you. If Wakinyan wants you, then we keep you.”

“For how long?”

“As long as Wakinyan wishes.”

The way Ehawee replied, I had the impression this was not up for discussion. “So, are you going to kill us?”

“Not unless Wakinyan commands it.”

“So we’re what, prisoners? The kid wasn’t lying; we have a very strict timetable we’re working on. The lives of almost three thousand people depend on us.”

“For that, I am sorry,” Ehawee apologized. “But you will remain here until we receive guidance. If you try and leave, you will be restrained. In the meantime, you are free to move about The People.”

“That’s not acceptable,” I said, getting angry.

TJ put a hand on my arm. “Ehawee, may I ask, how did The People come to be?”

“You would do well to heed the child and temper yourself,” Ehawee said. Inclining her chin to Macha and Akecheta, Ehawee wordlessly summoned them to come closer.

“Tell them our story.”

Macha looked to Aketcha, who began. “The story of The People goes far back, before the end of days. When our ancestors were called ‘Native Americans’. We lived on what little land the white man saw fit to give back to us after taking it from The First Nation’s people.”

Macha next picked up the story. “The folly and fall of the white man came when he embraced his technology and created the tool of his destruction. Because of his sins against nature, the great rifts between planes were torn open. Wakan-Tanka, The Great One, The Great Mystery, retreated because of their transgressions. In his absence, monsters walked the land once more.”

Akecheta spoke next. “The fall of the white man was rebirth for The People. In the war and chaos that followed, The People came together. When the walls of the great cities went up, the land was once again returned to The People. But the land was not empty. Those who embraced The People became part of The People. Those who did not, and did so with violence, were met with violence.”

Macha took her turn next. “It was in these times when the great spirits once more spoke openly to The People. The great Abominations walked the land, and our task was given to us by Wakinyan. To find and destroy any demon we encountered. Whatever of the land was left we were to use for the betterment of The People. We had to be prepared. For greater enemies and darker times were to come. The Dark Walker, Unktehi, Wakinyan’s greatest enemy and father of the Abominations, roamed the open land. We must be strong enough to defeat it. So, Wakinyan bestowed upon us the gift of skinwalking, the ability to shift into animal forms.”

“When Unktehi is no more, then The People must be ready for the great evil which poisons the land, deep below,” Akecheta finished.

“Good.” Ehawee nodded.

Looking at them in the firelight, I could see the resemblance. “Your children tell a wonderful story. I thank you for it.”

“You seem to have learned temperance. Perhaps you’re not as dumb as you look.” Ehawee smiled.

“No, he is,” TJ said, which caused all but Macha to laugh.

“Come sister, that was funny,” Akecheta said.

“He is too strong. He isn’t normal.”

“No, I’m not,” I admitted. “I’m . . . different. But I mean you all no harm.”

Macha stood in a fluid motion and left the fire. She paused to look back at me. I noticed she was wearing my gun holster. She took one out and aimed it at my head. She pulled the trigger.

“Your guns don’t work. About as useless as you are.” Then, she left the cave.

“Something I said?”

“You made her look foolish and weak,” Akecheta said. “She doesn’t like you.”

“Can’t say as I blame her. Is there anything I can do?”

“Don’t turn your back on her,” Ehawee said with a smile. “Now, may I have another cigarette?”

“Sure.” I offered her a smoke and lit it for her. “Oh, just out of curiosity, where are we?”

“The ground,” Ehawee said as she enjoyed the smoke.

“Uh. . . uh . . . ” I stammered, trying to think of a polite way to ask her to be more specific.

Ehawee winked at me. “Unlike my daughter, I have a sense of humor. South Dakota, on the border with Nebraska.”

“South Dakota?!”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Well yeah. Who hasn’t?”

“Aside from The People, no one born in the last hundred years,” Ehawee said, shooting me a wink.

I was forced to smile. I was trying to think of a way to trick the old bird into saying something to give away her age. Instead, she nailed me. We shared a look that said there would be a later conversation.

********

“So, what do you think?” TJ asked me.

“I’ve definitely been in worse caves,” I said, looking around. 

The cave was near the central meeting area, on a higher elevation. The ravine’s rock face had pathways carved into the stone that acted like stairs moving up and down the canyon walls.

The cave was closed by a circular wooden door carved with intricate native designs. The inside was dry and warm, with similar Abomination skins dyed and woven into beautiful tapestries. We had working lights, a pair of woven mats with furs to sleep on, and even a rudimentary toilet.  

“I guess I imagined something more rustic. Blame it on my preconceived notions about what life would be like out here. I mean you all had power when I came to Midheim, so why wouldn’t they? Underground fusion cells, maybe?”

“Salem, I’m serious,” TJ pleaded. “What do you think they are going to do with us?”

I plopped down on the fur-covered mat and lit a smoke. “I don’t know,” I said with all seriousness. “I don’t think they want to hurt us. But they seem pretty loyal to the big bird.”

“Wakinyan,” TJ corrected.

“Whatever. If that thing told them to find us, then we’re at the mercy of a colossal bird that craps thunder.”

“Great,” TJ sighed.

“Look, kid, I’m not going to lie. Things could get messy.”

“Messy?”

I didn’t to have to spell it out in gory details, but he had to know. “We have six days to get The Tears of God and get back. We’re fifteen hundred miles from home and I only have a pack and half of smokes. Things are bad.”

“Salem.”

“Look, the longer we’re here, the harder things are going to be. And while I don’t want to, we may have to hurt some of them. So do me a favor—get some rest. Come nightfall, we have to be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“What do all prisoners want, kid?”

TJ smiled. “We’re breaking out of here.”

********

Once TJ was asleep, I stepped out of the comfortable cave into the winter wind and sat on the carved stone edge overlooking the valley. Pulling my coat tighter, I lit a smoke and watched the people below.

Children continued to play. Those old enough helped perform rudimentary chores. Here and there I saw some pieces of tech. Nothing as fancy as one would find in a city, but useful nonetheless. No doubt The People picked apart relics of the old world as did all those who lived in the wastelands.

Small patrols would venture out. Hunting parties, I assumed. I watched The People move, learning their habits just like I had on scouting missions when I was in the militia. The Outrider was parked not too far below me, near the mouth of the central cave where we met Ehawee. While no one was guarding it directly, there were eyes always on it.

The valley had an entrance on the north and south end. But the patrols seemed to come and go at random. Getting out would be hard.

But that’s not why I was really out here. It was because I couldn’t look at TJ.

The sun wasn’t past noon yet, but each moment here was a moment I wasn’t moving towards The Tears. The kid wanted nothing more than to save his dad, and I was going to do everything I could to do that. But if I had to keep an eye on him while trying to do what I had to, it was a recipe for failure.

I looked again at The People. They seemed . . . nice enough? If I left him here, they wouldn’t hurt him.

Would they?

I could make it much faster on my own. Then, when I was done, I could come back for him. I lit another cigarette as I could almost hear Gh’aliss over my shoulder, whispering as she always did.

“Go on, leave him. You’re so much better on your own. You know he’ll only slow you down. Even if they did kill him, what was his one life worth? Compared to the thousands you’re responsible for, as sickening as that is, the decision is easy.”

And she wouldn’t be wrong.

But I would be a motherfucker if I did.

Damn it. I’d spent too long with demons, adopting their morality, or lack thereof, as the norm. Thanks to Grimm, I’d started being a human again. Hell, thanks to Vali, Vidar and their people, I’d started being more than I ever was in my former life.

No, I’d take TJ with me. I’d just have to be on my A-game at all times.

“I’m glad I’m dead so I don’t have to see this pathetic display. You shone so bright and so fierce once. Now? You’re nothing more than a filthy human.”

I’m sorry Gh’al, I am, I thought to myself as my eyes began to water. But you always did bring out the worst in me. You deserved better than dying in prison. You deserve more than me being the only being left alive who will carry on your memory. I’m sorry for what happened to you and your daughters. I love you, and in your own fucked-up way, I know you loved me. But I have to say goodbye now. May death bring you the peace I never gave you in life.

I finished my smoke, stood, and walked back into the cave. Plopping down on the furs, I looked one last time to TJ.

“No matter what, kid,” I whispered, “I’m getting you home.”

With my mind resolute, my body finally succumbed to all the events that led me here. The prison, the breakout, the fighting, and the running.

I simply blacked out. And thankfully, there were no dreams of pain and sadness waiting for me.

Chapter Eleven

Trophies

Now, in Löngutangar

“You’re insane,” Khurzon said while watching Vali pull out an old trunk from under his bed.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Vidar added. “I like it.”

“Thanks, brother.”

“Both of you. Insane. What do you think this little stunt is going to do?” Khurzon asked.

“With your knowledge of Flotsam?” Vali asked, placing the trunk on his bed. “I’m going to make them bleed.”

“By yourself? It’s impossible,” Khirzon scolded Vali.

“Not with these,” the god said, running his hand across the wood.

The trunk was hand carved with intricate Norse runes. Inside were the remnants of a life he’d left behind. But life had a way of bringing back the sins of your past.

With his eyes closed, his sense of touch was all he needed to know the box and its contents. Every facet and every groove of the wood was etched into his mind. His hands ran across the wood in seemingly random patterns. To anyone watching, he was mindlessly pawing at a box. But Vali, and his brother, knew he was disarming the traps. Powerful runic magic protected the box and its contents from would-be thieves and curious minds.

When Vali finished, the blue-black steel straps sprang open. “What’s in there?” Khurzon asked, peeing around the open lid.

“My sins.”

“Looks like a trunk of old weapons.”

“They’re both,” Vali whispered. 

“What kind of weapons are they?”

“Trophies,” Vidar said.

“From what?”

“Dead gods.”

Vidar did not elaborate, nor did Vali want him to. While Salem, and to an extent Vidar, may have trusted this demon, Vali was not ready to share the dark path he once walked.

Vali stared at the pile of ancient weapons, each of them taken from a fallen god or powerful being. When G-Day hit the mortal realm, humans fought Hell. But there was another war. A private war. One where the various remaining pantheons fought and killed one another.

The gods were trapped and vied for power instead of uniting. And it was in those times when Vali did what he was born—no—created to do.

He killed.

Some up close. Some from a distance. But they died nonetheless. With each death, his collection grew. He told himself it was necessary. Should one of the other gods rise to power, gather followers, they would become too powerful. And the humans would be the ones caught in a battle of power between gods and Hell.

But that was only the lie he told himself to sleep at night. The truth was, Vali liked it.

He took thrill in bringing them down. In knowing he was the real threat. After what Vali and Vidar witnessed in Asgard, with the fall of the Allfather along with nearly all his Aesir and Vanir kin, he needed purpose. Killing was as good as any.

Surprisingly, it was Vidar the berserk god who forced Vali to move into the wilds and take care of the humans of Midgard as Thor once did. But Vali never stopped killing, not fully. And in each of those times, Vali had a certain ritual. A way of knowing of his need to kill was justified, or simple ego and hubris.

Vali pulled a simple sheathed sword from the trunk and held it with reverence.

“What is that?” Khurzon asked.

“The answer to the question.” 

“What question?”

“Whether or not I’m supposed to do this,” Vali said, holding the sword.

“Don’t,” Vidar said.

“You know I have to. I can’t do it without knowing for sure,” Vali said as he looked at the sword while placing his hand on the scabbard.

“Gonna get burned. Again,” Vidar said, shaking his head.

“Maybe,” Vali said, flexing his hand in memory.

“What is that?” Khurzon asked again, growing impatient. 

“Dyrnwyn, one of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain.”

“And that’s supposed to mean what?” Khurzon asked.

“It burns with fire when drawn,” Vidar said.

“So?”

“If drawn for a noble purpose . . . nothing,” Vidar said.

Khurzon looked confused. “And if it isn’t?”

“It burns the wielder like the fires of hell,” Vali said.

“Like you would know,” Khurzon said, rolling her eyes.

“More than you realize, demon,” Vali said, holding the sword in his left hand while placing his right on the ancient Welsh blade’s leather-wrapped handle.

“In a couple of days, I’m going out there. I’m going to hurt them. Badly. They took our children. And while we got them back, they are once again threatening us. Threatening us with death. I can’t kill them all, no matter how much I want to. But they will feel pain at my hand. It may not stop them, but they will never again see us as weak. Now, burn me or not, but I’m going to fucking kill them anyway.”

Vali drew the sword in a deft movement, throwing the scabbard across the room as the blade erupted into flame, bathing the room in golden light.

The flame did not touch the god. It stayed on the weapon’s blade. Vali nodded, letting out the breath he was holding. More than once in the past, the flame burned him, indicating the path he was on was the wrong one. But the assassin-god did what assassins do regardless.

This time, his path was just. The power of Dyrnwyn to know the innate righteousness of the wielder’s intent shown brightly, illuminating his way forward. And there was nothing anyone could say to the contrary, nor tarnish the moment.

Vidar leaned in and lit his cigarette off the flaming sword.

“I hate you sometimes.”

Chapter Twelve

To Be Cold

Day One of The Wild Hunt

Robbed of magic was something Grimm was unaccustomed to. The feeling was frightening, yet ironically, exhilarating.

Rushing through the sloping wooded hillside, Grimm ducked behind a large tree and listened. There were no sounds of pursuers. No hounds, no creatures, nothing. Why were they waiting?

Rasputin’s trap put him not only in one of the few places where he could not draw from the power of creation, but also where the inhabitants wanted him dead. When he found his former apprentice once again, he would have to congratulate him on such a well-conceived plot.

Then Grimm would, of course, have to kill him.

Once again, Grimm stifled a bark of laughter. One thing he never told any of his apprentices over the thousands of years was that during dire situations, he always had a particular trick up his sleeve.

Literally.

When it was clear no one was immediately pursuing him, Grimm removed his stetson and began removing the buttons, cloth wraps, and wooden toggles of his cassock, stripping down to the pair of black Synthskin boxer-briefs he liberated from Salem’s seldom-clean laundry.

In the old days, a loincloth, or cut linen small clothes, were all one needed. But once he tried the underwear, he was a changed man.

At his age, Grimm felt he had earned the right to have comfortable balls.

But his choice of underwear was not what stood out. It was his skin. Grimm’s flesh was an artistic litany of global cultures. From the base of his throat to the tops of his feet, he was covered in tattoos. Symbols of arcane nature and languages no longer spoken, complex weaves and patterns from the Norse and Celtic, Maori and Zulu, Native American and Aboriginal. 

And each tattoo contained a specific spell.

Grimm made sure that when he asked the Green Man what he was allowed, he managed to include his “present abilities” as part of the terms. The Fae were notorious for deal-making, twisting words and agreements for their benefit. As the lord of The Hitherlands, he agreed to allow Grimm access to his present abilities for the duration of The Wild Hunt. Thus, the spells stored in the tattoos would make all the difference, and give him a chance for survival.

Testing his theory, Grimm placed two fingers on the tattoo depicting the zodiac symbol for Gemini along his left upper thigh. As he spoke the word of power to activate the spell, the tattoo vanished from his skin in a small flash of blue energy, leaving behind bare skin. Beside Grimm stood a duplicate of himself. This version was wearing a long black trench coat and sunglasses.

Hmm, I have not updated that spell in some time. The 1980s were an odd decade, Grimm thought.  

“Where are we?” the twin Grimm asked, removing his sunglasses. Looking about, the twin settled his eyes on the Grimm prime. With a casual assessment of Grimm, the twin added, “When are we?”

“The Hitherlands. Far into the future.”

“Where?” the twin asked, unfamiliar with the location.

“All that remains of Yon. A small slice of the hidden lands existing in a pocket dimension. This place now serves as the realm of Fae. We are being chased by The Wild Hunt.”

“Well, I am glad to see we still know how to make interesting enemies.”

“Indeed.” Grimm smiled. “Are you prepared?”

“To lead them away? Of course. I am only an echo, after all. But let me ask you one thing first.”

“Of course.”

“Are we happy?” the twin asked.

“About being chased?” Grimm asked. “While interesting and most decisively not boring, happy about it, no, we are not.”

“Why am I always so obtuse?” the twin asked. “You know what I mean. Are we happy? Have we found a purpose?”

Grimm thought about it for a moment. How often does one truly have the opportunity interrogate oneself face to face?

“Yes, I think we are. We have a new life in this new time. We . . .” Grimm trailed off as he searched for the correct words. “We have friends. And enemies. But we are on the cusp of building something new. Something the world has never been before. For the first time in our life, we are not seeing the same events unfold. I honestly do not know what will happen next. All our experiences are merely helpful, vice being the answer to every situation.”

The twin nodded and clasped Grimm on his shoulder. “Then I am happy for us. Go on, get out of here. I will lead them away from . . . where exactly am I?”

“Just outside of Loreholm, capital and the very center of The Hitherlands. The gate to the Prime Material plane shifts locations depending on the season. As it is currently autumn back in the real world, the gate is in Caern Messis. Following the equinox, the gate will shift to Caern Frigida. So, I will follow the border northwest. If I move swiftly, I can reach the gate before the equinox. If not, I will turn northeast into Caern Frigida.”

“So, you need me to go northeast from here. But leaving enough of a trail to make them think I am prepared to move into this Caern Figida as well.”

“Yes,” Grimm agreed. “You will be entering the lands of Caern Hortus, land of eternal Spring. Beware distractions and the usual Spring Fae.”

“Does Titania still live?”

Grimm lowered his eyes and shook his head. “No, she and Mab have both passed on. As have Oberon and Hern.”

“Then who rules this place?” the twin asked.

“The Green Man.”

“Well, fuck me.”

“That is what I said.” Grimm smiled as he clasped his twin’s shoulder as well. “I wish you well.”

“I am you. When I perish, my energy will return. Until then, be well. Survive this.”

“I will try. Now, please put on these clothes. It is best if they are chasing you that you look the part,” Grimm said, passing his cassock and hat to the twin.

“Agreed,” the twin said, stripping down. As he did the conjured clothing the twin wore vanished in a puff of ethereal smoke, no longer attached to the spell’s host.

Now dressed and with a final nod, the twin took off running into the forest, leaving Grimm alone. The portion of his soul he had to sever to create the twin would normally return to him when the twin was destroyed. But following G-day, Grimm was not sure. He suspected the sliver of spirit would find a new host rather than return to him. A being reborn as a new life, as this new world, as the current soul-deficient existence, demanded.

The thought gave Grimm a moment of pause. Should he survive this, there could be another piece of him out there. Another child. No. Grimm shook his head. He banished that particular thought for the moment. Considering where he was, and what he had to sacrifice to create this world, the thought of another child was too terrible to bear.

Nude, save for his underwear, Grimm took off northwest at a steady pace, bounding through the forest. As he ran, Grimm began to remove his mental wards. Carefully, step by step, the walls of his mind came sliding down. The dark thing that resided in his core, the creature which made him . . . him, came closer to being free.

Grimm could not release the darkness fully, lest the world suffer again. But he had to allow enough of it free not only to survive the hunt, but also to do what he needed.

He had to be cold.

Chapter Thirteen

I Just Condemned My People

Now, in the Waste

“Up,” a harsh voice said as my blankets were whisked away.

Macha, in her hybrid-bison form, stood over my pallet, my blankets in hand. Akecheta stood behind her in his human form, shaking his head at his sister.

“They’re guests.”

“That’s why I didn’t kick them awake,” Macha growled.

Akecheta shrugged as he offered me a hand, which I accepted. “You sure you two are related?”

“So Mother affirms. Some days, I have my doubts,” Akecheta smiled, hauling me to my feet.

“You’re wanted,” Macha said as she turned to leave.

“What’s going on?” TJ asked as he rolled over and rubbed at his eyes.

“Ehawee wants to see you,” Akecheta said. “Follow Macha. I’ll keep an eye on the boy.”

I looked to TJ, who looked at Akecheta, then back at me. “I’ll be fine. I think.”

“He will be fine,” the large man promised.

“What if I don’t want to go?” I asked.

“I get to wake you up my way,” Macha said, standing by the door.

“So much for being guests,” I grumbled, walking to join Macha. “TJ, I’ll be back. Be safe.”

“Do I have a choice?”

********

Traveling upwards, Macha led me along a set of stone stairs that wound along the ravine. The sun was down, and small LED lights illuminated the path. Below me, small campfires lit the valley. The People enjoyed the evening by cooking meals, singing, laughing, and dancing. I envied them. People living free.

Back in the cities people existed. But out here they lived. Their food and shelter was cultivated from the sweat of their brow. Their joy was found from within and expressed a community, as opposed to whatever intoxicant, synthetic designer drug, or depraved sex act we city folks craved for distraction.

In her hybrid form, Macha took three to four stairs at a time and I was forced into a light jog to keep up. Deep down she must have known how much I despised cardio.

Diabolical bitch.

Cresting the lip of the canyon behind Macha, I huffed and puffed a little, grateful to be at the top. The tops of my thighs burned from the near-constant upwards climb.

“You’re out of shape,” Macha said, mocking me.

I wanted to say something biting and witty in response. Instead, I bent over at the waist sucking air while I gave her the finger. The Collective kept my body operating at top levels, but I guess one actually has to practice running and such to get better at it.

Ahh, screw that noise. I’m like Gimli—very dangerous over short distances. Let the elf-loving idiots jog.

Once I had my breath back, I saw a large, half-domed platform carved into the rock face opened up before me. Ehawee sat at the center of a circular dais with various symbols etched into the outer rings. While I didn’t know what the symbols meant, it was clear this was something of a holy place.

The mature woman was cross-legged and her eyes were closed. She breathed in a rhythmic, steady pattern. Macha reverted back to her human form, that of a nude woman, and removed a robe from a wooden rack, slipping it on. Slowly, Macha sat on her knees with her hands resting on her thighs. I mimicked her action and waited.

A few moments went by in silence.

I laughed a little under my breath, drawing a stern glare from Macha. “Show respect.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been alive long enough to know the waiting game. When a person wants to impress upon others how important they are, they make you wait until they’re ready to talk. A lot of my old clients did this. I’m used to it.”

Macha looked as if she were ready to tear me apart.

“Macha, thank you. Please leave us,” Ehawee said.

“Gladly,” Macha said as she stood. She returned the robe to the rack while shooting me another look of hatred. Shifting into her hybrid form, she bounded back down the stone walkway.

“I wanted to be alone with you,” Ehawee said.

“No offense, but you’re a little old me for me.”

Ehawee smiled. “Somehow, I doubt that. For all your practiced idiocy--”

“Hey!”

“There is something old, sad, and in pain behind your mask. A frown is your true face and smiling hurts you.”

I opened my mouth to say something cutting, but I couldn’t. She was right.

Goddamn . . . when someone hits you with truth right between the eyes, you either deny it and double down on your lies, or you accept it.

“Who are you?”

“Someone like you. Someone who’s seen too much of the old world and the new. My words were not meant to hurt you. Apologies if they did. But I know a wounded soul when I see one. Your spirit hangs from you like loose clothing.”

“Well, it’s been great being your prisoner and all,” I said, standing up. “Can I go back to my cell now?”

“There,” Ehawee said, pointing at me. “That is what I speak of. Have you ever had a real moment in your life?”

“Too many,” I said, sitting back down. “Is that why you wanted to see me? To make me feel like shit for masking a long lifetime of pain? If so, I already have an enigmatic, spooky therapist who’s been working on that with me.”

“No, I want to know why Wakinyan wants you here.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, lighting a smoke. “Want one?”

“Oh, gods yes,” Ehawee said, taking the smoke gratefully. “Damn . . . just, damn.”

“So, how long since you had a real smoke?”

“Depends,” Ehawee said. “What year is this?”

I shrugged. “Aside from monthly taxation, no one really keeps a calendar anymore.”

“How long since the end of days?”

“About 175 years, give or take.”

“A few years after that,” Ehawee said.

Damn. Another immortal. “What’s your gig then? Magic?”

Ehawee shook her head. “No. Divine parenting. Which is why I can see you are not evil,” she said, bringing the conversation back to me. “A gift of mine, along with an extended lifespan, is to see the nature of a being. You are not evil. Hurt, duplicitous, broken, and morally flexible, but not evil.”

“Thanks?”

“But it does not answer why Wakinyan wants you. So, I believe it is time we speak truthfully to one another. I am Ehawee. I was born twenty years before the end times to a mother who abandoned me. I grew up on this reservation and did as children do. When the final days came, and the stories of my ancestors were no longer stories, I accepted my place and my duty. And I really miss fast food, beer, and cigarettes. In that, I envy you city people. Now, it is your turn.”

“What do you want from me? I told you why I’m here.”

“I believe what you said. But tell me of what you did not say. The boy spoke of objects you search for. What are they?”

What was she looking for? Why ask me this? “I don’t think we need to talk about that.”

“Then stay here forever.”

“I thought we were here as long as Wakinyan wished?”

“And I interpret her wishes.”

Shit. After exhaustion, being robbed, blackmailed, prison, death, and every other shitty fucking thing that’s happened to me in the last several months, I gave in. I lit another smoke.

“OK, fine. My name is Salem, and I’ve also been alive since before G-Day. I used to keep to myself. But to shorten the story, here goes: Recently I inherited a creepy mage, a long-dead inventor, two Norse deities, and over two thousand people from an outer-town, all of whom now live on my land. I went to prison for them. I broke out to save them. If I don’t find The Tears of God in the Temple of Solomon, then they are going to die. I have seven days—six now—to find them and get them back to the city.”

Ehawee nodded. “And to whom do the tears go once you have them?”

I saw where she was going with this. “To demons.”

Again, Ehawee nodded. “And should demons possess something like this?”

“Probably not. But what would you do to protect your people?” I asked. “If The People were in jeopardy, wouldn’t you do everything within your power to save them?”

“It is clear that you only have your people’s interests in mind.”

“Thank you.”

“But it is also clear Wakinyan does not wish you to succeed. And I must obey her wishes. For that is what a child does. They obey.”

It became very apparent very quickly that Ehawee and I, while friendly, were now on opposite sides of a very important issue. The gulf between us could not be breached. Wakinyan demanded we stay. And for the sake of my people, I could not remain there.

The next few seconds grew very tense.

“I can’t stay here,” I said.

“And I cannot let you leave.”

I ran through my options. And they were very fucking limited. Aside from some freaky powers Ehawee might be hiding, I was confident I could take her out, even without my guns. I could jump off the cliff, use my HBI, and land by the Outrider. But what would that get me? I didn’t know where TJ was, and I’d already decided not to leave him.

TJ . . . son of a bitch.

“That’s why you separated us, isn’t it? Why Macha brought me here and Akecheta is with TJ.”

“Yes.”

“I could snap your neck,” I growled.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But if you try, you will never see the boy again. I say this not as a threat, for I do not wish the boy harm. However, you may not leave.”

My heart was pounding in impotent frustration. The vein in my neck throbbed with the burning acidity of knowing there was fuck-all I could do.

“You should sit and relax,” Ehawee said in a reassuring, calm voice.

I fired up the mass inducer and slammed my fist down on the cold stone dais, breaking the rock.

“Do you feel better? Did your tantrum help?”

“I’m getting there,” I growled.

I wanted nothing more than to rip her head off and punt it soccer style off the ravine. But that would doom TJ. So I could do nothing. She wasn’t evil. The People weren’t evil. I’ve seen evil. I’ve walked with evil. Hell, I’ve had beers while doing rails of coke off a lust demon’s ass with evil.

Those people below were good. They lived the life I secretly wished I had. But I’d been too chicken shit to walk away from the life and noise of the city. Too afraid to turn my back on the familiar and embrace the solitude and peace of the wilds.

I collapsed on the stone dais and hung my head. What could I do? If I left, TJ would die. If I stayed, Löngutangar would die. One life for thousands.

But at what cost?

Where did my humanity end? If I let TJ die, what did I represent? Was it better to let my people fall to demons’ hands, knowing that I could save one child’s life? Or would I—could I—look them in the eye and tell them I had to sacrifice one of their own to save them?

Fuck!

Maybe . . . maybe Vali and the rest were working on a way out? Maybe Khurzon delivered my message along with the children and they were already preparing an escape.

“Let wisdom settle your mind.”

“Don’t push it, lady,” I growled as I lit a smoke. “I just condemned my people today.”

What was I going to tell TJ? Fuck, I hadn’t even considered that. I made a promise to him. How could I tell him his father might die now?

Damn it. Damn it all to hell. I could have just freaking cried right there. But the screaming engines of an inbound aircraft kind of killed my mood.

Switching my eyes into night vision, I zoomed in to see an unidentified gunship on a direct course for the valley. The aircraft was a modified heavy transport, refitted with wing-mounted, circular, directional thrusters and enough firepower to kill a small moon.

“I’m guessing that’s not yours?” I asked Ehawee.

The older woman narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “No.”

“Well, that’s just ducky.”

Chapter Fourteen

Born or Hatched

The gunship was closing fast.

“Shit. Ehawee, what defenses do The People have against a military-grade gunship?”

“Very little.”

“Of course not.” I shook my head. “Wait, what about Abominations? Surely you use some kind of plasma weapons or something. Hell, when I came in here, every one of your people was packing a piece. I remember because they all had guns pointed at me.”

“Yes, that was amusing. But aside from basic firearms and explosives, we have very little. We draw the Abominations away from the valley or hunt them in the open range using guerrilla tactics.”

Damn damn damn.

“Mother!” Macha yelled, cresting the edge of the ravine in her hybrid form. “Mother, we have incoming!”

“I see, Daughter. What of The People?”

“The children and the elderly are evacuating into the tunnels. Akecheta leads the warriors in response.”

“Response?! What are they going to do, moo at the flying ship of death?”

Before Macha had replied with one of her usual growls, the gunship began a strafing pass. A torrent of ionized plasma ripped through the valley, blasting rock. People screamed in fear as the land erupted in explosions. There was no reason for whoever they were to be here. No reason other than me.

Goddamn it. God DAMN it.

At the far end of the valley, the craft’s four circular fusion thrusters glowed a bright white and allowed the ship to pivot and hover. The broad, angular vessel swung around and descended in elevation. It began another attack run, preparing to fire from a lower altitude to maximize the weapon’s destructive capabilities.

“Gimme my guns!” I yelled at Macha.

“I don’t have them.”

“Aww, fuck ’em, I don’t need them,” I said, clearly lying to myself.

Watching the gunship, I backed up as far as I could inside the stone structure. My head down, I whispered a prayer to the foolish deities who seemed to watch out for my ass. Come to think of it, they were the same assholes who also put me in these situations.

Ahh, screw them too.

“What are you doing?!” Macha yelled.

“Something really stupid! Just get with your brother and have your warriors ready.”

“Where?”

“Just follow the chaos,” I said as I kicked off the stone back wall of the semi-enclosed dais and sprinted for the lip.

Lowering my mass with the HBI, I leaped as the gunship passed by. Igniting a blast from my pulse boots, I flew through the air, clearing the gunship’s thrusters. Hitting the top of the fuselage, I rolled hard and fired the nano-filament grapples into the duranium composite body to keep myself from flying off as my mass coalesced back into myself.

The chisel tip of my left nano-line pinged off the gunship’s duranium composite armored hull while the right barely penetrated. I had just enough leverage to keep myself from falling off before the nano-line popped free.

Damn. Winter wind whipped past me as I fought to hold my balance. Even with my coat, the air was freezing. Worse, the wind made my footing unstable.

Of course it was unstable. Because I’m the moron who just jumped onto the back of a flying gunship. Damn it. Why do I keep putting myself in these idiotic situations? 

The gunship reached the end of the valley. Banking, it prepared to go back for another pass. Looking down, I saw that The People had all managed to clear the area and find refuge within the carved-out rock homes.

Good. Now all I had to do was figure out how to bring down a fully armored, military-grade gunship with only my tech bracers and my ingenuity.

Hell, I was boned.

Without my guns, I couldn’t take out the fusion thrusters or the tail stabilizer. As strong as I was, I couldn’t rip through the duranium hull or the composite armor plating. Hell, the nano-wires barely penetrated enough to keep me on the craft.

My mass inducer could greatly increase my weight, but this thing was designed to carry troops. For me to reach a mass heavy enough to ground this bird, my bones would snap and my lungs would collapse.

Yup, boned.

Well, there was one thing I could try. It would give away my position, but whoever the hell they were, they came looking for me. Might as well say hello.

Lowering my center of gravity, I point blank fired the nano-lines into the hull as best as I could, using the wires as rappelling equipment. I fired line after line, slowly walking my way across the fuselage towards the front of the ship. Reaching the cockpit composite glass, I lowered myself so I could sneak a peek.

Looking over, I expected to see anything from a cadre of human-conscripted mercenaries to demons to a host of hellion warriors.

I most definitely did not expect to see a pretty woman in her thirties in the pilot’s chair. She had soft, rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. When she noticed me, she smiled and waved. Beside her in the co-pilot seat was the Ahlray. The mammoth, eight-foot cyborg blistered with armor, weapons, and tech. About the only part of him that wasn’t augmented was his cherubic face.

The mercenary and I had met before I went to prison. In fact, that son of a bitch was the reason I went to Flotsam. He had set me up, providing the authorities with the so-called evidence. Well, I reckoned I owed him.

Ahlray put his large mechanical arm around the pilot and waved at me. He mouthed something, but I couldn’t hear anything through the glass. The woman rolled her eyes at Ahlray and passed her headphone and mic over while tapping several keys on her control panel.

“Thanks, honey. Hi!” Ahlrey’s voice boomed through external speakers. “There you are!”

“No shit!” I yelled.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. One-way speaker. But it is nice to see you. Thanks for coming out. Makes this a whole lot easier. You know how much I abhor needless violence.”

“So proud of you,” I heard the woman say over the mic as she pinched his cheek.

“Aww honey, come on. Salem, this is my wife, Mandy. Mandy, this is Salem, the man I told you about.”

“Hi,” she said, leaning in. “Sorry we have to kill you. You seem nice.”

“Lemme see that,” another voice said. A voice I recognized. From the back, in the troop hold, another figure stepped forward. He was short and stocky, with a midnight blue synth-skin performance top, tactical cargo pants, and an L-shaped bandoleer of holsters, pouches, and gear. His youthful blue eyes winked at me past his surly beard and minimalist cybernetic facial implants.

Legion.

“Howdy, asshat. I owe you one,” Legion said, miming a pointed gun with his finger.

Ahlray and Legion? Shit. This was another Vox Operations hit on me. Probably in response to my prison break. Ahlray was reasonable, but Legion was a bloody psychopath. Bastard once shot me with a rocket just to see what Grimm and I would do. He had no problem with collateral damage and my guess was he did not care for leaving witnesses.

I just wanted to know how the hell these two found us so fast. Hell, last time I saw Legion, he blew his own head off after Father Grimm ran him over with the Outrider.

The Outrider . . . shit. That’s how they tracked us here! Damn me for being an idiot. Back when Grimm and I were trapped underground in Vault 47, he was topside. Son of a bitch probably put a tracker on way back then. I knew he was a professional, but damn.

Last I saw this prick, he’d blown his own head off with cybernetic implant rather than be interrogated by me. Imagine my surprise upon learning that the merc was alive and well, having finished a contract hit on the other side of the planet in Trinity Neon. So if this guy was a twin, or a clone, I didn’t care, but I should have known he would come for me eventually.

Well, the threat level got raised to pucker-factor five.

“Tell ya what, asshat,” Legion’s voice said through the external speaker. “You hold still and let us scrape you off the window like a bug, and I’ll make sure the locals die quick.”

Son of a b-word smiled while he said it. So I smiled back, powered up the mass inducer and local force field, and smashed my fist against the glass-acrylic compound of the windshield.

The synth polymer construction wasn’t the duranium hull, but it was still pretty strong. My first blow didn’t shatter it, but spiderweb fractures lined the impact site. I brought my fist down again and again. If I couldn’t bring the gunship down from the outside, then a nice depressurization should do nicely.

Mandy wasted no time in displaying her piloting skills. Banking the gunship hard to the left, Mandy dropped suddenly in elevation, which left me scrambling, in vain, to hang onto anything. Gravity took over as I began to tumble off the top of the gunship.

“Shit shit double triple shit shit shit!” I yelled, flailing like a fool, desperate to hang onto anything.

The gunship flew out from under me as if in slow motion. The ship was mere inches from my fingertips as I began to fall. My stomach lurched as I felt empty air. In a desperate attempt, I fired both nano-lines into the hull. As I fell, my weight pulled the chisel-tips into a tight wedge, just enough to support my weight—but I could feel them loosening.

I felt as useful as an old man’s extra long nutsack as I dangled a hundred or so feet from the rocky ground. I didn’t know what firing up the HBI would do to my insides so soon after my last use, but splattering on the ground was a worse option.

“Well, that plan was worth the effort!” a voice chided over the roar of the gunship’s engines and wind. Ehawee stood atop the ship with her heavy walking staff as calmly as she had back on her dais. “I commend your bravery. But your follow-through is lacking.”

“What the hell are you doing up there?!”

“Apparently what you cannot,” the older woman said. “Stay there. I will be back.”

“Where the shit am I going to go?!”

Ehawee backed up and raised her staff to the sky, calling out in a language I didn’t understand. At first there was nothing but the roar of the gunship. Then the sky rumbled in response. Dark clouds rolled in, seemingly from nowhere, blotting out the moonlight.

A bolt of purple lighting streaked through the sky, striking through Ehawee and into the gunship. Instantly, the ship began to spin as the fusion engines flickered.

“Fall!” Ehawee commanded me.

“Are you nuts?!”

“FALL!” she commanded once more.

For the life of me, I had no idea why I listened to her, but I did. I released the nano-lines and began falling. As I looked up, Ehawee opened her arms and dove from the falling ship. As she did, her body began to grow and transform.

Unlike the other skinwalkers, her clothing and staff melded into her form. Her outstretched arms sprouted talons and her facial features sharpened into a hooked beak and fierce eyes while majestic wings unfurled from her back.

What once was Ehawee was now a magnificent, beautiful, and terrifying angelic mix of woman and eagle. With her wings back, the eagle-woman rocketed through the air towards me.

Ehawee reared her head up and arched her back. Her legs snapped forward and her clawed feet sank their talons into my shoulder. I screamed in pain, but she ignored me as her wings went wide, buffeting against the wind.

Banking to one side like a paratrooper, Ehawee brought us both down in a slow spiral. When I was ten feet or so from the ground, she released me to fall into a painful tumble into the frozen ground. The Collective threw up a partial shield to keep me from breaking any bones, but the impact and sudden stop caused my vision to blur. Beside me, I heard a set of feet land softly. Cracking my eyes open, I saw Ehawee in her eagle-human hybrid form.

Her coloration, black and white tapering into reds, blues and purples along the tips and tail feathers, was very familiar.

“So when you said your long life was a product of divine parenting, you weren’t kidding. Wakinyan’s kid?”

Ehawee nodded. “My assessment stands. You’re not as dumb as you look.”

I smiled through the pain. While I questioned the mating and birthing of an elemental storm bird, I thought it might be a bit crass to ask her if she was born or hatched.

Behind us, at the far end of the valley, the gunship listed into the side of the canyon wall. Smashing into the rock, the ship slid down the stone. I had to give credit to Mandy: She piloted the crippled vessel a good couple of miles or so before it half landed and half crashed with a loud roar of twisting metal.

“I thought you said you didn’t have anything that could bring a ship down.”

“No,” Ehawee said, shaking her head. “I said The People had no weapons capable. You did not ask if I specifically could, which I was prepared to do until you ran off foolishly. How are you still alive with such actions?”

“My dumb plans usually work?”

“I retract my assessment.”

Eh, fair enough. I nodded as a herd of The People in bison form thundered towards the fallen gunship. I looked toward the ship, then back at Ehawee. “Let’s go say hello.”

“Agreed.” Ehawee nodded as she offered me a hand to stand up.

I accepted and got to my feet. Looking at the ship and its design, I cocked my head to one side. “Y’all got a big ass can opener?”

“No.” Ehawee tapped her staff as the sky above rumbled in response. “But I can think I can improvise.”

Chapter Fifteen

Godly Vomit

En route to Flotsam Prison

“Is this safe?!” Vali screamed over the sound of the makeshift skyhopper’s engines.

Cobbled from spare parts, the skyhopper was little more than a front-back two-seat frame, sheet metal for a body, with a high-density bubble cockpit covering and two fusion engines.

“What?!” Taylor yelled.

“THIS!” Vali screamed back, gesturing with one hand at Taylor’s mechanical monstrosity.

“Oh . . . fuck no, man!” Taylor laughed as he banked hard, weaving around the random jutting sprawl of Ars Goetia’s top-level, aristocratic district.

Vali stood on the landing skid of the two-man vehicle with one hand locked in a death grip around the leather thong crudely bolted onto the side of the skyhopper. According to Taylor, the thing served as the flying machine’s only “safety feature.”

“How much longer?!” Vali yelled.

Taylor looked down between his legs and took his hand off the flight controls as he fished around for something under his seat. Immediately the temperamental vehicle plummeted into a dizzying spin. Vali felt a moment of weightlessness as his legs flew away from the landing skid.

“TAYLOR!” the god screamed as he grabbed the leather thong with both hands.

“Hang on a sec, boss!” Taylor yelled back, holding one finger up.

“TAYLOR!” Vali repeated louder.

The skyhopper leveled off and Vali felt the world right itself. His stomach, however, was still in a flat spin. The once-proud Viking deity turned his head away and emptied the contents of his stomach, hoping his godly vomit landed on some demon.

“Here!” Taylor said, passing Vali a pair of large headphones.

After wiping the puke from his mouth with his free hand, Vali accepted the headphones and placed them on his ears. Immediately the roar of the engines and wind whipping by was muted, and all Vali could hear was his redneck friend laughing at him.

“Hoo boy boss, you shoulda seen yourself. You were all like ‘aaaahhh!’ screaming and stuff. Good times.”

“I’m going to vomit on you, Taylor.”

“Go ahead hoss. I’ve been covered in worse.”

“And why couldn’t I ride inside the vehicle?” Vali asked, nodding towards the empty seat directly behind Taylor’s.

“You’re too big, boss.”

“You’re as tall as I am.”

“Exactly!” Taylor laughed. “I need my leg room and all.”

“What are the chances this contraption will explode?” Vali asked, eyeing the rusted rivets, duct tape, and bonding wire holding the fusion-powered vehicle together.

“Honestly? Forty-sixty. Maybe fifty-fifty. Best not to think about it. When I showed it to T, he asked what I wanted on my tombstone.”

The hopper continued towards the east. The morning sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, breaking the purple black of night with the red-gold colors of hope and promise. And beyond that beautiful sunrise was Flotsam. 

“Sun’s coming up, boss,” Taylor said into the headset’s mic. “It’s gonna mess with your sneaking in there.”

“It won’t be an issue,” Vali said. “I can sneak in. But not if this thing keeps making as much noise as it is. Set me down a couple of miles away.”

“No need, boss.” Taylor smiled. “You may wanna hang on. This is going to get . . . weird.”

“What do you mean . . . oh!” Vali said with a lurch as his stomach once again twisted.

The world seemed to fracture and bend around Vali in a spectrum of light. It was like looking through a prism. Every angle reflected a different pattern of light and color. The cloaker device Taylor had installed drew a tremendous amount of power from the fusion engines, causing the vehicle to slow.

“Focus, boss.” Vali heard Taylor as if he were talking to him from the end of a tunnel. “The cloaking device and sound dampeners are turbo-charged. It takes some getting used to.”

“I’ll be fine,” Vali said, rubbing at his eyes and trying to focus on his new reality.

During his travels in the Nine Realms, the god bore witness to things that would break a human mind. But this technomancy was unlike the world he knew. Not worse, just different.

“How close can you get me?”

“See for yourself, boss,” Taylor said, pointing downward.

Vali looked down through the distortion field and saw Flotsam Prison sitting in the middle of Razor Bay like a cancerous growth. From the height of the hopper, Vali could see clearly into the prison’s courtyard.

Flotsam was still in a state of chaos. Smoke rose from inside the prison’s common grounds while prisoners were forced to repair the damage. From the shore, Flotsam’s processing station was equally as damaged. If the description Khurzon provided was accurate, then the explosions Salem manufactured had done massive damage inside the prison while the Cyberai he’d hired to attack the processing station had bombarded the facility from the sky.

Vali was impressed. His ally managed to do all of that with limited time, communications, and resources. Had Salem been born in Asgard, he would have been a god of war to rival his brother Tyr.

“Where should I set her down?”

“Nowhere,” Vali said. “I’m jumping. You take her out of here and land somewhere safe. I’ll contact you when I need a ride.”

“Jumping? Into that? Pardon my insubordination, boss, but horse and shit. You know what’s in those waters? ’Sides, you’re gonna need me in there.”

Vali smiled. The hick mechanic, aside from being a good friend, was remarkably loyal. Vali knew he was hurting. TJ’s disappearance had to be eating the man—the father—alive. He desperately needed something to do, something to focus on other than worrying about his only child.

But his loyalty, while admirable, was not enough to get him through what Vali planned to do. He was a right bastard manning a heavy machine gun when it mattered. But the hillbilly was shit when it came to up-close fighting. 

“Not an option,” Vali said, shaking his head. “Just stay safe, keep the engines warms, stay close, and I’ll message you when I need a pickup.”

“Boss, come on, I’m—”

“No!” Vali yelled onto the comm., then immediately calmed his voice. “No. I need you to be my getaway man. You have to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Can you do that for me?”

“No need for the pep talk, boss; I know I’m not your brother,” Taylor said with a touch of shame. “But if you need me, at all, just call for help and I’ll be there.”

“All right,” Vali said as he held out his fist.

Taylor looked at the gesture. “What?”

Vali shrugged. “Something Salem does. You’re supposed to bump it with your fist.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

Taylor nodded and then bumped the fist with his own. “Go get ’em, boss.”

Vali smiled, did a quick check of his tactical gear, pulled the hood of his leather cloak over his head, and let go of the leather thong. With his arms wide, the Norse god bent his legs and jumped backwards into the reverse swan dive, leaping in the green-black waters surrounding Flotsam.

As he hit the water, Vali’s body transformed into a seal. Slipping through the water, the transformed god disappeared from sight.

Chapter Sixteen

A Wise Child Obeys

Now, in the Waste

Small fires danced in the night, clinging to bits of wreckage. A long black line marred the snowy landscape, an ebony trail leading to the crashed gunship. 

“Be careful,” I said to the gathered herd members.

“We know how to do this,” Macha said in her hybrid form. “Now get off me.”

I dismounted from Macha’s back. The were-bison did not take keenly to Ehawee’s command to carry me like Yoda for the last couple of miles. 

“Thanks for the ride.” I smirked.

“Mother, please let me kill him.”

Ehawee repressed a smile. “Perhaps later, Daughter. Akecheta, take the warriors and circle the craft. Salem, who are they?”

“Mercenaries from New Golgotha,” I said, using my telescopic vision to inspect the downed ship. “A big cyborg called Ahlray with more weapons than that ship, and a sociopath named Legion. They work for an assassination company called Vox Operations.”

“And they want you?”

“I told you, I had to break out of prison to get here. I figured I had longer than a day before someone came for me. But I wasn’t expecting anyone with a supersonic gunship.”

“See, Mother, his presence endangers The People. We should just give him to them and be done with it.”

“My patience grows thin, Daughter. Now join the warriors or return home.”

Macha stared daggers at me but obeyed, lumbering off to join the warriors who formed a semicircle around the downed gunship. The were-bison took aim with various weapons and held their position.

After Macha left, Ehawee sighed. “Never have children. My extended life has taught me that all your experiences mean nothing when rearing one who simultaneously loves and hates you.”

My stomach dropped for a moment, thinking of Jensen. “I—I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Take these,” Ehawee said, producing my gun belt from under her robe.

“Wait, you had them the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you give them to me before I jumped on the damn ship?”

Ehawee smiled. “You asked Macha, not me.”

I accepted the weapons and strapped them on. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“I am extending this courtesy. Do not make me regret it.”

I thought about what she said. With my guns back, there was a lot more I could do. But I was several miles away from TJ and the Outrider. There was no way I could get back there before they got to me.

Ehawee knew that. “Let’s just get this done,” I said with no trace of my usual mirth.

I walked up towards the line of bison hybrids and scoped out the ship. The firelight of the wreckage along with the moonlight gave us enough light to see by. But something wasn’t right. I hated to be that guy, but it was too quiet.

“Move in,” Akecheta told the warriors.

The warriors obeyed, advancing slowly on the gunship. Thoughts of the old war woke something up in me, something else itching in the back of my mind. Seeing the bison-hybrid warriors advancing, I felt the part of my mind that was once Sgt. Lucky Doral open up. And the old sarge only saw one thing.

A trap.

“Wait!” I yelled.

“What?” Macha asked, as she came to stand next to me.

“Pull them back, pull them back now!”

“Why? The vessel is crippled.”

“That’s the problem! That thing’s military grade and modern gen. That kind of ship is built to survive crashes and still be functional!”

“Then it’s a trap,” Macha whispered. “Damn! Pull back, pull back now!”

No sooner had her words hit the air than the landscape exploded into hell.

The gunship’s turrets swiveled about, opening up with concentrated suppression fire. The blasts fired above the bison warriors, forcing them to the ground. The rear cargo door of the ship dropped open and Ahlray stepped out in all eight feet of his mechanized, man-tank glory. Beside Ahlray, Legion stood with a BEDLAM-7.

On both sides of him.

Two Legions. Identical. Both of the assassins had the same shit-eating smile. The gunship cannons stopped suddenly. The cold, dark landscape grew eerily quiet.

“Nice move with whatever EMP weapon you had,” Ahlray called out. “But the ship’s electromagnetic shielding protected most of the vital systems. We’ll be up and flying in no time. So, how about all you nice . . . people hand him over and no one else gets hurt.”

“You talk too much,” the Legion on the left said.

“No shit,” agreed the Legion on the right.

Left Legion aimed his weapon at me. “How’s it going, asshat? I’m really going to enjoy blowing your head off.”

“OK animals, time to move along,” Right Legion called out. “While I could eat a nice bison-burger, we just want him. Give him over, or things are going to get messy.”

Above, the sky rumbled. Dark clouds rolled in and a cold wind picked up. Nice. Ehawee was cooking something up to fry these idiots. I wished for a big tub of popcorn so I could sit back and enjoy the show. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder towards Ehawee.

She was not smiling. In fact, her eyes were closed and her face was twisted in . . . confusion?

Slowly, Ehawee nodded with a clenched jaw. “Take him,” she said.

Wait . . . what?

“Wait, you can’t!” I yelled, turning towards Ehawee.

“Shut up,” both Legions said in unison. Each of them fired a blast from his BEDLAM. The blasts impacted my back and shot me across the cold ground. I skittered to a stop not far from Ehawee’s feet.

Their weapons must have been set to a hard stun, since I was still breathing. Which means they wanted me alive. I looked up at the older woman, who refused to look down at me.

“Why?” I croaked.

“A wise child obeys,” she said softly, then quietly added, “even when the parents are wrong.”

Ehawee stepped over me and strode towards the trio of assassins, completely unfazed by their weapons. “Once your ship is capable of flight, you will take him and leave. Never return to The People, or you will die.”

“You’re not really in a position to negotiate,” Ahlray said. His weapon systems hummed with power. “We could wipe you all out. Please don’t force this situation to become more than it needs to be.”

“Heed my words,” Ehawee said, showing no fear.

“Mother!” Macha called out, reverting back to her human form. “No! This cannot be the way.”

“Silence, Sister,” Akecheta yelled to Macha, also resuming his form of a nude man. “Mother’s will has been spoken.”

“But these killers attacked The People! How many of our own are dead and wounded because of them? I don’t care if they take that fool,” Macha yelled, pointing at me.

“Hey!”

“But their trespasses against us cannot be overlooked!”

“Stand down, Daughter. You are unwise in situations like this,” Ehawee said with cold reservation.

“Yeah, stand down, sweet-tits,” Left Legion said with a smirk and a wink.

Ehawee’s head snapped towards Left Legion. Her staff tapped the ground once as she pointed at the assassin. Lighting crackled through the sky. A bolt struck the staff and channeled through Ehawee’s outstretched finger.

Right through Left Legion’s skull.

Like a hotdog left in a microwave too long, the assassin exploded into a spray of blood and viscera. Not waiting for a response, Ehawee’s form shifted into that of her towering eagle-woman hybrid form. She took two steps towards Ahlray and the remaining Legion.

“Do either of you have something to add to the conversation?!” the creature cried out in a screeching voice.

“No, ma’am, we do not,” Ahlray said, placing one of his big arms across Right Legion’s chest and pushing the smaller assassin back. “We will take him and leave.”

“Good,” Ehawee said.

Ehawee turned her back on the ship and leaped to the sky, crying out. “People, leave. Return home, now.”

“Come, Sister,” Akecheta said. “Obey our mother. A wise child obeys.”

“Even when they are wrong,” Macha said as she looked back at me. Shifting her form into a full bison, she joined the herd as they thundered across the frozen ground back towards their valley.

I was alone. I was cold. I was wounded. And once again, I was captured.

“Hi there,” Ahlray said. “Are you going to play nice?”

“Fuck that,” the remaining Legion said, walking up to me. “No matter what we do to him, he heals too fast. So let’s give him something to keep his body busy.”

“Wait!” I said.

“Shhh,” Legion said with a smirk. As he aimed his BEDLAM, the barrel rotated.

I threw up a body shield from my tech bracer as I reached for one of my guns. Legion fired. The bullet tore through my shield like it wasn’t there, right into my right knee.

The world exploded into pain.

I dropped my gun and clutched my knee as I screamed, “You piece of shit motherfucker!”

“Shh, almost done, sweetheart,” Legion said, firing another round into my left knee.

My vision blanked out from the pain. My jaw locked open. I couldn’t scream because I had no breath left in my body. I lay on the ground, bleeding and in shock. The Collective was pumping adrenaline through my system at an alarming rate, trying to numb the pain.

The assassin had used the same rounds on my knees that he had used back in the junkyard, shooting Grimm in the shoulder. Hex bullets. Special rounds that penetrate anything magical or technological.

“I’m gonna . . . fucking. . . kill the both of you,” I grunted clenched teeth.

“Goodnight Baron,” Ahlray said, bringing one of his massive cybernetic legs down onto my face, breaking my nose and knocking me into cold blackness.

Chapter Seventeen

Old Blood and Power

Flotsam Prison Processing Station

Vali’s gift, the one he rarely spoke of, was his sight. The ability to See.

Death.

Life.

The balance between the two. And the most efficient way to kill someone. Everyone he knew. Everyone he met. Vali saw the strings of their lives and knew the quickest way to cut them.

Or he could choose to let them live.

The role of the assassin was not to blindly kill, but rather to carefully select who lives. Each moment he looked upon someone, he knew their weaknesses and their strengths. A perfect gift for an assassin or general.

As leader of Midheim, he was able to turn his sight of death into visions of leadership. If given the variables, Vali could also see the most efficient solution to problems. But when Salem came, and the role of leader was taken, his sight of death returned. He tried to distort those visions, drown them in alcohol. He had to stop the never-ending horror of seeing people and knowing the perfect way to murder them.

But for this mission, he let his sight free. If he did what was needed, and bloodied Hell’s nose, then maybe the variables could change and he would see a new outcome.

Or so he hoped.  

Infiltrating the shore-side complex was not difficult. The selkie-skin cloak he took from a Celtic deity allowed him to shift between his normal form and that of a seal. Under the black water, he completed the first step in his plan: getting inside Flotsam’s processing station.

Prisons were, after all, built to keep people in, not out. But more than that, the demons possessed great hubris, convinced that they were all-powerful and that nothing and no one would challenge them. Let alone a lone god with a grudge and a mind for blood, armed with weapons from lore and the divine.

Vali surfaced from the water and shifted back into his normal form. Crawling up the shoreline, he made his way towards the remnants of the underground parking garage Khurzon had described.

The duracrete structure had sustained intense structural damage during the attack. Climbing through the debris, Vali saw there was no light inside. The entire area was cast in near darkness without the overhead lights. A flicker of light down the tunnel caught his eye. No doubt workers repairing the damage. 

According to Khurzon, the communications center was past the holding cells and a couple of levels above, and the processing station acted as a relay from the island prison to the outside world. For the next phase of his plan, Vali had to disable outgoing communications.

The workers were between him and his objective. If they saw him, then he would have to kill them. Any alarm raised and the entire mission would be for nothing.

But Vali also did not leave an operation to chance. Not when he could alter the battlefield to his benefit. Which was why he brought Hulidshjalmr, or as Wagner called it in Der Ring Nibelungen, Tarnhelm. The Dwarven-made war helm, which could render the wearer invisible, was essential to Vali’s tactical gear.

As he slipped the helm on, his form vanished and his perspective shifted, not unlike the cloaking technology on Taylor’s skyhopper. As the light bent around him, causing a distortion to his eyes, Vali mused that humankind’s technomancy truly did rival the power of the ancient gods. One of their portable cloakers could duplicate the same effect as Tarnhelm, or the Cap of Hades. But Vali, like many old ones, was set in his ways.

Moving quietly, Vali closed in on the workers. They were blocking the stairwell that led upwards to the holding cells. He paused with his back against the wall, waiting, watching them, looking for a pattern in their behavior to slip by them unnoticed.

“Have any you had a run at the new fish yet?” one of the of the workers, a hellion with reptilian features said.

“You kidding? Those two bitches haven’t stopped screaming at one another since they were hauled out of the water,” another worker, an average human, replied.

“The human one has all those implants and a missing hand. Just gross,” a third worker, a short, gray-tinged Sloth demoness said as she leaned against the wall, refusing to work. Perhaps a supervisor? Or perhaps just lazy.

“I have implants,” the fourth worker, a cyborg with augmentations to her arms and legs, said as she picked up a two-hundred-pound sheet of duracrete and placed it along the ruined wall.

“I stand by what I said. Gross,” the Sloth demon said with a sniff of disdain. “The beauty of your flesh marred with technology is abhorrent. Now that little Lust-Wrath hybrid slut, she has potential.”

“She’d rip you apart,” the hellion said.

“She could try,” the Sloth demoness said with a smile. “I like breaking the hard ones.”

“You won’t have much time,” the cyborg said. “As soon as the prison is patched up, they are being shipped back over. I heard they won’t make it through indoctrination this time. Mastema and Gerhardt are gonna make examples of those bitches.”

“All the reason to have fun now,” the hellion said.

Damn it, Vali thought. They weren’t moving away from the stairs. If they planned on using the prisoners they were talking about for sport, he could use the distraction to get past them.

But he wouldn’t let that happen. It didn’t matter if they were females or not. The god knew many proud shield maidens turned Valkyrie who could fight better than many men. No, he couldn’t allow this evil to persist. Period. If he truly came here to cause damage and leave a message to the demons that Löngutangar was strong, then let it begin with this filth.

“You will do nothing but die today!” Vali’s deep voice rolled forward from the darkness.

“Who said that?!” the Sloth demoness called out.

Vali unsheathed Mmaaghn Kamalu, the weapon of the Igbo war god Kamalu. The weapon glowed red in the presence of evil intent. All the workers saw was a naked red blade wavering. All Vali saw were his first victims.

“What is that?” the Hellion asked, slowly backing up the stairs.

“Your death,” Vali answered as he rushed forward.

The fiery red blade slashed in an upward arc, cutting the Sloth demoness first. Her yellow-gray flesh split along her stomach. Blood and intestines splattered onto the construction site floor.

“If you live,” Vali said to the demon lying on the floor cradling her insides, “tell them of this day.” Still invisible, he was nothing more than a disembodied deep voice. 

Vali pivoted and swiped in a horizontal strike, beheading the cyborg female next. Her head fell to the ground and her body toppled over slowly.

“Holy shit!” said the human male worker with wide eyes.

Vali drew the weapon back and lunged, striking the man in the middle of his chest, piercing his heart. “You will never again refer to a woman as a bitch,” Vali whispered.

The serpent-like hellion, true to his form, moved and slithered up the stairs, using the death of his fellow workers as a distraction for him to attempt an escape. Vali gave chase.

The pursuit led into the holding cells, a long hallway beset on sides with cages and containment cells. At the far end of the hall, there was another set of stairs leading upward. The hellion, driven by fear and adrenaline, was just reaching the base of the stairs as Vali was halfway through the prison block.

Vali had to end it quickly. Still giving chase, Vali returned the sword to the sheath on his back and pulled a forearm’s length of cold iron rod from his left bracer. Holding his left arm forward for balance, Vali whipped his right arm forward. The rod elongated. Glowing golden Celtic inscriptions flared as the transformed spear flew straight and true.

Gae Assail, the spear of Lugh, pierced the back of the hellion, pinning him to the stairs. With a mental command, the spear dislodged itself and flew across the room, returning to Vali’s hand and transforming back into the rod of cold iron.

“Hey, whoever just did that, as long you’re murdering assholes, would you mind killing this particular asshole?” a young female voice called out from Vali’s left. “You don’t even need to set me free or anything. I’d die happy knowing she went first.”

The voice belonged to a female dressed in ragged clothing. She had light brown hair that was short in the back and longer in the front. Along the sides of her head, she had various neural implants. A cyborg.

The cyborg rested her arms through the bars of her holding cell. Her left arm ended in a stump at her wrist. The wound was wrapped in dirty rags and a bandage. With her good hand, she thumbed towards the cell adjacent to hers. “Seriously, de-cloak and kill this one. If for no other reason than I get to sleep in peace.”

“If you enjoy the sight of blood, phantom, then release us both and enjoy the show,” another female voice, this one deeper and more feral, called from the second cell.

Inside Vali could see a similarly dressed Lust demon mutt. She had a flattened nose and yellow eyes that contrasted with her lavender skin. The demoness looked partly human and partly wildcat.

“Shut up,” the cyborg said.

“I will kill you.”

“You already tried, remember?”

The demoness sniffed the air like a predator, taking in the scent, trying to determine Vali’s location. As the god moved quietly past their cell, the demoness spoke again, this time with a sense of mirth in her demonic voice.

“Friend of Salem, you are too late. He is no longer in this place.”

Vali froze. She knew Salem?

“Salem?!” the cyborg called out, gripping the bar. “Salem, is that you? Let me out of here.”

“That’s not Salem,” the demoness purred. “But he knows him. He is wearing something of his; I recognize the scent.”

Vali’s hand went to his chest. Beneath the Green Armor he liberated years ago, he wore one of Salem’s t-shirts of the band Eluviete. Vali had grown fond of the music when the smuggler played some for him one evening.

Vali looked around at the security camera along the hallway. If anyone was watching, they would see him if he revealed himself. While he was sending a message, he did not want to advertise exactly who he was and where he was from. Instead, the god touched the dagger on his belt, Carnwennen, the Dagger of Arthur, which could summon shadows.

In moments, the cell block was dropped into darkness as magical shadows crept along the floors, walls, and ceiling. Tilting Tarnhelm to the back of his head, Vali appeared before the cells containing the two women.

“You are friends of Salem?” Vali asked in low tones.

“I am,” the cyborg said. “I’m the one who helped him escape. She tried to kill him.”

“He was fucking my mother and got her killed. But I liked him.”

“You,” Vali said, addressing the cyborg. “Are you . . . technologically adept?”

The cyborg ran her hand over her implants. “What do you think, asshole?”

“That you should be more cordial to those who could help you. I ask again, are you—”

“Yes yes,” the cyborg said, waving her hand, “I’m adept. Name’s Twitch. Salem and I were partners during his stay. Take it you’re a friend of his?”

“I am,” Vali said.

“He’s been gone a couple of days now.”

“I’m not here for him.”

“What are you here for?” Yeela asked.

“Why do you care, demon?”

“I smell blood on you. Old blood and power.”

“They took my people’s children. I’m going to the island. I’m going to hurt them. I need their communications knocked out. Can you help?” Vali asked Twitch.

“You’re crazy,” Twitch said.

“No,” the demoness said, breathing in deeper. “Worse than crazy. He’s a god.”

“What do you know of it, demon?” Vali asked.

“Only that I know the island. This one can knock out their comms. I can show you where to hide once we’re inside.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“Freedom from this cage and a chance to hurt those who killed my mother and find my sister.”

“You’re not seriously listening to her?” Twitch asked before throwing her hands in the air. “What am I saying, of course you are. Anyone friends with Salem must be as dumb as him. Fuck, even me. Look, I’ll help you with the tech, but I’m not going back there.”

“I will,” Yeela purred.

Chapter Eighteen

To Ask for Help Is To Expose Weakness

Vali moved back from the cells and looked at the two women. Vastly different, but both potentially useful. The cyborg could disable the system he needed better than he could. If the demon was telling the truth, then she could provide him insight to the inner workings of the prison.

“Move back,” Vali commanded, drawing a Grecian short sword from its scabbard on his left hip. Harpe was once the sword of Perseus. The adamantine blade was infused with the venom of a Gorgon and more than capable for the task. With several fast strikes, the blade sliced through the cell bars, freeing the women.

“Nice,” Yeela said, stepping through the hole as she cast a sideways look at Twitch.

“Try it,” the cyborg said, staring daggers at the demoness.

“Enough,” Vali said, his voice resolute. “I make this pledge, if you two help me, then you may have sanctuary in my town.”

“Salem already made me that promise,” Twitch said.

“Then I’m here to make good on it.”

“Who do I get to kill?” Yeela asked, dropping to all fours and sniffing the air.

“In this place?” Vali said with a grim smile. “Whoever you want.”

“Oh, goody.”

********

Within the hour, Flotsam Prison’s Processing Complex was a tomb. Bodies lay dead on the floor. Some fought bravely; others begged for their lives. In the end, they all died. Every man and woman, cyborg, and demon who served the complex no longer drew breath.

On the forehead of each of the bodies, Vali carved the number 44. The message was simple. Those investigating would not know the meaning. The powers in charge, though, would understand the message.

“No one else to play with,” Yeela said, crestfallen.

“Because most of the people are on the island rebuilding and guarding the prisoners, idiot,” Twitch replied, not looking up from the control panel.

“I should kill you now,” Yeela growled.

“Shh, adults are working.”

“Can you work the terminal with only one hand?” Vali asked.

“Please,” Twitch snorted. “Any kid reaching puberty can work a terminal one-handed, if you catch my drift.”

“I do not,” Vali admitted, which caused both Yeela and Twitch to laugh.

A fiber optic cable was plugged into some port along the side of Twitch’s head while she manipulated holographic lines of code on the display terminal. Vali was impressed with both of the women. Instead of blocking all incoming and outgoing transmissions, Twitch inserted what she called “a bitching AI,” which scanned existing comm logs and mimicked voices to simulate routine operating conversations.

The demoness, on the other hand, was every bit as lethal as her posturing proclaimed. Vali watched as she moved from victim to victim with deadly grace and desire. He was not sure what transpired during her time on the island. But he’d been alive long enough, and bore witness to enough battles, to see a vendetta in a warrior’s eyes. Enjoyment, yes. But for the demon, this was personal.

“And that is that,” Twitch said, unplugging the cable from her head. “Transmissions from the central command asking for status updates are getting them. The main prison’s comms are being re-routed back through my AI to give the appearance that central command is there. And for course, set to deny additional manpower requests. I am the queen.”

“Won’t they become suspicious if their requests for reinforcements are being denied?” Vali asked.

“No,” Both Twitch and Yeela said in unison. The two looked at each other, surprised the other had the same thought.

“Why?” Vali asked.

Yeela rolled her cat-like eyes. “Duh.”

“Yeah, I hate to agree with her, but . . . duh.”

“Explain.”

“Because to ask for help is to expose weakness,” Yeela said.

Twitch nodded in agreement. “You haven’t been around long, have you?”

Vali stifled a chuckle at the question. “Not around demons, nor this city, if that is what you are asking.”

“So, next question, big man,” Twitch said standing up and pointing through the comm room window at the prison island in the distance. “How do you plan on getting over there? A supply drop from here to there would have been the smart move. But I’m pretty sure any of the people here qualified as a chopper pilot are no longer breathing.”

Vali looked at the prison through the window. The next phase of his plan lay there, in the middle of those dark waters. The death he brought to the processing complex would seem tame by comparison once he was finished.

“We wait until nightfall,” Vali said, a plan forming in his mind. “Until then, get some rest. Scrounge up some food and take whatever spoils you want from the holding cells. And you may want to get some medical supplies to treat that wound.”

“Not a bad idea,” Twitch said, looking down where her hand used to be.

“What happened?”

“Salem and his need for explosives. Plus her,” Twitch said, inclining her chin towards Yeela, who only laughed.

“What happens at nightfall?” Yeela asked, her voice intrigued.

“We catch a ride.”

********

“Here you go boss,” Taylor said into the mic. “You sure this is safe?”

Vali glanced at what Taylor was looking at. Yeela was crouching down on the small beach next to the breached wall of the former floating fortress. The demoness was sniffing the air, gathering the scents of what lay around.

“I’ll be fine,” Vali said. “Head back to the processing complex and keep an eye on that cyborg. She may be a friend of Salem’s, but let’s be honest, he has horrible taste in friends.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Just be ready for my signal.”

“What’s the signal?” Taylor asked.

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Gotcha, boss. And remember, you need any help, you just ask. Something about this place don’t feel right to me.”

“This whole new world doesn’t feel right. But there isn’t anything we can do about it.”

“I dunno boss. We’re building a little piece of something new. And there are always other things we can do to make the world a better place.”

“Like what?” Vali asked, genuinely curious.

“Praying never hurt.”

Vali groaned. “Just get out of here and be ready.”

“All right, stand clear.”

Vali did as instructed after handing his headphones over to Taylor. With a nod, the cloaked skyhopper jumped upward into the night sky. Fortunate for the mission, the moon was dark, little more than a crescent sliver. Workers and the remaining prisoners labored to patch up the walls under the watchful eyes of armed guards with floodlights.

Even at night, the prison was a beehive of activity. Prisoners looked exhausted as their captors worked them ragged. Vali almost felt a twinge of sympathy for the bastards, having to remind himself they were demons and scum.

But so were Yeela and Twitch. Which meant there may actually be people worth saving, or at least not killing, in Flotsam.

Vali knelt in the sand and let his mind open and his sight take over, seeing brief flashes of the terrain, the people, and the general movement of the prison. There was a rhythm to everything in life. Whether it was manual labor, life and death on a battlefield, or even lovemaking, there was always a rhythm. If you could sense it, feel the ebb and flow, you could alter nearly any situation to your advantage.

“What are you doing,” Yeela hissed low.

“Opening my senses,” Vali said, his eyes still closed.

“Why?”

“So I can prepare the best way to kill everyone and everything that deserves it.”

“What can I do?”

“Be silent,” Vali replied, growing agitated. The sight allowed Vali to feel, more than see, the power and the people. “So few people.”

“Salem,” Yeela muttered. “That one is devious. No wonder Mother had it bad for him.”

“I sense . . . dark power, everywhere. Monstrous, old beings. There.” Vali opened his eyes and pointed towards the main complex of Flotsam along the northwest side of the island, closest to the shore.

Vali moved from his position on the small beach to where the prison’s broken wall opened to the courtyard. Peering around the edge, Vali pointed for Yeela to see. “How do I get in there?”

“You don’t,” Yeela said shaking her head.

“Why?”

“Prisoners get dropped off from the air inside that place. From there they are . . . indoctrinated. After, we—they—are pushed into the arenas.”

The demoness shuddered with true fear and anxiety as the memory of the “indoctrination” came back to her. Vali could tell there was something about the process she wasn’t talking about, but he decided not to press. She saw him looking at her and composed herself.

“There is a landing platform on top of the complex for goods and supplies.”

“No doubt heavily guarded,” Vali assessed.

“The only other entrance is through a gate along that tower.” Yeela pointed at a rectangular three-story building. “That’s Gerhardt’s tower. At its base there’s a gate that I saw Salem come through. But it’s locked from the inside. There’s no other way in.”

Vali backed away from the wall’s breach and back to the small beach. With his back to the outer wall, he thought about the situation for a moment. He allowed his sight to run through possibilities and scenarios. He could begin a murder spree, dispatching prisoners and guards alike. But that would come with little to no impact. Hell may see dead prisoners as a blessing.

No. He had to get inside the complex. If that was where the power was, those who orchestrated the raid on his people, at least in part, then that was where he needed to strike. That was where his message would ring out the clearest.

Then a thought struck him.

“You said there was an arena?”

Yeela nodded. “Yes. The oval structure with the chains, next to the complex. Here.”

Yeela knelt next to Vali on the beach and used the talons on her right forefinger to draw a crude map of the island and the layout. “This is us.” Yeela pointed to their position along the exterior wall. “This is the territories inside the prison. This is the warden’s complex. The main control building here, Gerhardt’s tower here, and the arena here.”

“What is this building and area between the main complex and the wall?” Vali asked.

“The warden’s manor,” Yeela replied. “That is where we are dropped off coming in from the mainland. He addresses us there and then we are funneled through here for indoctrination.”

“After you fought there”—Vali pointed—“in the arena, after the indoctrination, you were let into the prison’s courtyard?”

“Yes,” Yeela said, nodding, seeing the god’s train of thought. “That might work. There were guards everywhere down there. Which means it connects to the main complex.”

“Then that is where we go,” Vali said. “Can you move silently? Unseen?”

“I thought you were here to kill everyone?”

“In time. Can you do it?”

“Just keep up, pretty boy.”

Chapter Nineteen

Trust But Verify

A Long Time Ago

The shriekers continued to fall. Isaac rolled out of the way and took up his father’s M4, tracking movement along the treeline.

As each hellion came into sight, Isaac fired off a three-round burst.

Target, fire, repeat.

Over and over.

There was something inside Isaac that cracked. His humanity. His sanity. All he had was the killing. He needed more. The burning pain in his rib was not enough to keep him down. When the M4’s ammo went dry, Isaac tossed the weapon aside.

“Come on, you motherfuckers!” Isaac screamed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Isaac heard his father yelling for him to stand down. But Isaac, covered in demon blood, only wanted another kill.

When the first of the wave of hellions came at him, Isaac picked up the fallen kraak and swung it wide, breaking the hellion’s jaw off. He swung again, meeting the next hellion in the skull just above its horned eyebrow ridge, and the creature went down with a fatal skull fracture.

Again and again Isaac swung the weapon, each swing a kill. And after each kill, the burning need for more.

A large dog-faced hellion, the last of the pack, charged Isaac. As he swung the weapon, the hellion met the kraak’s swing on his armored forearm and the weapon shattered. The hulking brute threw a massive fist and connected on Isaac’s jaw, sending him reeling back onto the snowy ground.

Isaac rolled backwards and hit the cabin’s wooden stairs. As he jammed his spine into the wet wood, he awkwardly scrambled up onto the cabin’s porch. Isaac spat out a broken tooth and a mouthful of blood onto the snowy porch.

“Come on, you ugly fuck!” Isaac challenged as he ripped off a large piece of his shirt and began wrapping it around his hand.

The hellion obliged, snarling something in Denochian, and charged.

Isaac smiled.

The hellion roared and rushed up the steps. Using his cloth-wrapped hand, Isaac grabbed one of the barbed, poisonous shrieker bolts and threw a shoulder into the hellion’s face while simultaneously stabbing the hellion through the gut. The two combatants tumbled back onto the bloody, cold ground.

Isaac was the first to his feet and saw the hellion try to stand with the shrieker firmly embedded into his stomach.

“Ha!” Isaac half laughed and half roared. The hellion tried to free itself, but Isaac grabbed one end of the makeshift spear and held firm. The two of them moved into a circular motion as the hellion tried to get away and Isaac maintained control.

Isaac repeatedly jabbed the spear back and forth, sawing the hellion, spilling the monster’s guts, laughing the whole time. “Die! Die die die!” Isaac screamed as he shoved the spear harder, forcing the hellion back up the wooden steps of the cabin and into the doorframe.

Then another cry cut through the night.

His mother’s.

Elena McMillan had come to the door to help. And as Isaac shoved the hellion back, the spear’s point cut through the hellion’s stomach and into Elena.

“No!” Isaac and his father screamed in unison.

With a burning rage, Isaac threw the hellion off the cabin’s porch and rushed inside, his battle madness subsiding.

Inside, his mother was lying on the cabin floor.

The remnants of the venom were already coursing through her body. She was dying.

Elena looked up at her son. “Isaac . . .”

********

I woke up with tears in my eyes. And not from the pain in my knees.

Why? Why did she come out? Dad told her to stay inside. Damn it, he told her. She came to help, but what could she do? She wasn’t armed. She wasn’t a fighter! She was a thinker and a scholar and beautiful and great and . . . my mom.

I started to sob. I couldn’t help it. With what happened, and what came after . . . fuck.

Fuck me. Over a century later and I still felt the pain as if it had just happened.

“What’s wrong?” a female voice asked me.

I rolled over as best as I could. My hands were bound behind me with some kind of wire mesh. Likewise, my feet were bound in the same material with a cord of some kind connecting my ankles to my wrists. My knees were in horrible pain. With them bent the way they were, The Collective would have a helluva time repairing them.

The sun was up and it was late morning already. Clearly the ship needed longer to be repaired than what Ahlray and Legion claimed.

Flopping over, with my face in the snowy ground, I saw the pilot, Mandy, sitting by the remains of a campfire. She was relaxing in a portable folding chair with a digital book in one hand. An automatic plasma rifle rested beside her, next to her pilot’s helmet.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again. “You were crying.” She had a pleasant smile as she regarded me.

“No I wasn’t,” I lied reflexively.

“It’s OK. A lot of people my husband bring in cry when they realize they’ve been caught. It’s natural. I heard you broke out of Flotsam? Wow, I would not want to be you once you get turned in.”

“Your empathy is abundant,” I sighed, trying to roll to my back. I did my best to stretch my arms and give my legs enough room to move. No matter how I moved, I had barely an inch to flex my legs.

“I’d quit squirming if I were you,” Mandy said.

“You have to let me go. I have to get out of here. I have to save my people.”

“And we have to get paid. Sorry hon, you’re shit out of luck,” Mandy said, setting her digital reader down. “Why don’t you just try and get some more rest. Cry a little more if you need to. The ship will be ready by this evening. It won’t take us long to get back to the city. By tonight, you’ll be back in Flotsam and we’ll be rich.”

“If you all you care about is money, then I can pay you.”

“Oh hon, please. We’re professionals. And sad to say, I’ve seen your account. You may have had money, but all your assets are frozen.”

Shit. She was definitely married to Ahlray. Lovingly smug must be sexually transmitted. I knew it was a long shot, trying to buy my way free, but considering what I had available to me, it was my only recourse.

“Can you do one thing for me then?”

“What’s that?” Mandy asked.

“Can you at least get a cigarette out of my pocket and light it for me?”

Mandy smiled. “If you move, I’ll shoot you.”

“I know.”

She stood from the campfire and walked over to me. She reached into my coat pocket and fished out my nearly empty pack.

Then she crushed them.

“Smoking is bad for you. I heard you gave my husband a cigarette. Tsk tsk.”

“Hey!” I yelled, reaching out towards Mandy.

Mandy threw the crushed pack into the ashes of the campfire, then shot me in the face.

********

When I awoke next, the sun hung low in the sky.

Shit. Almost another day gone. Another day wasted and another day closer to Löngutangar’s end. I was shivering from being left in the cold. My stomach knotted in hunger and thirst.

I smelled something horrible. As I opened my eyes, I saw I was lying on my side in a puddle of blood and vomit. My own, I assumed. It would be a really gross and elaborate prank if someone placed me in a pile of someone else’s bloody puke.

But thinking about this particular pack of assholes, I wouldn’t put anything past them.

I felt several loose teeth along with a broken nose and jaw. Stun setting or not, a blast at point-blank range was like getting kicked by a mule. The concussion must have been why I vomited.

And to think, I thought she was the nice one. But considering what she did to my pack of smokes, I may have to kill her first.

Collective?

//ONLINE//

So, how bad are we this time?

//QUERY HOST//

What?

//DOES HOST GO OUT OF HOST’S WAY TO INFLICT HARM UPON HOST’S SELF?//

I almost laughed. No, but it does seem like it, doesn’t it?

//IT IS COLLECTIVE’S ASSESSMENT THAT HOST WISHES TO SUFFER - REASONS REMAIN OBFUSCATED TO COLLECTIVE//

No, Collective, I don’t do this on purpose. But the world is a rough place. And taking care of others seems to come with an amount of required suffering. But through it all, you’ve always been there. I thank you.

//GRATITUDE ACCEPTED - COLLECTIVE FINDS PLEASURE IN KNOWING HOST - COLLECTIVE’S EARLIER QUERY WAS AN ATTEMPT AT TESTICULAR FRACTURE HUMOR//

You were breaking my balls?

//AFFIRMATIVE - HOST’S PATELLAS SUFFERED SMALL-CALIBER GUNSHOT WOUNDS WITH SEVERE TRAUMA TO THE ACL AND MCL - LIMITED MOBILITY WITH SEVERE PAIN AVAILABLE - HOST WILL REQUIRE ADDITIONAL TIME TO WALK UNHINDERED//

What about my face?

//HOST WAS NEVER CONSIDERED COMELY TO BEGIN WITH//

Great.

//HOST’S OUTWARD APPEARANCE HUMOR REJECTED//

No, the joke was fine. It’s just been a long day, Collective. How about we skip to the final diagnosis? How soon until we kick all these bastards in their collective taints, steal this ship, fly back to get TJ, then get the hell out of here and save our people?

//QUERY//

Yes?

//DOES HOST HAVE AN ARMY IN HOST’S RECTUM COLLECTIVE WAS UNAWARE OF//

No?

//THEN HOST WILL HAVE LITTLE CHANCE OF COMPLETING SAID MISSION - HOST’S FUNCTIONS ARE FAR BELOW NORMAL- COLLECTIVE REQUIRES ADDITIONAL BASE MATERIALS FOR CONVERSION - AT PRESENT HOST COULD POSSIBLY BE HOBBLED//

Shit. What can we do?

//PERMISSION TO PULL FROM EMERGENCY RESERVES FOR HOST PRESERVATION//

Damn. Damn damn damn. The Collective needed to burn through the rest of my stored body fat and start dissecting my lean muscle. Ever since prison, I wasn’t exactly the poster child for nutrition. The food on the island kept us alive, but I wasn’t packing the extra mass I normally did. Hell, it’d been a couple of days since I ate.

But I needed to be as whole as possible to even have a chance. Go ahead, Collective. Start with the thigh muscle if you have to.

//COLLECTIVE WILL ASSESS BEST LOCATION TO DRAW FROM - HOST ALREADY HAS APPENDAGES WHICH RESEMBLE POULTRY //

A chicken legs joke? It was high school all over. I felt a warmth spread all over my body. The Collective was fast at work, drawing what it needed. Well, I guess there were worse things to complain about than a built-in dietary system.

“You awake, asshat?” I heard Legion ask.

“Yeah, I’m awake, asshole. Why don’t you go and stick your finger in a fusion cell and join your brother.”

“Keep talking, tough guy. The contract states they want you alive. But nowhere does it say you need to have all your teeth.”

“That’s enough,” I heard Ahlray say from beyond my vision. “Go get the ship’s weapon systems prepped. Mandy is already charting the course back to New Golgotha.”

“You’re not the boss,” Legion challenged.

“No, but I am lead on this contract. It’s my case, my ship and my fucking reputation. You had your shot and you got your head blown off. Twice.”

“I owe him,” Legion said.

“When it comes to this asshole, I’m the only one of us who’s shown any results. So back on the ship, prep the weapon systems and await takeoff, or you can walk your ass home.”

“You’re walking on thin ice, big boy.”

“And you’re boring me. Move.”

Legion complied while grumbling under his breath, getting up and walking away towards the ship. Ahlray moved into my field of vision. His cybernetic legs squatted down next to me.

“Sorry you had to hear that. I prefer professional courtesy. But when you work with a guy for so long, professionalism goes out the window. How you holding up, Baron?”

“Been better,” I said. “Your wife threw away my smokes. No offense, but I kind of hate her.”

“She also shot you in the face.”

“I’m angrier about the smokes.”

“Ha!” Ahlray barked out a laugh. “I bet. But I also wager you still have an emergency pack on you.”

“Why, you want one?”

“Oh, no,” Ahlray said with a wave of his giant mechanized hand. “The wife started checking my internal logs on a regular basis ever since I came back from that bar of yours with the scent of smoke on my breath.”

“So much for matrimonial trust.”

“Hah, it’s obvious you’ve never been married before. Trust but verify, Baron, trust but verify.”

“So, what happens next?”

“You’re going back to prison. They are going to—well, they are really going to work you over. You’re going to be made an example of. After that, who knows.”

“And you’re OK with that?” I asked.

“You’re a job, nothing more.”

I looked at him. I looked through him. Past the smiling, pleasant face, I saw the core of modern humanity reflected back at me. Screw-you-before-you-screw-me. And in that moment I couldn’t help but think of Gh’aliss and my past, knowing I helped contribute to that ideology.

Obviously it wasn’t the first time I was confronted with the new face of mankind. But perhaps, deep inside, I hoped that we as a species would rebel against the hate and become what we were capable of becoming. But if I remembered my Nietzsche correctly, maybe this was what we were always meant to be. The truest state of man is one where we embrace the self and reject the common good.

“It’s time to go,” Ahlray said. Behind him, I heard the gunship’s engines humming louder. “Can you roll over for me?”

“No,” I said. “If I’m just a job, then do your job.”

The small act of rebellion was insignificant, but it was all I was capable of at the moment. I was frozen and broken. The last thing I wanted to do was make this prick’s day one iota easier.

Ahlray picked me up as if I weighed nothing, throwing me over his shoulder so I was facing behind him. “You’re such a child when you’re losing.”

If I had any fluid in my body, I would have pissed on him out of spite.

Ahlray marched towards the ship and I bobbed along over his shoulder. Each of his steps sent searing pain down my legs, forcing my teeth to clench and my eyes to squint. As we approached the gunship’s open cargo hold, I noticed a coyote trailing quietly behind us.

The creature darted from spot to spot silently, as if it were looking for something. With Ahlray’s stomping, he didn’t hear the beast. If his internal sensors picked it up, no doubt it was registered as a non-threat.

I didn’t give the coyote much thought. That was until the small creature yipped, causing Ahlray to turn, looking towards the noise. As he did, the crafty creature darted past his blind side and sneaked on board the ship. 

As the coyote passed, it winked at me.

Chapter Twenty

Chimera

Day Nine of The Wild Hunt

They were behind him.

And above him.

Below him.

He could hear their near-silent footfalls. Their yips, barks, growls, and moans. Their hunting songs were always on the horizon, as they had been for the last nine days. They were always there, just out of sight, yet their presence was always known. The Hunt’s constant wardrums never ceased pounding out the beat.

The sound was maddening. 

The hunt was closing in on him.

Yet he eluded them over and over. His cunning and experience were the only things allowing him to stay one step ahead. But his time was running out.

As the sun set on the ninth day in Caern Hortus, the Land of Eternal Spring, he knew they would descend upon him when the last light fell.

Leaping from branch to branch in the colossal oaks and yew trees, he avoided the ground lest his footfalls betray his position to the burrowing creatures no doubt below him. Ahead, he heard the growls and barks of the beasts that had outpaced him, lying in wait. To his flanks the trees themselves tightened, obeying the will of the wild Fae. Overhead, winged creatures flew scouting patterns. 

And behind him he heard the heavier beasts and entourage of the huntmaster approaching.

This time, there was no escape. So instead of continuing the draining exercise in futility, he stopped. Lowering himself to the forest floor, he crossed his arms and waited.

And, as predicted, when the last ray of light set and twilight was upon Caern Hortus, The Wild Hunt closed in. Ogres and trolls were the first to approach, their massive forms blocking off any possible exits. Alien-like elves with their large almond eyes and lanky forms stepped from the shadows bearing longbows and spears. Small winged pixies and fairies flitted about, radiating light and illuminating him in the darkness.

He was tired. Tired of running and tired of being chased. But mostly, he was tired of existing. If this is the end, then let it be a glorious death, he thought.

The ground rumbled as a massive chariot crested the worn path. Smaller trees and saplings bent or, in some cases, moved out of the way lest they be torn asunder. He was astonished to see that the chariot was not pulled by horses or any beast of burden.

It was instead pulled by a single creature, easily fifteen feet tall, wearing thick, heavy, Fae-designed plate armor that shifted color depending on the angle from which it was viewed. The monster’s head was covered with a great horned helmet, obscuring the face with an angled visor. Glowing, silvery-blue eyes radiated from within the helmet.

The monstrosity stopped and slowly reached up to its shoulders, deftly unfastening the chains it used to pull the chariot. Once it was no longer attached, the creature walked to the side of the chariot and extended an arm so that the vehicle’s single occupant could step down.

He watched the huntmaster slowly descend. Whoever this was, they were enjoying the moment, relishing in the capturing of the prey and the final moments before the kill. The grandiose nature made him think this was somehow personal.

Or, the huntmaster was a sadist.

Hmm . . . considering he stood in the middle of the Fae realm, sentenced to death by The Wild Hunt, both possibilities seemed plausible. The gathered Fae began lowly and slowly chanting “Chi-mer-a, Chi-mer-a, Chi-mer-a.” 

The huntmaster, this Chimera, was unlike any Fae he had ever encountered. Humanoid and female, the huntmaster stood over six feet tall and while feminine, had a muscular quality to her physique. Her armor was ornate yet functional, a mix of leathers and strategically placed pieces of plate. Her features were difficult to make out from beneath her fur-rimmed hunter’s cloak and hood.

Whoever, or whatever, this Chimera was, her aura was one of danger, even without her gigantic companion. It was fitting that she was selected to lead The Wild Hunt. Chimera raised a gauntleted hand, silencing the chants from the other Fae.

“I must admit, I didn’t believe it when the Green Man said you came back here. Yet, here you are. I just want to know, why? Why come to this place? You knew you would die.”

As she drew closer to ask her questions, he could see that her skin was dappled with shades of green, brown, and dark gray in seemingly random patterns. Her eyes and ears resembled those of an elf, but her pointed features and fang-like teeth denoted a more sinister lineage. Her hair was knotted in green and brown dreadlocks. She was . . . exotic, a mix of many Fae but of none.

And she appeared to know him.

Well . . . shit.

“I can honestly say, I do not know why I am here,” he said. “Yet here I am. Let us get on with this.”

“Soon, soon,” Chimera said. She continued to walk towards him while the massive golem-like armored giant loomed behind her, blocking out all residual light. “I just wanted to look at you one last time. And to let you look at me. See what your decision brought about. See what became of me. Did you ever think about me?”

“I honestly have no idea who you are,” he said.

Chimera pulled back her hood, exposing her face. It was clear that whatever she was then, it was not her original form. Her mismatched coloration and facial extremities appeared to have been added over time. She was not born into this form, but rather turned. 

It still did not change the fact that he had no idea who she was.

Chimera drew closer, into his personal zone. She drew so close he was able to pick up her scent, one of nature. A scent of one who hunted in the great expanses. Chimera looked him over, waiting for his response. When he had none to give other than indifference, realization crossed her face, and her features hardened.

“You are not he.”

“No,” Grimm’s double confirmed. “I am not.”

“A decoy then. Clever.”

“He thought so as well.”

“I’d ask how it is possible, as he cannot draw upon his magic in this place. But, the man I knew was always doing the impossible,” Chimera said as she backed up a couple of steps. “Instead, I will ask, how would you like to die?”

The double shrugged. “It does not matter to me. I did my job. Good luck tracking him.”

“If you are here, then he traveled through the Autumn Lands. But even he could not make it to the gate before the season changed. So, he is going north, to Caern Frigia.”

Chimera walked away, turning her back to the double, pausing only to place one hand on the armored form of her gigantic companion.

“Do you know what the saddest part of leading The Wild Hunt is?”

“I do not know,” the double said. “But I suspect you will tell me nonetheless.”

“When you know where your prey is going, it takes a bit of the thrill away. But thanks to you, the chase is a little more exciting.”

“I am glad to be of service. To him, and to you. May I ask something?”

Chimera turned back, leveling her glowing yellow eyes on him. “It is not the normal conduct, but I am intrigued. Ask your question.”

“What is he to you?” the double asked. “It is obvious we—he—has a past with you. As I do not have those memories, either your relationship came after, or they were not imparted unto me.”

Chimera smiled and nodded to her silent behemoth ally.

The gigantic being brought a massive armored fist down atop the double’s head. The impact liquefied his skull on impact, ripped through his torso, and collapsed his body cavity. The body dropped to the ground in a shattered pile of viscera while The Hunt roared in excitement.

“Do not cheer,” Chimera said, silencing the Fae. “We have captured nothing and only wasted our time. We move, now, to Caern Frigida.”

Chimera mounted her chariot with assistance from the giant, who gently lifted her into her position of power, then began fastening himself once more at the lead. The hunt began mobilizing, awaiting her to lead them northward.

As the chariot pulled away, Chimera looked at the remains of the body with a casual glance. The spectral energy that bound it dissipated into ethereal nothingness, leaving no blood and only the clothing behind.

“He was once special to me,” she whispered in response to the double’s question. “But now he is my quarry.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Orphans

Now, in the Waste

I was tossed like a gunny sack in the rear cargo hold of the gunship, hitting the deck hard. The sudden impact caused my knees to explode into pain.

“Goddamn!” I yelled.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt?” Ahlray asked.

“I hope you rust,” I said, rolling to my side, wincing in pain.

“I’ll keep that in mind while you’re in jail and I’m sipping a nice whiskey.” Ahlray chuckled as he left.

The cyborg clanked as he walked up the three metal steps to the gunship’s mid-level. I looked about, trying to recall my time atop the ship, cross-referencing the outer dimensions with the inner. If this ship used standard military layout, then weapons control and sensors were in the middle while the flight deck was in the front of the ship.

The deck of the ship began to vibrate as we began to lift off. In moments, we would be flying back to the city and back to prison. Around me were various carbon-fiber containers affixed with metal plates, stacked in orderly fashion and secured with magna-locks. Several of them were damaged, probably from the ship’s crash landing.

I could smell metal and oil, which made me think some of them were full of weapons and spare cybernetic parts. I also smelled something else, something musky.

“Macha,” I whispered, “I seriously hope that’s you and I’m not talking to an actual wild coyote.”

“Being captured seems to be your natural state of being. It’s sad,” Macha whispered back, stepping around from behind the stacked storage crates. The nude woman knelt down next to me and looked at my restraints. “Why can’t you break free? You tore through that rope I had you bound with.”

“Well, this is duranium wire and not rope. And I don’t have the leverage from this position.”

“You are wounded.”

“Yeah, pretty badly actually. Do me a favor—look in one of those containers and see if there are any wire cutters.”

Macha nodded and looked through several of the containers. After a minute or so, she found a pair of industrial-grade shears. “Will these work?”

“Yeah,” I said softly.

Macha stepped behind me and snipped the wire that connected my feet to my hands. Instantly, I felt relief, followed by intense pain as my legs straightened out. Macha snipped the wires to my hands, then handed me the shears so I could work on my feet. Free of my bonds, I tried to stand.

And I almost fell flat on my face. Macha caught me and helped me back to the deck. “What is wrong?”

“I was shot in the knees yesterday when your mother turned me over,” I said, propping myself up against the bulkhead of the cargo section. “Speaking of, why are you here?”

“Because my mother is wrong.”

“I thought she interprets the will of Wakinyan?”

Macha’s face darkened. “Wakinyan is wrong. Your friend, the boy. . .”

“TJ? What about him?”

“Ehawee is going to . . . sacrifice him. A gift to Wakinyan. I told her she could not. It was not our way. She told me a wise child obeys.”

“She also said you were unwise in these matters.”

“Exactly. I believe mother wished me to come here. To save the boy, I had to save you.”

“I bet that didn’t make you happy.”

“No, it did not,” Macha confirmed. “You appear to be useless. Stay here. I will kill them all.”

“No!” I hissed. “I can’t fight at the moment, but there is something else I can do.”

“What?”

“Cheat.” I smiled as I held up my tech bracers.

Ahlray and Legion no doubt had a dossier on me, and knew anyone who tried to remove my bracers, other than me, would get an electrical charge big enough to deep fry an elephant. Which was why my arms were wired behind my back and to my feet.

Now that I was free, it was time to see what kind of damage a remote hack job could do to a military gunship. Opening a holo-terminal on my left bracer, I ran a passive sweep, looking for a weak wireless network port. After a few seconds, my scan wasn’t turning up anything useful. Ehawee’s lightning strike had really done a number on this ship and its network.

While I was registering a flight system and various controls, the system was on lockdown, flying almost completely by manual. Damn it. Then, I noted something, and a plan formed.

“Hey, Macha.”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about completely unnecessary violence?”

“Very comfortable with it. Why?”

I smiled.

********

The ship rattled a moment and Mandy had to grip the manual controls tighter before they were wrenched from her hand. A flashing light caught her eye above. Quickly, she tapped the illuminated diagnostics indicators. Shutting them off, she pulled up her holo-display to confirm the warning.

“Shit,” she swore. “We have a problem.”

“What?” Ahlray asked from the co-pilot seat.

“We have a pressure issue. Something is opening the cargo-hold hatch. I’ve stopped it, but whatever it is, it’s persistent.”

“Someone, most likely.”

“Exactly,” Mandy said, holding the controls tighter. “It’s really throwing off our trajectory. I’m throttling down and dropping elevation. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to go into hover mode.”

“I’ll go down,” Ahlray said.

“No,” Mandy countered. “Send Legion. I may need you here to hold the controls.”

Ahlray nodded and turned on his mic. “Legion, seems like our boy is causing some trouble down in the cargo hold. Go take care of it.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Legion’s voice came over the system.

“Don’t kill him,” Mandy warned.

“He’ll live.”

********

Legion dropped his earpiece and picked up his BEDLAM. Throwing the weapons strap over his neck and shoulder, the assassin moved down the center of the craft and down the metal stairs into the cargo hold.

Salem sat along the far bulkhead next to the cargo ramp. The bastard was free and tapping out some kind of sequence on his tech bracer, as the ramp would momentarily open, then close. Little prick was trying to make an escape. He knew he should have hacked his arms off.

Legion slung the BEDLAM around and dialed the plasma setting to the highest stun setting. He couldn’t kill him, but he would take glee in hurting the prick.

“Howdy, asshat,” Legion said, holding his weapon to his cheek and staring down the barrel. “I’d give ya props for the escape. But you seem to lack the follow-through. So, how ya want it? A couple taps to the face again?”

Salem looked up at Legion and smirked. “Well, that depends.”

Legion smirked, looking at the wounded man. As much as he hated this guy, his stupid tenacity was starting to grow on him. “Depends on what?”

“When was the last time you were kicked in the balls by a beautiful, naked woman?”

“My last divorce,” Legion answered without skipping a beat.

“Oh, well, OK.”

“Why?” Legion asked as he began adding pressure the weapon’s trigger.

“Well, I was hoping you were going to say ‘never’, but this works just as well.”

From behind, Legion sensed movement. He turned just in time to see a naked, copper-skinned woman as she planted a kick right into his crotch.

Legion grunted, but held his ground. Thanks to his surly nature and occupation, the occasional nut-shot was a fairly routine occurrence. Legion brought his weapon up, only to see the naked woman grab the barrel and shift her form into a massive, hairy animal-man hybrid.

“Anytime now,” the creature called out. 

From behind, Salem tapped his holo-terminal once more. As he did, the cargo ramp dropped open.

Immediately the cargo hold became a vacuum, and everything that wasn’t magnetized down was sucked outward.

The massive beast once more kicked Legion in the groin. The second kick was backed by several hundred extra pounds of force and ended in a hoof.

The assassin tumbled backwards from the blow. He felt a hand on his neck pull him back hard and throw him out the open hold and into the sky.

“Bye, asshat,” Legion heard Salem call out as the cargo ramp closed behind him.

********

I almost felt bad dropping Legion out the hold.

Almost.

“Now we kill the rest?” Macha asked.

“Easy, Bessie,” I said. “Just follow my lead, all right?”

“For now.”

Dangling from the back of a station at weapons’ control, I saw my gun belt and blasters.

“Welcome home, ladies,” I said, strapping my weapons back into place.

Macha followed me in her hybrid form. From the way she was breathing, I could tell she was anxious. And to be honest, so was I. If she was telling the truth, then TJ was in trouble. But flying off half-cocked was a surefire way to get the boy killed. I had to play this one smart and calm.

“Come on,” I said as I walked up the next three steps into the ship’s flight control.

The flight deck was small, room for only a few people. Which was fine for me. Less room for them to maneuver. 

“Legion, whatever you did back there, it fixed everything,” Ahlray said over his shoulder.

“Please tell me you didn’t kill him. We could really use the money,” Mandy said. Then she sniffed. “Wait, what’s that smell?”

Drawing my left blaster, I aimed it at the back of Mandy’s head. With my right, I did the same at Ahlray. Before I pulled the triggers, something over Mandy’s shoulder, on the deck’s flight controls, caught my eye, and I paused.

Nodding to myself, I parted Mandy’s hair with the tip of my gun, placing the barrel along the back of her scalp. Ahlray saw me out the corner of his eye and flinched, suddenly coming out of his seat, only to stop when he saw my gun pointed at his face.

“Hi guys,” I said with a smile.

Then I pulled both triggers.

********

“I don’t understand,” Mandy said, rubbing at her head where I shot her with a stunning blast. Ahlray helped to pick her up off the ground. He was sporting a black eye from a similar blast.

“Nor I,” Macha growled from beside me. “Why are they alive?”

The gunship hovered ten feet or so from the ground. I looked through a couple of the carbon-fiber crates I’d stacked onto the open cargo platform. Once I was satisfied with the selected provisions, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the only thing that saved their life.

I looked down at it, then added it to one of the crates. Closing the lid, I kicked the crates off the ramp, down to the ground.

“I saw the picture of your sons,” I said to Mandy and Ahlray, while looking sideways at Macha.

When I came up behind Mandy, I saw the photo adhered to the flight control dash. Two boys with smiling faces and a lifetime of hope ahead of them. I saw in them both Mandy and Ahlray, the same way I saw my parents in me when I looked in the mirror. I, like those boys, was the culmination of a parent’s achievement.

The nightmares from the night I lost my mother played over and over in my head. These people may be assholes, but who was I to make their children orphans? I knew what that was like. And in this modern world, with what Ahlray and Mandy did for a living, those boys would know as well one day.

But it didn’t have to be this day.

“I’ve killed a lot of people in my life, and you two damn sure deserve it. Those two boys are the only reason you’re alive. So, when you get home, you hold them close and tell them you love them.”

“So you’re just going to leave us out here?” Mandy asked.

“How do you expect us to get home to them?” Ahlray said, echoing his wife.

“Look, I’m a decent person, not a saint. There’s food, water, spare parts and a radio in the crates. Figure it out,” I said, as I pressed the button, raising the ramp. I paused, then hit the lower button.

“Oh, one last thing. If you two ever so much as fucking look in my direction again, I won’t show you this kindness. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Ahlray said, pulling his wife close. “Honey?”

“He gave you a cigarette,” Mandy grumbled.

I sighed. Reaching into my other pocket, I pulled out my last pack. I pulled one out and lit it. Then I shot Mandy again, knocking her unconscious.

“What the hell?!” Ahlray said, his weapons systems powering up.

I held up my hands. “Easy big guy. Here.”

I flicked him a smoke. “Enjoy it before she wakes up. There’s mouthwash in one of the crates. You’re welcome.”

I closed the ramp all the way and made my way to the flight control, ignoring Macha’s glare. Let her fume. I had to go save TJ now. I only hoped I could fly this thing.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Plan B

As it turned out . . . no, I could not fly the ship.

“Watch out!” Macha said, gripping the back of my chair as the gunship skipped off the ground.

Again.

“You clearly do not know how to fly.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I said, trying my best to work the controls.

“What? Did you think you could just fly this craft without training?”

“Apparently, yes,” I said, overcompensating as the ship tilted upwards.

I watched as the horizon disappeared, causing me to nearly puke from the vertigo. I pushed the controls forward and we once again were aiming towards the ground.

“It would have been faster if we walked.”

“Do you think you can do better?” I asked, leveling off and trying to maintain altitude. I got forward and slightly side-to-side using the fusion engine’s hover ability. But the pitch was messing me up. Or was it the yaw? Ah hell, who cares.

“Look, I don’t fly. Back during the war, most of the aircraft we used was built idiot-proof. I thought this would be the same.”

“You got the idiot part right,” Macha scolded, looking at the sinking sun. “If you don’t figure out how to fly this thing, Ehawee is going to kill the boy.”

Shit. She was right. It wasn’t like I could jack the knowledge into my head like Twitch could, or type the coordinates into nav-computer like the Millennium Falcon.

Oh . . . I’m dumb.

I brought up my tech-bracer and opened a static port scan. Collective?

//ONLINE//

Any chance you can slave the ship’s automated functions and fly it for me?

//AFFIRMATIVE - QUERY: WHY NOT REQUEST COLLECTIVE’S ASSISTANCE SOONER//

Because I’m apparently an idiot.

//CONFIRMED//

Gee, thanks, I mentally smirked. The Collective established a link to the gunship’s automated systems and instantly, the ship began righting itself. I mentally instructed The Collective, providing navigation directions.

“What did you do?” Macha asked.

“I learned,” I said with a smile. “Now sit down and help guide me.”

********

The sun was down when we cleared the ravine’s edge. High above, a storm was brewing. Dark clouds rolled in a circular pattern. The People were preparing their sacrifice to Wakinyan. They were preparing TJ.

Through the smashed viewing glass, The People gathered in their hybrid forms. Some were holding torches as the winter storm crackled high above. In the center of the gathered people, TJ was tied down to a large, flat rock. Ehawee was in her eagle-hybrid form, beside him. She looked to the sky, and saw us approaching.

The People scattered, unsure of the approaching ship. I mentally commanded the vessel to turn broadside. Allowing The Collective to maintain control in hover mode fifteen feet from the ground, I pushed back out of the pilot’s seat and moved down to mid-level. I swung open the side door and pivoted the door gunner plasma auto-turret into position.

“Stop!” Macha yelled. “You can’t kill them!”

“Well, I highly doubt they’re down for a pillow fight,” I said, powering up the turret. “What was your plan? Sneak in and out?”

“I don’t know, just not this!”

“Well, subtle I am not,” I said, launching a spray of suppressing fire. The People scattered and sought cover. Ehawee and Akecheta stood their ground, refusing to move.

“No!” Macha roared, shifting into her hybrid-bison form.

Then enraged minotaur lowered her head and ran into me, knocking us both out of the gunship. We fell the fifteen feet or so to the hard ground. I did my best to twist so I fell on top of Macha, but the impact jarred my wounded legs and I cried out in pain.

“Ahh, damn it! Bad, bad Bessie,” I said, wincing.

The People in their hybrid forms gathered around me. They snorted and stomped the ground, awaiting the order from Ehawee to jump me.

“My plan was better,” I said, rolling off of Macha. I pulled both of my guns and aimed them at The People. “I’m taking the boy. Now back the fuck up.”

The People didn’t advance any further, but they didn’t retreat. Painfully, I stood on shaky legs. I kept one of my guns aimed at the bulk of The People while I turned another towards where TJ was tied to the rock.

“Move,” I threatened.

The People opened their ranks slightly, allowing me to hobble towards the rock where TJ was bound. And towards Ehawee and Akecheta.

“You should have left,” Ehawee said in a squawking voice.

“And you knew I couldn’t. He’s one of my people.”

In her eagle-hybrid form, I wasn’t sure, but I swear I saw her smile, then look back towards Macha. “I know.”

I turned my guns on Ehawee as I continued to move slowly towards TJ. “You OK, kid?”

“Uh, no!”

“Yeah, sorry, dumb question,” I said, chancing a glance over to where he was bound. I stowed my right gun and popped the retractable blade from my tech bracer. With a couple of swipes, TJ was free.

“Now what?” TJ asked.

“Working on it.”

Akecheta took several menacing steps forward. “You cannot take him. Wakinyan has decreed it so.”

“Well, I don’t care what Wakinyan wants.”

Akecheta crossed the distance between us in a flash. I responded by putting the barrel of my gun hard between his bovine eyes. “Don’t make me do this,” I whispered.

“If you shoot him, then there is no place on this planet where The People will not hunt you,” Ehawee warned me.

“No,” I said to Ehawee while keeping my eyes on Akecheta, who snorted and glared back at me. “You put me in this position. You captured us. You were going to sacrifice the boy. I will NOT bear the guilt of what happens next. Now back . . . the fuck . . . up.”

No one moved. No one breathed. The entire moment hung on a razor’s edge. My mind raced with a thousand images and a thousand scenarios.

“No,” Akecheta said, breaking the silence. He brought his hand up fast, batting my gun away.

“Shit,” I swore as I kicked him square in the bison balls, then shot him with a hard stun from my left gun. The warrior hit the ground as everything went to shit around us.

Ehawee summoned another bolt of lightning from the sky, once more striking the still hovering gunship. Through The Collective, I felt the connection to the ship sever. The ship listed to one side, drifting towards the ravine’s edge, and fell slowly.

“Hang on!” I yelled to TJ, putting the kid onto my back as I fired in full auto-mode, spraying stunning blasts wildly into The People. Willing The Collective to pump as much adrenaline into my system as it could, I turned on my still-wounded legs and ran through the pain towards the ravine’s edge. The falling ship continued to drift downward into the valley below.

Holstering my guns, I jumped onto the back of the ship with the strangest sense of déjà vu. TJ and I tumbled across the top of the gunship as I screamed in pain. Desperately, I tried to reestablish a link with the ship’s on-board computer. However, The Collective couldn’t make any contact, and the ship continued drifting downward, scraping the rocks.

Above us, I saw a few of the bison-hybrid warriors leap off the ravine’s edge onto the ship with us. From a lying position, I pulled my guns and fired at them, knocking them off the ship as they landed. The crazy warriors stopped coming once the ship was too far below them to jump down. Instead, they flooded down the carved paths in the ravine’s rock face.

“Well, time for plan B,” I said.

“That was plan A?!” TJ yelled.

“I didn’t see you come up with anything!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for getting tied up. Here I was, trusting the adult not to abandon the child to the skinwalking people!”

Ouch. “OK, point taken. Sorry. But we have to get out of here.”

“You think?”

“I said I was sorry, kid, no reason to be an asshole about it. Now look,” I half-shouted, getting frustrated. “I can’t walk very well.”

“Why?”

“Jesus kid, just listen!” I said, angrier. As I did, I saw TJ wince.

Damn it. Dealing with a kid was a lot like dealing with a young recruit during my military time. They’re often scared, confused, inexperienced, and looking for guidance. I took a deep breath.

“Here’s the situation, kid: I got shot in my knees. I’m healing, but slowly. So when this ship, hits the ground, I need to you slide off and haul ass over to the Outrider. Fire it up, come get me, then we drive like mad.”

“OK,” TJ said, nodding. “You really got shot in the knees?”

“Yeah.”

“I . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” I said. “Now just do your part. I’ll do what I can to hold them off.”

“Not to argue,” TJ said. “But is the Outrider the best plan? That didn’t work out too well for us last time.”

I looked over at the ground, determined we were at a safe enough height, and shoved the kid off the ship.

“Ouch! Asshole!” TJ yelled once he hit the ground. But the little trooper popped up quickly and did as instructed, running back towards the Outrider. I turned my attention back to The People. The warriors were still coming down the ravine’s pathways. I fired on them, shooting as if they were an old-fashioned shooting gallery at a carnival, doing my best to slow them down.

The ship hit the valley floor with a hard impact that shook me and knocked me from my sitting position. I too rolled off the back of the ship and down to the ground below. Pain flared through my legs, and I had to close my eyes to try and block it out.

I listened, and heard the Outrider’s engine coming fast. I tried to stand and failed, falling to the ground. I put my guns away and began to crawl with just my arms.

TJ whipped the Outrider into a drifting halt and a spray of debris. “Come on!”

“Trying,” I grunted.

The kid jumped out of the vehicle and wrapped his arms around me and pulled as hard as he could, trying to lift me. I don’t know, but together, the two of us managed to haul my near-useless ass into the vehicle as the bulk of The People began to reach the valley’s base. I heard their thundering hooves and Ehawee’s screeching above.

“OK,” I said, pulling my legs into the vehicle. “Go go go!”

“On it!” TJ said, dropping the Outrider into gear and slamming his foot down on the accelerator. “Which way?”

“Southeast,” I said. “We still have a mission to accomplish.”

“What if they catch us?”

“Then we fail. And every one of our people will suffer and die. So, what does that tell you?” 

TJ turned his eyes to the open plain and gunned the engine. “We can’t fucking fail then.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

You’re Late

Thunder crashed and lightning struck the ground while TJ and I raced across the open plains of South Dakota. Behind us, the herd’s hooves rumbled in time with the storm. I couldn’t see her, but I knew Wakinyan was above us, guiding the herd and guiding the storm.

A screech above let me know Ehawee was there. Guided lighting strikes next to the Outrider told me she was gaining on us.

“What do we do, what do we do?!” TJ panicked. “They took our turret and they’re aren’t stopping!”

“I know, I know,” I said, looking over my shoulder in thermal vision at the herd. It looked thinner than earlier. Perhaps some of them didn’t have the stamina to keep up?

I could keep firing my weapons, but the only problem was I was hungry and weak. Tesla turned me into a walking generator for my guns and tech. But with the amount of trauma I’d endured, The Collective was drawing all types of my body’s reserves to patch me up. If I kept firing, then I would lose power, possibly when we needed it most.

“We have to just keep driving,” I said, trying to think of a plan.

Lighting struck just ahead of the Outrider, exploding the earth in a spray of rock and dirt.

“Shit!” TJ cursed, whipping the steering wheel to one side to avoid the destruction. “We can’t keep this up!”

“Kid, we don’t have a choice!”

“But that thing is going to kill us!”

“What thing?!”

“Jesus,” TJ grunted. “How is it you never see it?” TJ grabbed my head and pointed my chin to the sky. “There!”

Once again, I could see the Thunderbird. Wakinyan stretched across the sky, and I was in awe. She rolled through the clouds in impossibly slow arcs. Each flap of her wings exploded in concussive ripples of thunder. It was impossible that such a creature could exist. I saw her. I saw through her. She was the storm and so much more.

As we drove, we passed an ancient sign. “What’s a Nebraska?” TJ asked.

“Another state.”

“State of what?”

“Never mind,” I said, not wanting to explain it.

I lit a smoke and tried to think of a plan. If we could maintain our top speed, then they should become too tired to follow. They were, after all, biological, and our fusion cell-powered vehicle had enough power to drive for days before we had to swap out a fresh cell.

But Ehawee wasn’t exactly normal. If she really was Wakinyan’s child, then she had power. And perhaps she was bestowing that power on her herd, allowing them to maintain their pursuit. If that was case, though, then why was the herd thinner?

Realization hit me. “Shit, TJ, stop!” I yelled.

“What? Why?!”

“Just stop!”

TJ slammed on the brakes as the Outrider crossed over the open terrain onto an ancient paved road. I saw a sign reading Highway 83. And there on that highway was the rest of the herd in their hybrid forms, huffing and puffing. In each of their hands, they held an over-sized plasma rifle. And each one was aimed at us.

“How did you know?” TJ asked.

“Divide and conquer,” I said, looking at the bison warriors. “Send your fastest warriors ahead to cut off your quarry while the rest move in from behind.”

As I spoke the words, the rest of the herd closed in behind us. They too were breathing hard, only their anger and Ehawee’s power fueling them. The bison shifted into their hybrid forms, removed their weapons from their specially-designed harnesses, and aimed them at us.

Ehawee landed on the old highway. She reverted to her human form, turning to face me. The storm, it seemed, was a couple of miles behind us and holding in that spot, not moving in. She looked tired and weaker than before, like she was pushed to her limit.

“You have gone far enough,” Ehawee said with labored breaths.

I stood with my guns in my hands. “We’re not going back.”

“No, you’re not,” Ehawee agreed as the finality of the chase settled in.

“Mother!” Macha said, stepping forward, turning back to her naked, human form. “We can’t!”

“You did as you needed to,” Ehawee said, not looking at her daughter. “And we did as we needed to. They were just not skilled enough to escape. It is the nature of things.”

Macha moved to stand in front of the Outrider, spreading her arms wide. “I will not allow it.”

“Move, Sister!” Akecheta said, stepping forward from the herd and remaining in his bison-man form. “You felt the will of Wakinyan, as did Mother and as did I. They are to go no further.”

“Ever the righteous fool, Brother,” Macha said, looking up at the minotaur.

“Better a fool than to be unwise.”

“Following does not make you wise, Brother. It makes you cattle.”

“Enough!” Ehawee cried out. “This ends now.”

“I agree,” came a deep, rolling voice from the darkness. “From the dark and into the dark, we walk. Thunderous sky guides our steps. Until the storm no longer hears the song of the land.”

“Chael!” I cried out.

Like a great ghost, Chael’s form rose up behind the warriors who blocked the Outrider. Each of his massive hands wrapped around a bison’s horns and tossed a warrior with casual disinterest.

“What is that?!” Akecheta bellowed, turning. As he did, Macha shifted into her own hybrid form and struck her brother across the head, knocking the bigger bison to the ground.

“Stop!” Ehawee commanded, but the siblings refused to obey. “People, destroy that thing!” Ehawee ordered as she shifted into her eagle form, grabbing each of her children in a giant, clawed hand.

The People turned and began firing on Chael. The giant laughed and shrugged off the plasma blasts, enduring the assault like one endures a hot shower.

“Chael, no killing!” I screamed.

“No fun,” Chael pouted, but the giant obeyed.

Wading into the bison-men, Chael grabbed the nearest of The People and tossed them into the night, repeating the process as he went. When a warrior tried to sneak up behind Chael, the giant lashed out, smashing teeth and breaking bone.

Chael made his way to the Outrider and smiled at me. “You’re late.”

“You disappeared,” I countered.

“I gave directions.”

“‘Southeast until you reach a river’,” I said, using air quotes, “are not directions!”

Chael sighed, then snatched a hand out, grabbing a bison-man by his bullish throat and lifting him in the air. “Child of the Sky, you have been forsaken.” With a casual disinterest, Chael threw the creature back as if he weighed nothing.

“Hello little one,” Chael said, waving at TJ.

“Hey Chael, where’d you go?”

“Away.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid,” Chael said.

“And now?” I asked.

“I am not.”

A roar cried as our Akecheta broke away from Ehawee’s grasp and gored his sister in the stomach. The bison man pierced Macha in the gut, then shook his head, driving the horn in deeper, savaging his sibling.

“Stop!” Ehawee said.

“No!” Akecheta said in response, his frenzy and bloodlust rising. “I am the better child! I am the one to lead The People when you pass on!”

I fired my blasters at their highest stun setting into Akecheta. The enraged minotaur shrugged off the attack and returned to his downed sister, raising both of his fists above his head, ready to bring them down on the wounded Macha.

Chael crossed the distance. He grabbed Akecheta’s outstretched hands in one of his and lifted him in the air so his feet dangled. “Nice cow,” Chael said, then hammered a fist into Akecheta’s gut so hard I swore he hit spine.

With the wind knocked out of him, Chael dropped Akecheta, who reverted to a naked man. Chael brought up his foot and placed it on the back of the downed warrior’s neck, then looked at Ehawee.

“Scion of The Thundering Faith, choose which child lives and which child dies.”

“I cannot,” Ehawee said, looking at both her children.

“Spoken like a true mother,” Chael said with a soft benevolence. Then the giant kicked Akecheta hard in the gut, launching the nude man into the darkness. Turning, Chael stomped over to Macha and knelt beside her. Licking his finger, Chael then pressed his saliva-coated digit into Macha’s wounds. He repeated the process several times, and with each pass of his finger, her wounds closed more and more until there was only bare copper skin.

Chael once saved my life that way. He did so because I used manners. I could only guess at why he did it now.

“I thank you,” Ehawee said.

Chael nodded. “The People must be strong when the time comes to defeat Wakinyan’s greatest enemy, Unktehi The Great Devil, father of the Abominations. And when Unktehi is no more, The People must turn their attention to the Dark Poison in the land.”

“You know our ways?”

Chael smiled a mirthless grin. “I speak for The Dark Poison. They wish you to be at your best when they crush you and feast upon oblivion from your skulls.”

Ehawee looked to me. “This thing cannot be allowed to roam the earth. It is possessed.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, lighting a smoke.

Ehawee tapped her staff and pointed at Chael, just as she had with Legion.

Nothing happened. She tried again, tapping the staff, but no lightning came to her call.

Far behind us, the storm roiled and raged, thunder rolled and lightning flashed, but no aid came to Ehawee. Chael’s smile widened as he stepped very close to Ehawee.

“You are beyond her help. Past her sacred lands, she cannot reach, not yet. But, I can reach you.”

Chael reached out and grabbed Ehawee’s neck. The leader of The People clawed and raked with her talons, but Chael’s skin refused to break. Chael laughed with demented laughter.

“Now the sky child feels the courage of the host.”

“Chael, don’t! We have to go!”

Chael stopped, then looked at me with his milky-white eyes. “You are right. Goodbye, lady bird. Tell your mother I said hello.”

Chael dropped Ehawee and walked past the remaining bison warriors, who looked on in confusion. The giant climbed into the back of the Outrider, all the while whistling “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees.

Still standing in the Outrider, I looked at Ehawee, then Macha. “We are leaving. If you follow, I can’t make any promises what will happen next.”

“Mother,” Macha said as she helped her mother stand up. “I am sorry. What do we do?”

Ehawee rubbed at her daughter’s stomach. “Go, Salem. Go, take the boy and the giant, and never return. You have made an enemy of The People. Now and forever.”

“I didn’t want that,” I said. “I didn’t want any of you to come to harm.”

“I know.” Ehawee nodded. “But if you remain, then I must try and kill you. I must obey my mother. You have caused us to fail. Because of that, we cannot be allies. Enemies is the only way.”

I didn’t know what to say. I simply nodded at Ehawee, then at Macha. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Salem. May you find what you seek.”

“TJ, drive.”

“OK,” the boy said, turning the engine on.

Putting the Outrider in gear, TJ drove us past the remaining warriors of The People. They stared at us with hatred and spite. Many were hurt. A few, possibly, were dead. I meant what I said: I never wanted any of them to get hurt. But for the sake of my own people, I had to do what was best for them. Even at the cost of The People. 

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hooks

In Flotsam Prison

Surprisingly, Vali had to exert considerable effort to keep up with the demoness. With Tarnhelm in place, he was effectively invisible. Yet Yeela was a specter, moving from shadow to shadow across the prison. More than once Vali lost sight of her, only to spot her moments later, twenty to thirty yards away from where he had last seen her.

Impressive.

Vali spotted snipers along the wall’s walkways and battlements. Whatever Salem did to this place while he was there, it left the remaining forces on edge.

Following Yeela, Vali moved over the packed earth of the arena. Vali did not need light to see. He could feel the blood beneath him. The near-ocean of blood spilled in that place gave off its own resonance of suffering and power. Through his gift, Vali felt the deaths. Felt the loss. Felt the power. And he could sense the power growing stronger as they moved towards a wrought-iron gate at the far end of the field.

“Pretty boy, can you do something about the gate?”

“You can see me?” Vali asked

“No, but I can smell you. Same problem with cloakers, never hides the scent,” Yeela said. “Now open the gate.”

“Do not presume to give me orders, demon.”

Yeela smiled. “Fine. We can stand here with thumbs in our butts, waiting for some sentry to notice.”

“What happened in this place?” Vali asked.

“It is really distracting, talking to thin air.”

Vali pushed Tarnhelm to the back of his head, and as he did, his form blinked back into existence. “What happened in this place?” the god repeated. “The air, the ground, it cries out. Blood. Pain. Suffering.”

“Do you really want to know, god?”

“Yes.”

“Then open the door and I’ll show you.”

Vali nodded and moved towards the gate. If he cut the metal, the sound would draw attention. Instead he simply placed his hands on the bars, summoned a fraction of his stored power, and slowly pulled, bending the iron bars. When the gap was wide enough, he gestured for Yeela to follow.

Vali walked along a dimly lit corridor. In the distance, flames flickered along sconces and low burning fire pits. Once more, the scent of blood was present. This time it was mixed with sweat, piss, and shit.

And fear. Fear mixed with suffering. Agony. Isolation. Death.

Vali stopped and looked at the walls. He placed a hand against an impression along the wall and the stone opened. Sliding away, a wave of incredible stink hit Vali’s nose. Inside the cramped cell was a corpse. From the look of th body, it was human who’d been dead for days.

The corpse’s leg was broken below his knee and his fingertips and nails were ripped away. From the scratch marks on the wall, the poor bastard had tried, in vain, to claw his way out, only to meet unforgiving stone.

“You were placed in one of these?” Vali asked. “And Salem?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Days. Days and days,” Yeela whispered.

“This is the indoctrination you spoke of?”

“Part of it.”

“What was the rest?”

“Follow me,” she said.

As Yeela moved down the hallway, Vali saw that she barely looked up. Her hand gently touched the stone walls as she glided along on her reverse-jointed legs, placing one clawed foot in front of the other. The light grew brighter as the hallway led into a larger stone room.

Once she reached the mouth of the room, she stopped, refusing to enter. Vali walked past her into the room, seeing what caused her to stop rather than face the room.

Hooks. Hooks on chains, suspended from the ceiling.

Vali walked to the hooks, looking at them. Taking one in his hand, he turned it, examining the hook. The tubular hook was rusted over and encrusted with dried blood. Flecks of the original steel were barely visible through the gore.

Vali inspected the thick chains, pulling on them slightly. They were designed to suspend hundreds of pounds. Vali followed the chains’ direction, looking up towards to the ceiling and then to the cranks along the corners of the room beside the fire braziers. Vali noted the burnt scraps of cloth in the fire pits. Vali let the hook go, nodding to himself as he pieced the scene together.

Slowly, Vali stepped towards the demon and gently lifted her chin. Yeela at first resisted, but with Vali’s continued pressure, she raised her head. Vali looked at the round scar under her chin, then back to the hooks.

“They hung you,” Vali said, seeing the indoctrination process in his mind. Releasing her chin, he rubbed at the fabric of the rough-spun prisoner rags she wore. “They stripped away your clothing and burned it on the braziers. The smoke made you cough as you dangled there.”

“Yes,” Yeela said, her voice barely audible.

“From there, they broke your legs and threw you into the small cells built into the walls. Those that survived were forced to fight in the arena for sport.”

“Yes,” Yeela said. With Vali’s continued gaze, she pointed towards an archway and continued. “Through that passage is the courtyard of the warden and Gerhardt’s residence. We were dropped from a helicopter, at night, into a rancid pool of filthy water. We nearly drowned and were left in the water until we were frozen over. Then we were beaten by monsters and then brought here to hang. You know the rest.”

Vali wanted to look back once more at the hooks and chains. But he couldn’t. He wanted to think about the small cells, suffering in there with a broken leg for days in complete darkness, starving, staving off madness while waiting to fight, and possibly die, in an arena.

But he couldn’t.

He wanted to think about being scared shitless, dropped from a helicopter into a pool of rancid water, nearly drowning, alone, frozen, beaten and suffering.

But he couldn’t.

If he allowed himself to think about those things, then he would be forced to think of Salem suffering through it all. Suffering the horror of Flotsam for him. Suffering for Vidar. Suffering for the people of Midheim, all of whom he took in and created a new home for.

If Vali allowed himself to imagine Salem’s horror, then he would have to think about how much he hated Salem for taking his position of leadership away. He would be forced to see that he was petty and small compared to what Salem did for him and his people. He would be forced to see that the tithes owed on each of his people was one of the reasons Salem was brought here.

He would be forced to see this was his fault.

If Vali had to get through what he must, then he had to stay focused on the present. Later, when Salem was home, and the crisis was over, then he would think on those things and offer his most sincerest apologies to the man who suffered unspeakable pain for him and his people.

Vali looked back at Yeela. “You mentioned your mother and your sister? Did they go through this with you?”

“Why the fuck do you care?”

Vali lifted her chin once more and looked into her yellow, serpent-like eyes. Demon or not, torture like this was not deserved by the undeserving. She was a killer, he knew that much. But she was not evil. Simply a being born into a world that did not want her.

“I am . . . sorry. Sorry for your loss.”

“Fuck your pity,” Yeela said, and jerked her head free from Vali’s hand.

Vali snatched her chin once more, this time tighter, holding her firm as she tried to wiggle free. His guilt over Salem waned, removing the image of a demon girl who suffered as Salem suffered. He saw a demon. The very creatures who turned this world into the festering shit-heap that it was.

“Do not mistake sympathy for love or even concern. I despise your kind. I’ve seen too many good people destroyed by your . . . breed,” Vali said with a slight sneer.

Before anything more hateful came from his mouth, Vali forced himself to stop. Past her yellow eyes, he saw something in her. He saw she was scared. She was suffering. She was young. And she was genuinely concerned about the fate of her sister.

Vali took a breath before he continued.

“But I would not wish this suffering on those who do not deserve it. And it is clear you did not deserve it. Nor did Salem. I am sorry you were made to suffer. I am sorry you lost your mother and sister. I too have lost family. So, I will set aside my disdain for Hell. We are going to hurt them. Together.”

“Do you promise?”

Vali released his grip on the demon. “I do.”

Yeela nodded, saying nothing more. Vali simply watched her for a moment before looking back at the chains.

Then, something caught his eye as the light of the fire flickered. Something shiny in the dark recesses of the room. Vali cocked his head and walked over to the glint of light. He looked at a stone table with a cloth over it. Moving aside the ragged cloth, he clearly saw what had caught his eye.

Vali’s heart sank while his stomach tightened. He fought the urge to vomit.

Beneath the cloth were more hooks. Shiny, new hooks. But they were smaller. Much smaller. Made not to support the weight of a large man or a demon, but rather to support the weight of a child.

Vali didn’t need to count them, though he did anyway. Exactly forty-four hooks. Forty-four brand new, miniature shiny steel hooks to perform the same heinous indoctrination on the children.

His children.

Vali’s hands began to tremble with rage, bending the hook he held as if it were nothing. The metal squealed as the god ripped the hook apart. Vali got to his feet and turned towards the passage Yeela pointed out, the one leading to the home of the warden and his top personnel.

“Where are you going?” Yeela hissed.

“Out there.”

“What? Are you nuts? I don’t know if you were paying attention, but that is the warden’s residence through there. Shit, I can hear people out there right now.”

“Good. I’m going to murder them all.”

“What about sneaking around and killing the guards? Ugh!” she asked as she pulled on his arm, trying to hold him back. “Nng, you know . . . carve that number in their heads? Hit and run? Creepy shit like that?”

“That time is over,” Vali said as he walked, dragging the demoness along as if she weighed nothing, her clawed feet screeching along the stone floor.

As Vali continued forward, he lowered his mental shields. That mental barrier he spent years building up. The shields that dimmed his sight and allowed him to function in society.

No more.

Now he wished only to see the potential deaths of his enemies. With the walls crashing down, the sight flared to life in full. Vali sensed the beings through the passage and in the courtyard. Guards, some demons, and some kind of other powerful beings.

Good.

“I could kill every guard and prisoner here,” the assassin god said, “and it would not matter. Not as long as there were those who would conceive of doing all of that to a child. Those beings cannot remain living.”

Yeela let go of his arm and sighed. “Aww, fuck it. Might as well die young and pretty. Let’s go be . . . ugh . . . heroes.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

It Was Never About You

Now, in the Waste

“Salem, I need to stop, I can’t keep my eyes open,” TJ said as we crossed into the remnants of North Platte, Nebraska.

I looked the kid over. The bags under his eyes were almost as bad as my own. We’d been driving south on highway 83 for a couple of hours, and exhaustion was beating the kid over the head.

We were doing our best to follow Chael’s vague directions along the old US highway system. But the old world was in crumbling ruins. With no one maintaining the highway system, a straight shot was almost impossible. There were many times when we had to go off road to avoid debris or old cars. Hell, at one point we needed to hide for a while in the dark to avoid a small herd of Abominations.

I knew it was gone, but I swear I still smelled the phantom scent of dino dick on my face.

“Hang on a little longer, kid,” I said, directing him to go off-road once more, skirting around the town. Places like that, old decent-sized settlements, were always a crapshoot. Sometimes they were empty; sometimes they were full of demonic city castoffs or human wasteland marauders.

“It’s getting hard,” TJ groaned, slapping at his face.

“That is what she said,” Chael mumbled.

Once we cleared the perimeter of North Platte, I checked our insane compass. “Chael, buddy, which way?”

“All paths lead to the dark madness of the end, formless void screaming against the pain of existence.”

“Hell, go that way,” I sighed, pointing at an old sign that read I-80. “We’re supposed to go south and east.”

TJ grumbled a bit, but the kid held in there. We took an interchange onto I-80 slow and steady. The ramp was crumbling and down to the rebar in certain spots. But with a little luck on our side, we were quickly zooming east.

The open world, the old world, was similar to the way the apocalypse movies and games portrayed it. Complete with overgrown fields, creeping grass, and vines along old construction as nature fought to take the land back. And of course, there were cars and junk lying about on the old highways. Not as many as you’d think, though. Almost anything usable had been stripped down and hauled away.

After a few more miles of travel, we rolled up on an old brick building amid a copse of trees. Patches of old-world pavement poked through the vegetation. 

“Pull in here,” I told TJ. “Kill the lights, turn off the power.”

“Why?”

“I need to listen.”

“I’m too tired to argue,” TJ said, turning off the headlights and powering down the Outrider’s fusion engine.

Once it was quiet, I let my senses open up. I closed my eyes and listened, willing The Collective to start removing the layers of protection. I heard TJ breathing and his heightened heartbeat. Chael’s massive heart pumped slow and steady. I could hear small insects and animals nearby, but nothing hostile was popping up on my personal radar.

Mentally nodding to myself, I willed The Collective to begin reapplying my mental shields. “I think we’re clear,” I said. “But go ahead and pull the vehicle around back of the building just in case someone comes by.”

“What is this place?” TJ asked.

“A good place to bunk down for a few hours,” I said with a smile.

During the war, we moved across lands like this. We used whatever we could to fight, repair our gear, or make IEDs. We took refuge in any semi-standing structure that could offer even a few hours of protection.

Since the old interstate system was the fastest way to drive back in the old world, every fifty miles or so there were rest stops just like this one. Those things were built of brick and offered a decent amount of protection from the elements and from the things that went bump in the night.

After parking, I slowly got out of the vehicle, embracing the cold air, and stretched my legs. They were still terribly painful, but functional. I took a few unsteady steps, limping around the vehicle. I ran a scan with my bracers. And, sure enough, I found a micro-burst transmitter under the vehicles chassis. It was fortunate for us that the transponder wasn’t GPS enabled. It only gave direction and distance.

Removing it, I dropped it to the ground and brought my size twelve boot down, crunching the device. I only hoped that no more Legions were en route. Once that bit of housekeeping was done I moved towards the back of the Outrider. Popping the trunk, I found the last of Grimm’s emergency ration supply bags. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Then I noticed something else, another large package wrapped in leather.

Picking it up, I got a whiff of something a bit gamy. I opened the leather and found several slabs of meat, a couple flasks, a coat made from abomination hide and a note. Switching my eyes into night vision mode, I read the letter. It was simple and to the point.

Salem,

If you’re reading this, then you escaped, and I am glad. Enjoy the meat, water and alcohol. Give the boy a warm coat.

It was never about you.

Ehawee

I reread the letter. While I was thankful for the food, I had to wonder: What did she mean, it wasn’t about me?

“Salem!” TJ called out.

“What?”

“Come look at this.”

Stuffing the note into my coat pocket, I stashed the extra jacket under my arm, drew my guns, and moved fast. “TJ, TJ, what is it, where are you? Are you OK?”

“Dude, I’m fine, I’m over here. Look at this.”

I moved through the old rest area’s welcome center. It was dark and stale. A strong, musty earth smell permeated the entire area. The ground was a mix of broken tile and wild vegetation. I found TJ standing in front of a brick wall with a flashlight looking at a broken aluminum frame.

“Here, put this on,” I said handing him the knee-length coat. “What are you looking at?” I asked, switching my eyes back to their normal vision.

“Thanks, where’d you get this?” TJ asked, putting on the coat.

“Gift from Ehawee. Probably an apology for almost having you sacrificed.”

“She owes me more than a coat.”

“The thing was packed in the trunk ahead of time. Something tells me she never planned for any real harm to come to you,” I told TJ, letting the kid digest that information. “What are you looking at?”

“This is . . . Nebraska?” TJ asked, running his finger across a very old travel map. “And this is Kansas?”

“Yeah,” I said softly, leaning in and looking the map over. Memories, painful ones, of what the old world was and how it was gone flashed through my mind.

The old map was faded and torn. It depicted Nebraska, South Dakota, and Kansas. Pieces were torn away, and there were all types of notes and messages in different languages written on it. And not all of it was human.

Thanks to the handy “You Are Here” starred location, we could see we were outside Brady, Nebraska. But the problem with the Midwest was that the states were so damn big. I had no idea what or where we were looking for.

“What kind of name is Gothenberg?” TJ asked, running his finger along our route.

“I dunno. How about Kearney?” I asked, laughing a little.

“Not bad,” TJ smiled. “What about this one. Concordia. Con-CORD-dia,” TJ said, affecting a voice of “fancy speak.” “If you ever change your name again, this is the one you should choose.”

I shot the kid a smiling stink-eye. “Not my style. Besides, I already have a very specific naming convention. Wait, who told you I had different names?”

“Grimm,” TJ said, continuing to look at the map. “He said you’ve been around a long time and because of it, you’ve had to change your name.”

“Well, he isn’t wrong,” I said, lighting a smoke. “But I think he needs to not tell the world my secrets.”

“I hardly count as the world. Where do you think he is?” TJ asked. “You’d think he’d be with you if he could.”

I’d thought the same thing many times. Especially when I was in prison. I tried not to dwell on it. When I busted TJ out of prison, he told me Grimm went on some kind of . . . mission, shortly after I was incarcerated. I get that he had a life outside of me. But I honestly thought he’d show up and break me out. And now that I was out in the middle of Nebraska, I could sure use his guidance.

And his friendship.

“What the holy shit?!” TJ said as he almost dropped the flashlight.

“What?!” I said, my head turning to look for danger as my hand went to the guns on my hip.

“No freaking way.”

“What?!”

“What’s the name of the place you’re supposed to find?”

“The Temple of Solomon. Why? Don’t tell me you found it on a map of Nebraska?”

“No, not exactly, but close. What directions did Chael give us back in the cave right before he disappeared?”

“We were supposed to go southeast until we found the river which ‘bore the name’. I never heard of a ‘Chael River’ before.”

“How about the Solomon River?” TJ asked.

“What?”

“Look,” TJ said, pointing to the map.

Sure as shit, there it was, the Solomon River. I traced the winding river across Kansas right to . . . freaking Solomon, Kansas.

“No freaking way,” I said, echoing TJ’s sentiment. “Chael!” I called out.

“What?” a deep rumbling voice came from outside the rest stop.

“Come here,” I said, then added, “please.”

A few moments later I heard the echoing stomps of the shirtless giant as he walked to TJ and me. With only a flashlight illuminating his chalky white skin and pure black hair, he looked like a massive masculine version of those creepy-as-hell backwards-walking Korean ghost girls.

“Is this where we’re supposed to go?” I asked, pointing to the town of Solomon.

Chael bent down from his ten-foot height and examined the map. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” I asked as Chael stood back up to his full height and began walking away.

“I just remembered,” the giant muttered as he walked into the rest stop’s open foyer. Looking around, the big man plopped down. “I’m hungry.”

“Then you’re in luck. We have a ration pack and some Abomination steaks. Come on, TJ.” I beckoned for the kid to follow. “Let’s go get some kindling and some rocks for a cook fire.”

TJ nodded and brought his flashlight. Within a few minutes we’d gathered enough wood and stone to cobble together a modest campfire. A quick shot from my blaster and the wood caught fire. I stoked the flames to a decent heat. With the heater from The Outrider, we had that place cozy in no time.

With the doors and windows of the place long gone, I wasn’t too worried about smoke inhalation. I knew it was safer to have a fire outdoors, but I didn’t want the firelight to give away our position to anyone, or anything, out there.

Within an hour, we had comfort and food. With full bellies, harrowing adventures, and miles of road behind us, the three of us lay in our makeshift bedrolls with a thousand yard stare brought on by simple contentment.

Being in that crumbling brick building, with only a dying fire’s flickering light to see by, gave me the peaceful illusion of three friends out on a camping trip. We all felt grateful, if only for the moment, to have our lives as uncomplicated as possible. It would all change soon and the dangers would come again, but damn it, it was nice to just . . . be.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hope

From flat on my back, I sipped at one of the flasks Ehawee had provided between taking puffs from a cigarette. It wasn’t much, but there are times in a person’s life when they’re down when something as simple as a smoke and a drink can make one the master of their own universe once again. I listened to TJ ask Chael a nonstop barrage of questions. For a boy who claimed to be exhausted, he seemed to have found another reserve of energy.

“So where did you go?” TJ asked.

“Away,” Chael responded as he looked at his hands the same way a baby did when it realized it had hands.

“You left us, man. We were in danger.”

“You lived. I waited for you; you did not show up. You are too slow.”

“But why did you go?”

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Her.”

“What, the Thunderbird? Wakinyan?”

“Is that her name here? In other lands and in other minds her name was different. Perhaps her echo here was what made me fear the name upon my own lips.”

“Yeah, totally,” TJ agreed while looking at me for support.

I smirked. “You’re on your own kid. I had my Q and A with him in prison. I dare you to ask about a bunny.”

“I’m still unhappy about that,” Chael said, slowly flapping his arms. “How does she fly?”

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” TJ asked.

“Many.”

“What about your parents? Are they as big as you?”

“Bigger. And smaller. Vast and endless. But their parenting was . . . old school.”

“Are they alive?”

“Possible. I have not talked to them in a long time. Or perhaps, they stopped listening to me as I no longer am capable of speaking their language. I am tired,” Chael announced, and then fell flat on his back, unresponsive.

“What about you, Salem?” TJ asked, turning his attention to me.

“What about me?”

“Is it true your parents are like, dead, but alive?”

“Is this another thing Grimm told you?”

“No, not Grimm. People just . . . talk, I guess. Something I heard. They say you talk to them—your parents, that is—and that they’re in your head, and that they are also ghosts in your underground house. Is that true?”

I smiled. No reason to have secrets with TJ. Hell, the kid and I had been through almost as much as Grimm and I had.

“Yeah, it’s true . . . mostly. My parents are technically dead. Their bodies are kept kind of alive deep underground in my lair. Their minds are mapped by supercomputers, creating AI versions of them. Hologram projectors allow them to interact in the lair. And sometimes their AI signal can ride shotgun in my own internal processors.”

“So, you can talk to them, all the time?”

“No, not all the time. Like now. If I tried to connect to home, then Maz and the demons would know. Part of my atonement is I have to fly solo on this mission. If I reach back, then I jeopardize everyone.”

TJ nodded. “Dude, thanks. Thanks for doing all this. I wish my dad was like you.”

“Hey,” I said, pointing at TJ. “Don’t. Your dad loves you.”

“I know, I know. I just wish he was . . . cool.”

I conjured a mental image of Taylor. The tall, lanky hick mechanic was almost a bad typecast from books and movies. Always greasy. Always in his overalls. But Taylor had heart. And I never knew a time he wasn’t there to help. And damn it, that counted for something.

But, yeah, he was a bit of a dork.

“Dork or not, he’s cool in my book,” I said. “Did you know he was with the warriors of Midheim when they assaulted the Tower of Abraxas to help me?”

“No,” TJ said with a curious look. “Really?”

“Yeah. Your dad was the door gunner on a Cyberai helicopter. The crazy SOB laid down a ton of fire that kept the warriors safe. He’s a good man who’s saved my life.”

TJ nodded for a moment. “Cool.”

“Yeah, cool.”

“Was your dad cool?”

I frowned and lit a cigarette. “I guess. We . . . we had our issues.”

“Don’t you talk to him all the time now?”

“Yes . . . no. Not really. He’s there if I need him, but he and mom . . . well, it’s complicated,” I said as memories of the past came flooding back. I pushed the feelings back down as much as possible while sipping from the flask of booze.

“Hey, Salem?”

Yeesh, didn’t this kid ever get tired? “Hey, TJ, come on man, it’s late. We need some sleep. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

“Last question, I promise.”

“OK, shoot.”

“What was the old world like?” the boy asked. “I mean, I’ve seen old movies and stuff. But, what was it like? A world without demons?”

I lay back down and threw an arm over my face. “It was nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It was . . . what’s the right word . . . plain? Yeah, plain. Most people didn’t believe in demons or gods. People went to work, raised families and all that bullshit.”

“At least there weren’t any demons to fight.”

I shook my head. “No, there weren’t. But there was always something to fight.”

“Like what?”

“One another mostly,” I said absently. The question had merit, and the truth was, we did mostly fight one another.

“People . . . people just suck. Sometimes I think we’re just built wrong. In the old world we fought about everything: race, gender, religion, class, you name it. If someone was aware of another’s difference, there was some kind of fight over it. People are inherently drawn to fighting. We band together with a bunch of like-minded assholes and then lash out and kill anyone who thinks differently. And when all the enemies are gone, we find a new reason to fight. I tell you what, in many ways, G-Day was just what mankind needed. A big fucking reminder that we’re no better than demons if all we do is slaughter one another.”

I took another sip and another puff. Then I realized it was very quiet. Sitting up, I saw TJ sitting across the fire pit from me.

Tears streamed down the boy’s face.

“TJ?”

“What’s the point then?” TJ croaked through his tears. “Why even bother?”

“Yes, what is the point then?” Chael asked as he looked at us both.

“Oh, oh shit. Kid, it’s OK,” I said, putting my flask down. I moved over to TJ and put an arm around him. “Shh, it’s OK. I was just rambling. Damn bison-made moonshine, eh?”

“You weren’t kidding,” TJ sobbed. “If the old world was shit, and the new world is shit, then what’s the point? If we save the town, what next? The next threat will come along then the next and the next. Demons will always enslave us. And what if one day we beat them? Does it matter if we’re just going to be like them? Killing each other all over again?”

Jesus, the kid was too young and too good to suffer these thoughts.

“Yes, you are correct,” Chael said. “Everything comes to a creeping end. Muscles of independence and thought atrophy under the yoke of oppression, and the lash of apathy. All life will plummet from the cliffs of despair, finally bringing the end of all with the roaring end which welcomes the blissful silence.”

“See!” TJ said, putting his hand over his face, his body shuddering with deep sobs.

“What? What Chael said? Fuck Chael. No offense, big guy.”

Chael growled as he began to rise, angered.

“Come on, man. You’re possessed by the Deep Ones. Everything third thing you say is complete nutters.”

“That . . . is true.” Chael nodded in agreement and sat back down.

TJ didn’t react. And my skills with child-rearing were rusty. So, I had to just be me. Pulling another of the flasks from my coat pocket, I unscrewed the top and put it in the kid’s hands. “Drink this.”

“I don’t—”

“Drink,” I insisted. TJ obeyed and his face made a twisted look as he swallowed.

“Why do you drink this?”

“Because I’m an idiot. And you need to realize that by now. Look, I know I said some messed-up things about humanity, but you have to realize there is more to us than my stupid ramblings.”

“Like what?”

I took the flask and took a sip, then passed it back. “Yeah, people can be crap, that’s true. But, mankind also created art and poetry. They conquered diseases and built bridges. Whenever someone said something was impossible, a human with steel in their spine and the right amount of grit would say ‘Oh yeah? Watch me.’ We went to the moon and put probes on other planets. We have a spirit that cannot be broken. Yeah, we’ve been kicked in the nuts with this whole Reign of Hell thing, but I tell ya TJ, there is something else. Something that sets us apart.”

“What?”

“Tacos?” Chael offered.

“What? No,” I said, staring at the big man until he looked sheepishly away. “No, not tacos. We have hope.”

“Hope?” TJ scoffed. “What good is that? I’m just a kid and even I know hope just gets you dead.”

“TJ, look at me,” I said. The boy didn’t move, so I raised my voice “Look at me.”

TJ obeyed, looking into my eyes. “I’m old, TJ. I know you know that. But I want . . . I need you to know this: Hope is the most powerful thing on this planet.”

TJ opened his mouth to speak, but I shook my head. “No. Not yet. You see, when I was in prison, it was hope that kept me going another day. I told myself I had to let go of hope in order to survive. But not a day went by that I didn’t hope someone would come and save me.”

“But no one came.”

“Didn’t matter,” I said with a shake of my head. “It didn’t matter one fucking bit. What mattered was that I kept going. That I didn’t quit. That I got up each day and kept moving. Some people will tell you that’s called guts, or courage. And I’m here to tell you that’s bullshit. It’s hope.”

I let the kid go for a second and lit a smoke as I rubbed at my eyes. “When I was in the first demon war, kid, I was scared out of my mind. And I mean all the time. I was freezing and starving for years. When we weren’t killing demons, we were hiding in places just like this one. And through all of it, it was hope that kept me more alive than any weapon. During the second war, amid all the horrible, shady shit I did, it was hope that kept me focused on one day being human again. And when I lost my hope, I lost my way. It was Grimm, Vidar, Vali and people like your dad who made me see hope for what it really is.”

“What is it?” TJ asked as he sniffed back more tears.

“Goddamnit, TJ!” I said, my voice rising on its own. “Hope is the only fucking thing that effects change. You see something horrible, and you hope. You hope for a better world so much that you eventually fucking do something about it. I HOPE there is a better day for not just you or Löngutangar, but for all of humanity. I have to hope. It’s . . . it’s all I have left, kid.”

“What if there is no hope?”

Sighing, I stood up and took another drag off my smoke. I pulled out one of my guns and tossed it into TJ’s lap. The kid looked at it as if I’d just tossed a live cobra on him.

“If there’s no hope, then put that in your mouth. I know I’ve thought of doing it thousands of times. But I’m still fucking standing.”

I turned and walked outside into the cold night air. I pulled out my pack of smokes and looked at them. I knew that I’d run out, and that I should ration my bad habit.

Screw it, I thought, and lit one anyway.

“You were cruel,” Chael said as he approached me. He paused to loom directly behind me like he did when we were in prison. “I approve.”

“He needed to hear it. He has to know that even in a world of shit, even the slightest glimmer of something good is enough to cling to. A distant star to aim towards and sail, no matter how bad the storm is.”

“You’re affirming yourself, not justifying your words.”

“And you’re drooling on my head again,” I said, moving away from the giant. “Where did you go?”

“Away. The presence of The Storm felt like a test of faith, of which I have none. All I can see before me is the destruction of creation and the simple quiet of non-existence.”

“Why do you want me to take The Tears?”

“It brings change. Change is required. A return to the old or the evolution to the new. You are a bringer of change.”

“Thanks?”

“And you’re ugly.”

I sighed, then took another drag off the smoke. Dawn was a couple of hours away, and I needed some sleep. I finished the smoke and flicked the butt into the darkness, then turned to head back inside.

“You’re littering.”

“I bring change, remember?”

“Salem?”

“Yeah, Chael?”

“I’m leaving.”

I paused and looked back at the big man. “Where are you going?”

“I go to prepare the way. I cannot see that which lies beyond. But I do know that regardless of the outcome, I will cease to be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The closer we get, the more that comes back, here,” Chael said, tapping his head. “But I feel more of me being lost at the same time. Pay no mind, for I have none to give. Continue to the place on the map. Trust no one. Find the Temple. Find The Tears. Take them and bring the change the world needs or fears.”

“What will happen when I take them?”

The big man stepped towards me and wrapped his massive arms around me in a hug, whispering, “Everything begins.”

I tried hugging him back, but my arms didn’t make it around his torso. His skin was hot and cold at the same time. The war that raged in his broken mind seemed to affect his body as well.

Releasing me, Chael walked backwards into the shadows and dissolved into nothingness. The last thing I saw was the white of his smile and his opaque, white eyes flash blue.

I watched the shadows for a few moments, unsure of what had just happened or how to process it. I took a sip from the flask and stuffed it back in my pocket.

Inside, the campfire was a dull glow. TJ was under his blanket, pretending to be asleep. I could hear his heartbeat and breathing. But I let him have his space, and said nothing. I collapsed into my bedroll. Throwing an arm over my eyes, I was asleep in seconds.

********

A long time ago

“Dad, I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!” Isaac screamed. “Dad, say something!”

Isaac’s father reached back and struck Isaac in the face as hard as his thin arms could. Isaac reeled back, bringing his arms up as he fell to the ground. Although a man, Isaac fell to the cabin floor and wept like a babe. Isaac’s father was never abusive. He was always a polite and generous father. Strict but fair. Encouraging both intellect and ingenuity.

That was why what the strike hurt Isaac to his soul.

“I’m sorry. . . I’m so sorry . . . I’m—”

Abraham McMillan knelt down next to his son Isaac and no longer tried to strike him. Instead, he held him, and the two of them lay there on the cabin floor.

“Dad, I—”

“Me too boy, me too.” Abraham McMillan sobbed and whispered as he held his weeping son. “But now we have work to do.”

It had been hours, and his father had not spoken. The tall wiry man gripped the wheel of the old Humvee until his knuckles were white.

"Dad, please, let me—"

"SHUT. UP. SON."

Isaac looked at his dad from the passenger seat, hoping for some sign that his father still loved him. Abraham McMillan only continued looking forward, wringing his hands on the steering wheel. Isaac just put his head down and stared at his hands.

Another hour went by in silence. Not even the radio. Just the hum of the engine. Isaac lit a smoke and rolled down the window. His Father glared at him and then took one from his pack and pulled a lighter from somewhere and lit his own. The two men continued to smoke in silence.

"Dad, where are we going?"

Abraham looked at his son, and his hard face softened slightly.

"My original lab."

"You mean, where you and Mom did . . . this to me?"

"Yes. I still have equipment there that might work. If we make it in time. So, please, just shut up and let me drive."

Isaac nodded. He looked over his shoulder in the back of the Humvee at the cargo they carried. The equipment seemed to be holding. They had to make it. They just had to. Isaac almost prayed to God for help. But that just wasn't the world anymore.

********

I woke up fast, rubbing at my face. That damn dream. Why?

Was it all the talk of family? Or was my subconscious trying to tell me that sleep was for the weak?

I felt a weight on my lap. Switching my eyes to night vision, I saw my gun, the one I’d given TJ as a lesson. I looked over at where TJ slept.

Kid was snoring with a big freaking smile on his face.

I too smiled at that, then passed back out. We had a lot of miles to go and god knew what waiting for us when we got there. But at least we trudged on with hope in both our hearts.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Too Much Blood

Day Nine of The Wild Hunt

Grimm silently watched from his hidden position as his copy was destroyed. He felt little sympathy for tricking his twin into thinking he was going a different direction. It was a required deceit.

Grimm had to see her.

The Wild Hunt departed the scene, leaving only a few stragglers behind to bring up the rear. The mage could see a few picking through his clothes and collecting bets.

Good. He was hungry.

Camouflaged thanks to the magic in his tattoos, Grimm slowly climbed like a spider down the tree towards his prey, his hunger beginning to overwhelm him. Below him, he saw the elves. He saw the goblins. But they ceased to be Fae.

They were food.

Delicious. Warm. Bloody. Food.

“How do I look?” one of the goblins in hunting leathers said, picking up Grimm’s hat with her comically oversized hands and placing it atop her bald, lumpy, misshapen head. 

“Stupid,” a tall male elf said, picking up the cassock and boots.

“Don’t be an asshole, Honeysuckle,” another elf, a blonde female, said. “You look good, Grta. Keep it.”

“Thank you, Thistlewind. I think I look good as well,” Grta said.

“You look . . . delicious.”

“What? Ahh!”

Father Grimm leaped the remaining distance, falling over ten feet directly into the wide-eyed Grta. Grimm slammed into the smaller goblin with such force and ferocity, his hat flew from her head.

Faster than the elves could track, Grimm rolled with the attack, picked up the stunned Grta, and clamped his teeth down into her neck, tearing away the flesh in one bite. Spitting out the chunk of goblin meat, Grimm once again bit into the now-flailing Grta, gulping down as much of her blood as he could while watching for the elves’ reaction.

“Grta!” Thistlewind yelled, leveling her spear while lifting her wooden shield. The elf charged Grimm, who remained on the forest ground, sucking down Grta’s life’s blood and watching the charging elf like a hungry animal.

“Yah!” Thistlewind cried, leaping into the air while thrusting her spear.

Grimm, waiting until the last second, rolled away while pushing the near-drained Grta into the oncoming spear. The leaf-bladed weapon pierced Gerta’s heart, her body dragging the weapon to the ground.

“No!” Thistlewind screamed as Grta lay on the ground, dead.

Honeysuckle shook off the shock of the scene, drew his twin curved short swords, and dashed in at the near-naked intruder.

Grimm crouched and waited as blood dripped from his mouth.

The male elf spun his weapons in an intricate manner, demonstrating his fighting skill. As the complex attack came, Grimm touched one of the tattoos on his shoulder and simply melted into the ground, leaving only a dark pool of shadow where he once was.

“What, what was that?!” Honeysuckle asked.

“I think—” Thistlewind paused, closing Grta’s eyes and pulling her weapon from her friend’s body. “I think that was Father Grimm.”

“Impossible. He can’t use magic here.”

“Fool,” Thistlewind scolded. “You saw his double. You heard Chimera. He’s found a way.”

“Did you see him?” Honeysuckle asked.

“He is a demon in man’s form.”

“No,” Honeysuckle chided his ally, holding his weapons at the ready. “He was covered in markings. Tattoos. He touched one and then it vanished just as he disappeared. He is using stored magic. Which means he can run out. We have to tell Chimera.”

“What about Grta?”

“What about her? She’s dead and there is nothing we can do about it.”

“He was . . . eating her. He really is the monster they say he is. The Nightmare of the Fae, as the old ones claim.”

“Then let us not be here when he comes back. We have to tell Chimera,” Honeysuckle said as he put away one of his swords and pulled on Thistlewind’s arm.

“That would be an excellent plan,” Grimm’s voice called out from the darkness. “But I am afraid it would be counterproductive to my plans.”

“Come out and face us!” Honeysuckle yelled, his voice cracking as he did.

“I plan to,” Grimm’s voice said from a different direction in the dark springtime forest. “For I am still hungry.”

“You cannot run from The Wild Hunt!” Thistlewind yelled into the night.

“I do not intend to run,” Grimm said from the shadows. “Instead, I will do what no other has ever done in the history of The Wild Hunt.”

“And what is that, monster?!”

“I will hunt them.”

Grimm sprang from the darkness with impossible speed. Hitting Thistlewind in her shield, the elf was launched into the nearest tree. Bark exploded from the impact and the elf fell to the ground, unconscious.

Turning sharply, Grimm snatched his hands outward, catching both of Honeysuckle’s wrists before the elf could strike him in the back. The elf tried to slip his grasp, but Grimm clamped down harder, preventing escape. With a twist, Grimm snapped both radial bones in the elf’s arms. Honeysuckle screamed in pain and dropped his blades from his now useless hands. 

Grimm bore down on the elf, forcing him to his knees. “And my hunt begins now. With the two of you.”

Honeysuckle lowered his head in defeat. “Do your worst, monster.”

With the influx of fresh blood, Grimm felt his mind return. He was once again in control of the monster within. Grimm knelt down and placed a gentle hand on the elf’s face.

“I intend to. But understand, I do not wish this. I did not choose to be here. Yet you hunted me. I was once the monster under the bed of the Fae, but I brokered a peace long ago. A peace I never broke, lest I was provoked or your kind disobeyed. It brings me no pleasure in what I am about to do. You will not suffer,” Grimm promised.

Grimm’s pulled the elf in close, his voice barely a whisper. “But I am still hungry.”

********

Chimera slapped the rocking elf in the mouth with the back of her gauntlet. “Snap out of it!”

Either Thistlewind ignored the strike, or it simply did not register to her. The elf continued rocking, staring into nothing, her arms wrapped around her knees as she sat upon the blood-soaked ground. A slight tremor manifested as a head tic, a subtle chin spasm every few seconds.

“He . . . he butchered them,” Thistlewind said, not looking at the Hunt Master. “He drank Grta’s blood . . . broke Honeysuckle’s wrists.”

“And then?” Chimera asked.

“‘And then?’” Thistlewind said, slowly focusing. Looking about, she gestured weakly. “Then all this.”

Chimera looked around the entire site. What was left of the two Fae decorated the trees and bushes. Entrails and viscera hung in wet, dripping clumps. The Hunt Master brought her attention back to her shaken Fae.

“And yet, you live,” Chimera said rather than asked.

“He charged me and knocked me into the tree. I was knocked out and when I came to, he did this. H-he is the monster of legend.”

“No. He is just a man. A powerful one, yes, but a man nonetheless,” Chimera said. “Get up. Now.”

“MISTRESS,” the giant armored form called out. “HERE.”

Chimera left the shaken elf to rejoin The Hunt and crossed the ground towards her massive companion, who stood just past the site in a small clearing.

“What is it?”

“MESSAGE,” the giant said, pointing downward.

Chimera knelt down and touched two fingers to the ground, bringing them back and sniffing the blood on her fingers. She took a moment to read the words. The message left behind from Father Grimm to her.

“When shall we three meet again, in the thunder, lightning or in rain?”

“Bastard,” Chimera whispered.

“MACBETH,” the large being said.

“Yes, Act I, Scene I. He always knew it was my favorite play,” Chimera said with a slight smile to her face. “‘When the hurlyburly’s done, When the battle’s lost and won.’ He’s basically telling me to stop the hunt. Or else there will be more death.”

“CONTINUE?”

“Of course, old friend. He’s the reason we’re here. He left us. We move on Caern Frigia. Gather The Hunt, get them ready.”

“HER?” the giant asked, nodding towards Thistlewind.

Chimera looked at the she-elf, who finally stood from the bloody ground and took her place among the rest of The Hunt. “I believe he spared her to spread fear among us.”

“KILL?”

“No, not yet. But keep an eye on her. Something about this scene doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not sure what, but something isn’t right.”

The titanic armored creature swept its bright blue eyes across the ground, then turned back to Chimera. “BLOOD.”

“What about it?”

The giant pointed at the bodies. “TWO.” And then he pointed towards the entrails, the organs, and lastly, at the ground.

“You’re saying there is too much blood?”

“YES.”

Chimera considered what her ally said. If Thistlewind was to be believed, then Grimm drank some of Grta’s blood, and then eviscerated her with Honeysuckle. Then . . . why was there so much blood on the ground? A body, even a lithe elf, only had so much blood.

But the ground was soaked with it. A couple of bodies’ worth. Forcing herself to really look at the remains of her Fae, Chimera realized there was too much of . . . them. Too many pieces of her hunt to add up to only one elf and one goblin. There had to be at least one more.

At least another elf’s worth of body and blood.

Chimera snapped her head towards the Hunt. “That’s not Thistlewind.”

An explosion of fire erupted in the center of the Wild Hunt. Chimera threw her arm up, protecting her eyes, as the night sky was lit up by a fiery blossom of destruction. She saw Fae creatures thrown into the forest from sheer force of the explosion, while others screamed as they were burned alive.

A second explosion sounded as Chimera’s chariot exploded outward, sending pieces flying like shrapnel, killing more of the hunt. 

“Follow if you dare!” Grimm’s voice boomed an echoed through the night. His warning was accompanied by laughter.

“ORDERS?”

“We follow,” Chimera sneered.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A Big Ass Farm

Now, in the Waste

Over the next day, TJ and I cruised across Nebraska and into Kansas. We took turns driving and sleeping. We also avoided the previous night’s campfire discussion. Based on his smile and his insistence of dominating the music from Grimm’s digital library, I believed he understood what I was trying to tell him.

It wasn’t the most ideal road trip. Especially considering that we had next to no food, I was low on smokes, and we were traveling through the wasteland of America. But you know what? That didn’t matter. The landscape, while scarred from neglect, was still beautiful.

We watched the sun set over the land in a beautiful tapestry of red and gold. Night fell in hues of purple, blue, and black. The moon hung high and full, with streaky clouds and pinpoint stars twinkling. Everything before us was a canvas of nature’s glory.

Now, if I could only convince my travel companion that he was incredibly wrong on a very important topic.

“I’m just saying, that while I respect your youthful opinion, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But all the historical documents say I’m right. All the legends, all the old movie and TV clips say I’m right,” TJ countered.

“Listen kid, I lived before G-Day. And while there are those who would agree with you, I’m telling you, it just isn’t true.”

“Come on,” TJ said as he drove. “Even Grimm agrees with me. Just look at this collection.”

I sighed. “For the last time, The Beatles were a very good band and some would call them influential. But it’s one of those things where people said they were the greatest band of all time. But no one really meant it.”

“Oh bullshit,” TJ said with a smirk and a shake of his head. “Just listen to that,” he said as he turned up “Revolution”.

“Overrated,” I said crossing my arms. “That freaking band has got by on mass hysteria, hero worship, and John Lennon’s assassination. I knew tons of people who claimed The Beatles were the greatest, but I never once heard them actually listen to The Beatles. Hell, that opening guitar riff was ripped off from Chuck Berry’s “Johnny Be Good”.”

“OK, who’s better?”

“You’re missing the point, kid.”

“OK, what’s the point, old man.”

“Simple,” I said, flipping off that damn band and turning on The Dropkick Murphys’ cover of “Fields of Athenry”. “You hear that?”

“That noise? Yeah.”

“That is one of my favorite songs. I saw this band play tons of times live back in the old days. By their own admission, they sing like shit and aren’t the greatest musicians.”

“And you’re saying they’re better?”

“No, damn it. But the point it, how it makes me feel. You can argue all day about who, or what, the best is about anything. But if it doesn’t mean anything to you, then it’s pointless. Find what you like and what you enjoy and screw what’s best. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I understand you lost an argument to a thirteen-year-old.”

“That’s it!” I yelled, switching the music. “This is Manowar. And you now have to listen to all twenty-eight minutes of “Achilles, The Agony and Ecstasy in Eight Parts”.”

“What is this?!” TJ yelled over the music.

“One of the greatest power fantasy metal bands of all time!” I yelled back.

TJ slammed on the brakes and I slammed my forehead against the dashboard. The Collective activated the shield, but I still saw stars.

“Damn kid, I’ve just got myself put back together, are you trying to take me apart again? Fine, I get it, you don’t like the music,” I said, rubbing my face.

“Salem,” TJ said, turning the music off.

Looking up, I saw why TJ slammed on the brakes, and it looked like I was going to need every ounce of power I had left.

Ahead of us was a small crew of six military-grade jeeps, five flatbed transport trucks, two tanks, and a crapload of fully automatic weaponry pointed at us from the soldiers driving the vehicles. The newcomers were formed into a semi-circular roadblock. From this end of the weapon barrels, it looked like they meant business.

Great. More weapons pointed at me from people who took an immediate dislike to me. What was up with that?

I was relatively charming with a good sense of humor. I didn’t go out of my way to offend people. Mostly. So why the hell was it that nearly every time I met someone new, they threatened me with horrible violence?

“Will ‘please don’t shoot’ do any good?” I asked as I stood up in the Outrider with my arms up.

“Sit down,” TJ whispered. “You’re embarrassing us.”

“Who are you and what are you doing out here?” one of the men from the trucks asked.

The speaker had an air of authority, and was the leader, by my guess. He was about my height, with silver-gray hair and a matching goatee. He was in good shape for being in his mid- to late fifties. He wore a simple dark green t-shirt under his thick brown leather coat.

I very well couldn’t tell him the truth. That my giant friend had somehow used Ley Line magic and transported us here in search of an ancient artifact of God. Then, when we arrived, we were chased and captured by, and eventually escaped, shape-changing Native American descendants, their storm bird deity, and a band of assassins in a gunship.

“We’re lost?” I yelled back.

“Bullshit,” the gray-haired man said.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d buy that,” I mumbled to myself. “Any chance I can put my arms down?”

“I never told you to put them up in the first place,” the man said.

Hmm, he hadn’t, had he? Well, don’t I feel foolish. I hopped out of the Outrider and lit a smoke. “Got a name, soldier?”

“Let’s not go getting all informal just yet. How about I just keep being the guy on this side of the gun?”

“That’s a hell of a long name. Mind if I just call you Sparky?”

“Go ahead. See what life is like with a bullet in the lung.”

“Touché,” I said, puffing on my smoke as I assessed the soldiers and their gear.

Most of it was modeled after wartime tech. But the gear was new, not antique. Funny thing was, from the transports to the tanks and the weapons, it all looked like it had been improved upon. Adapted and improvised. And that didn’t happen often in the modern world. Well, outside of the big companies’ think tanks, like ARCTech. Wherever these guys were from, they lived lives that enriched the soul. Interesting.

“I heard a rumor there was a couple of idiots who managed to escape a tribe of The People while also avoiding getting killed by a couple of Vox assassins. You know anyone like that?” Sparky said.

While I was flattered, I also knew a trap.

“Nope.”

“Too bad,” he said. “Someone like that might be welcome in First Heaven. Since you’re not them, I reckon you have to be shot. Nice knowing you.”

First Heaven? Oh . . . crap. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that First Heaven was where we might be going. I’d heard of the largest free-farm in the wastelands. Who hadn’t? Rumors said it was somewhere in Kansas, but no one knew for sure. Some claimed it was the largest populated non-city settlement. Rumors claimed they had a strict “no-demon” policy and the firepower to back it up.

And if they were from First Heaven, then this guy must be . . . Lucian Riggs. Damn.

Everything I’d heard about the quasi-cult leader who ran First Heaven was intense. One part Johnny Appleseed, one part David Koresh. And if even half of those rumors about him were true, then lying to him would not go well for me or TJ.

Well, when lies won’t set you free, you only have one choice.

“Oh, I thought you meant did I know of anyone else who did all that. Yeah, that was us, totally. Mr. Riggs, is it?”

The man nodded at my question. “I thought so.”

“What are you doing?” TJ whispered.

“Telling the truth,” I said. “I know, it’s not my usual go-to move, but do you see all those guns? Hell, they have tanks. I’m good, kid, but not that good.”

“How’d you know all that?” TJ yelled out from The Outrider.

“Damn, kid. How about we not provoke the guys with the guns?”

Riggs and his assault team all got a good chuckle from TJ’s outburst. “Well, young man, I make it my business to know all types of things. My intel team picked up a communication about Vox assassins registering a flight plan out of New Golgotha. And my frontier scouts spotted a gunship up north near one of The People’s settlement. Wasn’t hard to put two and two together. So, what y’all do to get a couple of top killers to come after you all the way out here?”

I looked over at TJ, who held his hands up. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who wants to be all honest and crap.”

“I escaped Flotsam Prison,” I said.

“Bullshit,” Riggs said. “No one escapes that place.”

“I did.”

“He really did sir,” TJ added.

“And what were you in for, little man?”

“I wasn’t. The demon bishop had me and some other kids taken from our home to use as leverage against Salem.”

Riggs looked at TJ, then at me. The silver-haired man raised his hand and the men and women of his assault team raised their weapons, aiming them towards the sky. The man walked over to us with a casual grace. I could see in his eyes there was nothing that scared this man, and that made me extra cautious.

If a man couldn’t be scared, it usually meant there was nothing he loved or valued. And that kind of crazy oftentimes led to the suffering of others.

Riggs stopped a few paces away and looked me over. There was something familiar about him. Looking at him, I knew I’d never met the man before in my life. Any of them. But the way he looked at me made me think the feeling was mutual.

“Have we met before?” Riggs asked.

“No, I don’t think we have,” I said, eyeing him.

“No, I guess not. But there is something very familiar about you. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked.

“Not sure yet. But you look trouble.”

“I get that a lot. I’m only a quarter trouble on my father’s side,” I said with a smile. Behind me I heard TJ groan.

Riggs smiled back. “Why don’t you follow us back into the settlement? We can get you a nice meal and bed while we figure out what to do with you.”

“What do you mean?” TJ asked.

“If you really are escapees, then the demons will want that shit fixed soon. Which means they might come knocking on my door, and I can’t have that. I help take care of too many people to allow that to happen. So, like I said, we’ll have to figure out what to do.”

“I’m personally for letting us go.” I added, “If I get a vote, that is.”

“You don’t.” Riggs smirked. “But you’ll be treated fairly. If you’re from the city, then it may come as a shock to you, but people can be good to one another.”

“That really hasn’t been my experience so far,” I said.

“You gotta learn to trust a little.” Riggs smirked. “You’ll live longer.”

“Says the guy with a cohort of soldiers and tanks.”

“Says the smart mouth asshole who is over fifteen hundred miles from the prison he claims to have broken free from, but hasn’t explained why he’s fifteen hundred miles away.”

Ouch.

Riggs looked me over once again, trying to place where he knew me, but dismissed it with a shake of his head. “Regardless, it’s sound advice—take it or don’t. But here’s the situation, chief: I have a pair of wanted targets. That is either good for me or bad for me, and I have to figure out which it is. So, get in your vehicle and follow us, or I’ll order my troops to blow you away. Are we clear?”

I didn’t say anything.

Riggs leaned in and held his hand to his ear. “It’d be a damn shame if something happened to that kid because we got into a big dick contest. So let me ask you one last time: Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” I growled.

“Great,” Riggs said with a shit-eating smile as he patted me on the shoulder.

I got in The Outrider, scowling. TJ looked me over. “How bad are we?”

“I dunno. Just follow the convoy.”

In my years I thought I had seen everything there was to see. A few of them twice. But recent events had opened my eyes to the world that existed parallel to ours.

There was a time in humanity’s history when we thought we were alone. That religion was the opiate for the masses. Something only nut jobs and bible-thumpers believed in. Worldwide, mankind had believed in powerful things. Horrible things. Beautiful things. And in time, we cast them aside like a child who no longer felt the allure of a toy. We paid lip service to the monsters and gods of our history. Made jokes of them. Made bad movies and turned them into marketing icons.

And now, the world knew they were real. After G-Day, there was no denying it. And yet, I discovered still more. Layers upon layers were peeled back. Angels and gods. Demons who walked the earth. Monsters who I thought were just fairy tales were real.

Made me wonder what else was out there. Hell, maybe I didn’t want to know. But I did know that people could be just as monstrous. I didn’t get a villainous vibe from Riggs. My first assessment of him as dangerously fearless stood. But now I added sociopath. It was clear he had no emotional attachment to anything that wasn’t one of his people.

Hell, the more I thought about it, was I any different?

We drove on for the better part of an hour. The sun was up and morning was in full effect. My inner night owl cringed at the influx of vitamin D.

We crested a hill and crossed a river, and before us, in the rolling valley as far as the eye could see, was First Heaven in all its earthly glory. Fields upon fields, miles and miles in every direction. Silos and mills. Animals of all kinds. Greenhouses and power wells.

Damn. There was easily a population of over two hundred thousand here. All working the land. Or guarding it. It was like Midheim, only a hundred times the size and beauty. Riggs’ words of trust and humanity echoed in my ear. That was why places like First Heaven were built. A testament to humanity with rewards for a day’s work.

Damn . . . I felt a lump in my throat from the beauty of what mankind could be. This was the hope I told TJ about. This was the dream I had for humanity to achieve one day.

“What is this place?” TJ asked.

Rather than repeat my own inner monologue, I just whittled it down to the basics. “It’s a big-ass farm. Keep driving.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Just a Bed

First Heaven was beautiful.

It was simple and yet complex. A woven pattern of life and prosperity. The town—hell, call it what it was—the kingdom of First Heaven was laid out medieval-style. Or at least what I imagined a medieval kingdom would look like. There was a central keep at the heart of it all. A modernized castle made of white stone stood out at the top of the keep with flowing tan and green banners.

The castle had a slick cut and angled look that inspired beauty and fortitude. Instead of destroying nature, First Heaven had been built to incorporate it and expand as necessary. Evergreen trees and foliage were everywhere within the walled keep.

Around the castle and keep was a town made of the same white stone with modernized conveniences. It was like the mirror opposite of the supercities. As if someone had taken a power washer to the supercities and wiped away the grime and corruption. From my position overlooking the kingdom, my telescopic vision allowed me to see it all—the vast miles of farms, hydroponic grow houses, livestock pens and interconnecting roads between them all.

The morning sun was up fully now and I took a moment to stand there in the cold morning air and feel the warm light wash over me. I closed my eyes for a second and took a few deep breaths. It was cold, quiet tranquility. Man living in harmony with nature. Living off the land as our ancestors did thousands of years ago.

God, this sucked.

I lit a smoke, then wrapped myself tighter into my coat. Screw this nature crap. When I was a kid, my family went to Natural Chimney State Park in the former Virginia a lot. I would chase invisible dragons on my bicycle for hours. I would climb giant rock formations so huge that if I fell, I would die. I would be out in the woods from sunup to sundown, coming back to our site only to eat and sleep. When I was a kid, nature was awesome.

Then I grew up.

When horrors of a war with Hell were thrust upon us, I spent a lot of time outside, in the woods or the open plains of the US. Cold and miserable. Or boiling hot and miserable. All the while just trying to stay alive while our platoon moved from skirmish to skirmish, killing anything that had horns.

No sir, not for me anymore. My land was as close to nature as I wanted to come.

Nature was a great place to visit. But just call me a city kid now. I liked things like air conditioning and mindless TV. Bars and booze, women and adventure. Cheap drugs and expensive mistakes. In the city you could have anything you wanted as long as you could pay for it. Out here, you had only what you made, hunted, grew, or built. Like the Amish minus the rocking beards and long lady skirts.

But I had to admit, the place had at least one thing going for it. They had freedom from demonic tyranny.

Looking at the sun also reminded me I had only a couple of days left to find the Tears of God and get them back to Ars Goetia to save my people. Nothing quite like working under a deadline. In my youth I normally procrastinated on everything. Term papers, assignments, Blockbuster late fees. You name it. And even later in life I kind of always ran on my own schedule.

But the stakes were too high this time. Too many people were counting on me.

“Where are we going?” TJ asked, and the question brought me back into the present.

“I don’t know yet. Depends on what this Riggs wants to do with us.”

“What if it isn’t good?”

“Then we make a break for it. Chael’s out there, somewhere, preparing the way for us,” I said, using air quotes. “Or so he says. So keep your eyes sharp.”

TJ nodded, maintaining his pace in the caravan. We eventually crossed into First Heaven proper, and the caravan came to a stop. Riggs hopped out of his jeep and walked over to us. The older man placed a hand on The Outrider.

“OK, so here’s your options. You can follow my men in and get some food and rest in a nearby farmer’s lodge while they keep an eye on you. Or you can be thrown in a prison while I figure out what we’re going to do. Based off your story, I’m assuming a hot meal and a some rest beats another jail?”

“You would assume correctly,” I said.

“Good. Follow that jeep,” Riggs said, pointing to the lead vehicle. “Don’t stray. Show some manners and you might just get out of this intact. When I’m ready for you, I’ll send for you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Why are you being nice to us?” TJ asked.

I had to agree with the kid, even if he was more blunt than I was—if that was possible. “What he said,” I said with a shake of my head.

“Simple. If you are who you say you are, then you’re no friends of the demons. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend. If they’re willing to shell out the credits to hire Vox Contracts, then you might be a very good friend. Time will tell. Go on now, rest up.”

Again, I nodded my thanks. Riggs tapped the top of The Outrider twice, then headed back to his Jeep. Once we were alone, TJ turned to me.

“Do we have time? Aren’t we on a deadline?”

“Yeah, a tight one,” I nodded. “We only have a couple of days. But there is jack-all we can do about it right now. We can’t exactly say ‘Hey, if you’re harboring an artifact of God, can we steal it?’ So in the meantime, we stay the course. Don’t give them a reason to suspect us.”

TJ nodded. We followed the lead vehicle as instructed. The road was beset on both sides by giant farms and massive earth-moving vehicles spreading some kind of chemical. From the looks of it, it kept the snow off crops and the ground warm, enabling them to farm year-round.

They must have had some kind of incredible tech to keep from stripping the soil of all its nutrients. Must also be some kind of super fertilizer in that stuff they were spreading. Whatever it was, the food looked lush and fresh.

During the wars, mankind developed all types of new chemicals. When you are being attacked by demons, things like the Geneva Convention and ethical testing go right out the window. Point was, new warfare experimentation had interesting side effects. Chemical weapons could grow crops, hair, a third ear, whatever. New tech could replace limbs and organs. Slap a wireless transmitter on just about anything and you had a new product to sell to the masses.

I looked at TJ. While the boy was excited to be driving and seeing the world, he had gone through a lot in very little time. And I felt responsible. Not just for his safety, but for the childhood my presence was tainting. I didn’t know what it was like being a child in the new world. But somewhere deep down, I hopped they could still stay as innocent as possible for as long as they could.

And this poor boy had seen horrible things while he was with me. Hell, since being with me he had been kidnapped, covered in blood and vomit, witnessed multiple murders, and was nearly sacrificed, to name a few highlights.

I hoped he was insulated by youth, by the child’s invincibility complex that turned life and death situations into grand adventures. But there would come a point in life when these memories would come back and literally haunt him.

TJ caught me looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” I lied reflexively.

Truth was, my mind also wandered to Jensen. I played out what it was like for him growing up. If he was my son, what kind of man could I call myself if I wasn’t part of his life? That I wasn’t there, even in part, to help raise him and protect him from the monsters?

I felt something deep inside me well up, threatening to break free. I pushed it back down. It wasn’t easy. I lit a smoke and took a swig off the flask to help.

We arrived at a lodge for farmers who had stayed in town too long to make the trek back to their homes. The sign outside said “The Earned Respite.” And based off the smells I was picking up, it might very well live up to its name.

The guards who accompanied us took us inside and introduced us to Esther, a nice plump lady at the counter. Esther gave off a warmth and matronly glow. She exuded happiness with her entire being.

“New strays?” Esther smiled warmly at TJ and me.

“Riggs said to put them up until he was ready for them,” one of the guards said as he handed Esther a green chit. “This should cover them.”

“Wow, are you popular,” Esther smiled, taking the chit and placing it in a lockbox under the counter. “You are welcome here for as long you need. Now, would you like to see your rooms first, or would you like some breakfast? We have some food in the common room, and there is plenty of it. Help yourselves.”

I sniffed the air and my stomach churned in anticipation. “Esther, I think I’m in love with you,” I said.

“Oh honey, you wouldn’t be the first man to try and tame me,” she said. “And you, young man, are you hungry?”

“Ma’am, if it meant stabbing him to get some food, I’d ask you where the knives were,” TJ said, pointing his thumb at me.

“Thanks, kid.”

Esther dismissed the guards and led us to the common area. The large oval-shaped room was made of the same carved white stone. The tables, chairs, and furniture were a mix of white stone and golden oak, with hand-woven cushions.

Farmers who’d stayed the night were at various tables, talking with one another. People gave TJ and me a friendly nod or a welcoming smile.

“Here you go,” Esther said, seating us at a private table near the room’s central fireplace. She returned with a massive tray and set it on the table. Before us lay scrambled farm-fresh eggs and real bacon. Warm bread, still hot from the brick oven and slathered in honey butter. Cuts of grain-fed steak were laid out, swimming in their bloody juices. Carafes of fresh-squeezed orange juice, frosty cold milk, and real coffee.

Coffee. Honest-to-God, hot freaking coffee.

Foodgasm.

“Oh, Esther,” I said, looking at the bounty before me.

“I know, it’s a gift.” She smiled. “If y’all need anything else, just ask.”

Esther smiled as she left us to our meal. I was in culinary heaven. This had been the first real meal I had had since before prison. On the island, we scavenged for food and ate things I was pretty sure weren’t edible. But when you’re starving, you’ll eat anything.

But this—this was divine. After I finished my fifth helping, I began eyeing up TJ’s plate. The boy put an arm around his food and watched me like a dog guarding his bowl from packmates.

“Get your own,” TJ said, scowling.

“Come on kid, just a little bit,” I said, smiling as I sneaked another strip of bacon from his plate.

“Come on!” he lamented. “Why are you eating my food?”

“Because I have been in prison and I’m starving.”

“But I’m a growing boy and need my nutrition. You don’t wanna deprive me of that.”

“Fair enough, kid. Besides, I think I’ve reached my limit. Rest is yours,” I said, snaking one last piece of bacon.

I narrowly got my hand back before TJ stabbed at me with his fork.

“I wasn’t joking. I will stab you.”

After we had our fill, Esther showed us to our room and wished us a pleasant rest.

The room was made of the same seamless white stone and furnished in hand-crafted wooden furniture that glowed gold in the warm white light. A large bay window opened over the white city. I pulled back the homespun curtains and looked out.

TJ jumped into one of the two large beds in the room and flopped onto his back. “This is awesome!” he exclaimed.

“It’s just a bed, kid.”

“Yeah. But I don’t have one.”

What? “TJ, what do you mean you don’t have a bed?”

TJ sat up and crossed his legs. “I don’t have one. Not yet, anyway.”

“Since when?” I asked, sitting by the open window and lighting a smoke. “TJ, did you have a bed at Midheim?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of. It was more of a straw-filled bag on wood and rope frame. But that was what everyone had.”

“And in Löngutangar?” I asked.

“Well, no. No one does.”

“No one?”

“Well, you do, I guess. In your underground house.”

I was stunned. “Why doesn’t anyone have a bed? Why don’t you? Don’t any of the kids have beds?”

“Well . . . no. Nobody really does. Most people just have bedrolls, or hammocks. We had to leave most of our stuff back at Midheim. It really isn’t that bad. Things are getting better. We’ve built a lot of stuff already. We’ll get around to the beds.”

“Yeah. Yeah we will. Get some rest, TJ,” I said. TJ happily obliged me. The boy fell back in the soft bed and was out cold in seconds.

I finished my smoke, lit another and looked out the window a moment more. This place seemed nice and peaceful and perfect.

I bet the kids here all have beds, I thought, mentally kicking myself.

I bet they slept peacefully after a hard day’s work. I bet they didn’t live under a constant threat of utter destruction because their leader wasn’t such a constant cock-up that his self-centeredness ensured his people were a razor’s edge away from being killed on a regular basis.

How foolish of a leader was I that I didn’t realize how bad things were for his people? Why didn’t I ever even think to ask if there were children who slept on the cold ground, denied the most simple of basic needs like a bed?

I was an asshole.

Pushing aside my inept leadership for a moment, I focused on Grimm, wherever he was. My mind came back to the moment I found TJ in the back of The Outrider. Why did Grimm have bags of blood in his trunk?

I thought back to when he was shot by Legion in the junkyard with the hex bullet. He had disappeared, teleporting away with his magic. A few minutes later he’d come back in the Outrider and ran Legion over—fully healed, in the same vehicle we were in now. The ones with the bags of blood in the trunk.

My imagination ran away for a moment. Was he . . . drinking them? Was that how he healed?

No. Come on, Salem, get a grip. While I don’t think I ever encountered a . . . vampire, I was pretty sure they didn’t exist. Well, not like the stories and movies portrayed them. There were offshoots of human and demon mating which resulted in the rare incubi and succubai. They were sexual creatures who could evoke powerful desire and emotions in people, but not bloodsuckers. Ninety-nine percent of inter-species sex was non-reproductive, and I’d never heard of a union that created a blood-hungry monster.

Monster? Is that what I thought of my friend?

God . . . I was an asshole.

But the first step to healing was admitting there was a problem. I resolved, right then and there, to de-asshole myself.

Well, not all at once. I didn’t want to go through asshole withdrawal. But I was going to be a better leader. I was going to ensure my people had what they needed. They were not going to be wiped out. Not ever. I was going to be a better friend. Hell, I was just going to be a better person.

I flicked my smoke out the window and immediately winced. Shit. OK, I’ll stop being an asshole now.

I plopped into my bed and put my arms behind my head, interlacing my fingers, feeling more tired than I should. But warmth, peace, and a full belly tends to make one drowsy. We would find the Tears. And I would make good on my promises.

I listened to the sounds of a productive human city, the work and commerce. Normally the sounds would keep me up. But given the sheer exhaustion of the last couple of days, the hum of First Heaven was just white noise to me.

I fell into a blissful sleep in a soft bed.

Chapter Thirty

I Can Smell You

In Flotsam Prison

Following the fall of man, during the rise of Hell, Vali killed.

He killed men for the evil they enacted upon other men.

He killed gods when they preyed upon mankind as a food source rather than uniting them in defiance.

He killed demons on principle, for the suffering they brought to man.

Save for his first kill, Vali never took the act of killing lightly. Hod was simply the instinctual response of a deity but one day old. However, from that moment onward, Vali saw his kills as necessity. Responsible acts that must be committed for the greater good.

But that did not alleviate the never-ending guilt.

The only way to keep his sanity was to divorce himself emotionally from the blood. To lock off that portion of his mind that would derive pleasure from the act of killing.

But at that moment, in that prison, thinking of the children . . . his mind unlocked. He was going to kill all of them.

And laugh while he did it.

As Vali pulled Tarnhelm down, his form faded away. Invisibly, he marched in time with his heartbeat, strong and steady. Silently, Vali moved through the rectangular tunnel that opened to something akin to a caged funnel. At the entrance was an open gate resembling a monstrous form of demon’s mouth. From the entrance, Vali could see the inner garden of the warden’s home.

A marble path beset with petrified trees led from a two-story marble home to a large pool of green water, as Yeela described. This was where the indoctrination started. Fitting this was where it would end, in this one almost beautiful place, nestled among the ugly cruelty of the gods’ forsaken island.

The garden was walled partially by the complex itself and an inferium-razor-wire-laced duranium fence on the one open side, which faced inland. Along the solid wall portions, Vali saw lookouts and snipers watching over the garden as well as any prisoner who would wander too close to the fence.

Kneeling down by the tunnel entrance, Vali could see two figures illuminated by floodlights as they walked down the marble path towards the fetid pool. One of the figures he recognized as Archbishop Maz’ael, the demon who fought alongside him against Abraxas.

That was sad. He did not hate Maz’ael, for a demon. 

Maz towered over a shorter human man who wore a thick, black greatcoat with fur trim. While Maz blocked Vali’s complete view of the human, he could see the man seemed to be sick or injured. He limped along with a cane, and Vali could see that most of the man’s hair was burned away, replaced by ragged scar tissue. The two walked to the pool and stared into the dark green waters.

“How long do you think it will take to rebuild?” Maz asked.

“Not terribly long,” the human said. “Already the wall is near complete. Once the construction is complete, we will be ready to accept new prisoners.”

The human’s voice had a horrible scratching sound, as if he suffered from severe laryngitis, and there was a wet sucking sound to his words. The man still had his back to Vali, but he could see the man take out a handkerchief from his coat’s pocket and wipe at his mouth.

“That’s Gerhardt,” Yeela whispered.

“He is the one who orchestrated the indoctrination process?” Vali asked.

“Yes,” the demoness whispered back.

Vali nodded and slowly removed a wooden rod from a thigh holster. Vali activated the magical device, and the rod silently extended into a strung bow. As he drew the bowstring back, an arrow appeared on its own, manifested from the ether. Agneyastra was the fire-bow of Agni. He hated the day he struck the god down. But it was for the greater good.

If Vali chose, the arrows would burn those they hit with unquenchable fire. Was the anguish the arrows caused warranted?

“Yes,” Vali thought, remembering the forty-four hooks. He watched the two figures and listened, preparing for the coming slaughter.

“I am pleased you are on the mend,” Maz’ael said.

“No thanks to your friend,” Gerhardt rasped.

“I warned you not to underestimate him,” Maz said with a smile.

“Indeed,” replied the human. “But as much as I wish to see him return here so that I may vivisect him, I must in an odd way thank him. After all, he exposed many flaws and weaknesses in our security. But listen to me prattle on. How are you feeling after your altercation with him?”

“My body is not as injured as my ego,” Maz mused. “Nor as my standing with Archduchess Bathin.”

“What’s the plan?” Yeela whispered.

“When I finish with the guards, I’ll then move on to this Gerhardt,” Vali whispered back.

“What should I do?”

“Run,” Vali said.

“Run?” Yeela asked. “What about my sister?”

Vali lowered his bow, allowing the arrow to vanish back into the nothingness it came from. The god removed Harpe from its sheath on his back. The short sword materialized when it left Tarnhelm’s influence and was placed into the demoness’s hand.

“Take this. Run back the way we came. Look for your sister, but get back to the beach. Wait for Taylor. If I’m not there when he shows up, leave without me.”

“If I could see you, I’d kick your ass.”

“Good thing you can’t see me then.”

Vali drew the bow’s string back to his cheek. Once more, an arrow appeared ready to fire from the magical bow. With several quick strikes, Vali could shoot out the floodlights, casting the garden into darkness. Or he could take a shot now and end Gerhardt once and for all.

The decision was easy. Vali sighted the weapon on the shadowy figure’s head, but Maz’ael was in the way. 

“Archbishop Maz’ael,” Vali’s voice boomed through the night. “I offer you this one chance to live! Lay down on the ground, face first, and hold until long after the screaming has stopped. You fought with Midheim and Baron Salem against Abraxas. Because of this act, I offer you this one chance to live. If you do not, you will assuredly die with the rest of Flotsam. Choose.”

“No offense,” Maz said to Gerhardt as he got to the ground, “but fuck you all.”

“Coward,” Gerhardt sneered.

“Good luck,” Maz said as he placed his hands over the back of his head.

“Gerhardt!” Vali called out. “You die this night.”

“The world has been trying to kill me for a long time. You will not be the one to do so.” The man coughed. “Come out so I may at least see the face of my would-be killer.”

“No.” Vali said as he lined up his next shot and prepared to fire. “You are scum who would torture children. You deserve no such honor.”

“Is that how Vali Odinson of the Last Aesir conducts himself?” Gerhardt asked.

What? How did this person know who he was? As if reading his mind, Gerhardt began to laugh. His mirth gave way to a coughing fit.

“Do you honestly think I don’t have backup communications and surveillance within the very complex I helped to design? I’ve been watching your crusade for some time now. Did you like the hooks for the children? I want you to know, even if Salem succeeds, I will eventually get your children.”

Vali refused to engage this monster any longer. He sighted the bow and drew back.

Before he released, pain blossomed from his back.

Vali’s mouth filled with coppery-tasting blood. Crimson slowly dripped from his lips while giddy warmth spread across his body. Looking down, he could see that the tip of Harpe had poked through the metal of his emerald breastplate. His arms went numb and he absently fired his arrow, going wide and missing Gerhardt completely.

Even though the arrow missed him, Vali saw Gerhardt raise his arm and create an energy dome of translucent red energy, just like Grimm.

Damn it. A mage, Vali thought as the shock of the trauma forced his mind to focus on something else. Numbness spread through his body. Vali made himself look down at the weapon that transfixed his body.

Vali began to laugh softly. The venom of a Gorgon, which was infused in the adamantine weapon, pumped though his veins. The god fell to his knees before he fell over on his side. Tarnhelm jostled loose, dispelling his invisibility.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Yeela standing over him.

“I told you, pretty boy. I don’t have to see you. I can smell you.”

“Well done, my little spy,” Gerhardt smiled before looking down at the bishop, who remained on the ground. “Oh, do get up, Maz’ael. You will miss the part where I get to kill a god.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Liquid Poo-Goo

A long time ago

The lights came on in a flicker and hum as the old generators kicked in. Supplied by geo-thermal power, they would never run dry. Isaac’s father, Abraham, fumed silently with impatient anger, his fists clenching and unclenching in rhythmic anxiety as the elevator ran slowly, deep into the earth. Abraham kept his back to Isaac and the cargo tube.

Isaac laid a hand on the tube that contained his mother. It was a prototype that Abraham had worked on in the family cabin. A stasis chamber. But the without a proper power supply, it would fail. Soon. Abraham theorized that a concurrent alternating power chamber could create a field that would place the contents slightly out of phase with time, preserving them. But the technology of the day could not sustain the invention. And modern power supplies would only keep the chamber active for an unknown short amount of time.

“Move your hand,” Abraham said in a flat, forceful tone.

“Dad, I—”

“Do as you’re told. Your actions and lack of thought are why we are here,” Abraham said, casting a narrowed-eyed stare over his right shoulder.

Isaac obeyed, removing his hand and casting his eyes downward. Despite his age, he felt like he was a child again. And as such, his childhood memories flooded back to him. This was the place where he was altered, turned into the person he was today. Isaac never asked to be changed. It was done to him by the very parents who claimed to have loved him. “To survive what was to come” was the reason. A greater good.

But many sinful things were done for a greater good.

Was it for the greater good that a boy grew into a freak of a man? One that aged so slowly, he was nigh immortal? Was it fair that the same boy had to suffer so much pain only to heal as if the pain had never been, so he could be freshly injured over and over?

Isaac placed his hand back on the tube. When Abraham cast his stern glare back over his shoulder, Isaac met the look with an equal one of his own. The two men stared at one another in the love, and seething hate, that only a father and a son can have for one another.

The elevator opened and the underground research and development bunker opened before them.

“Bring her,” Abraham said, and Isaac obeyed.

The work was done. Abraham McMillan had completed the setup and the testing. Everything was operational. The computer simulation and modeling was complete. Abraham looked at his son, who watched the computer monitor with glistening eyes.

“Isaac,” Abraham began, looking for the right words and not finding them. He stared at his son, who had lit a cigarette in frustration. Abraham took the smoke from his son’s mouth.

“These will kill you, you know.”

“Not really, Dad. You saw to that.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Abraham replied and took a drag off the smoke.

“You still smoke?”

“From time to time. It wasn’t something I advertised. Co-CEO for Kurasawa-McMillan and Lead for R&D didn’t leave me time to enjoy a good smoke. Mmm . . . Salems. My favorite.”

“Like Granddad used to smoke,” Isaac noted, and Abraham nodded.

“Yeah, dad did like his Salems.” Abraham took another puff and handed the cigarette back to his son.

Abraham took a moment to look his son over, to find the words. “I’m sorry for what I said, son. It wasn’t your fault. Never blame yourself,” Abraham said, his voice cracking.

“Dad—” Isaac said, but Abraham cut him off, closing the distance between them, and grabbed his son in a tight hug. For a moment, he felt as if he could never let the boy go. Isaac returned the embrace and the two of them shared a special moment. They wept and held each other.

Another moment of the embrace and then Abraham broke the hug.

“It’s time, boy.”

“Time?” Isaac asked.

“You have to kill me now.”

********

A bolt of lightning went through me.

//HOST - AWAKEN//

What the hell?

//HOST - YOU AND YOUR YOUNG COMPANION ARE IN MORTAL DANGER - YOU MUST AWAKEN – YOU ARE CURRENTLY IN A MENTAL OVERCLOCK - YOUR SYSTEMS HAVE BEEN ACCELERATED TO ALLOW FOR DISCOURSE//

What was that shock?

//ELECTRICAL CURRENT COMBINED WITH ADRENALINE ADMINISTERED TO YOUR BRAIN AND HEART SIMULTANEOUSLY//

Why?

//TO COUNTER THE EFFECTS OF THE TOXINS YOU INGESTED DURING YOUR MEAL//

I was drugged?

//CORRECT//

Jesus! I don’t have time to be drugged! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?

//COLLECTIVE DID NOT SEE MORTAL DANGER AT THE TIME AND HOST REQUIRED SUSTENANCE AND REST - DIRECT CONTACT PROTOCOL HAD NOT YET BEEN MET//

But . . . damn it. OK, fine. What’s changed?

//HOST’S WOULD-BE DOMICILE MATRON CONTACTED UNKNOWN HOSTILES WHO ARE CURRENTLY CARRYING HOST INTO PROCESSING PLANT BENEATH FIRST HEAVEN’S WHITE STONE KEEP//

Processing plant? Processed into what?

//FERTILIZER//

Were going to be ground up into fertilizer?!

//NEGATIVE - LIQUIFIED - CHEMICALLY DISSOLVED INTO BASE MATERIALS FOR FERTILIZER//

That bitch!

//INDEED//

How did you find out?

//COLLECTIVE OVERHEARD CONSPIRATORS DETAIL THEIR PLANS - QUERY: COLLECTIVE ASSUMES THRESHOLD FOR MORTAL DANGER DIRECT CONTACT PROTOCOL HAS BEEN REACHED//

Hell yes! Good job. Are the drugs out of my system?

//ALMOST - COLLECTIVE WILL ADMINISTER ANOTHER ADRENALINE CHARGE - HOST WILL EXPERIENCE EXTREME DISCOMFORT NOW THAT HOST IS CONSCIOUS//

I had a few things to take care of. First, I was going to have to assess which of these bastards had my weapons, which they no doubt took. Second, I would have to see how many of them there were. Third, establish where I was. Fourth, see what condition TJ was in, and fifth, kick the living shit out of said bastards and save TJ.

OK, Collective, hit me.

//UNDERSTOOD - AGONY COMING//

Got it. Just do it.

Lighting hit me again. It coursed through me in rolling waves of perpetual pain. The body’s natural reaction is either to go into shock or to pass out. Neither option was available to me. I had to ride the wave of pain. To embrace it. Make it part of my very being. My eyelids opened incredibly slowly and it seemed like it took minutes.

Once my eyes came into focus, I saw them. Our assailants.

The soon-to-be-dead men.

From my position I knew I was lying down and that I was on a flatbed mag-lift hover mover. There was a powerful stink in the air, like sulfur mixed with a slaughterhouse. Considering where The Collective said we were going, I probably wasn’t far off the mark.

We were moving down a long, circular, white stone hallway maybe eight feet across and lit by overhead lamps. We were in a lined procession. There was one guard, a female guard in combat fatigues, pushing an unconscious TJ on a mag-lift, with two more walking ahead of them. They were all armed with conventional sub-machine guns that I couldn’t tell the make of from where I was lying. But it looked like none of them had my blasters.

I couldn’t turn my head to look around and see how many were behind me, else they would know I was awake. So, I just listened.

Within close range of us, I counted eight, including my own and TJ’s. Six guards to deal with. There were three ahead of me, one pushing my mag-lift, which left two more. The ones behind me had to be dealt with first. They were the unknown quantity. After that, I had to take out the other three guards.

With the flimsiest of battle plans formed, I was ready to fight six men and women, possibly killing them.

Damn it.

But they didn’t leave me much choice. While trying to kill me sucks, that I could live with. But they wanted to dissolve me and a child, turning us into liquid poo-goo. Food for plants. So I counted that as reason enough to waste them.

Freaking poo-goo-juice. My life blows sometimes.

Biding my time, I remained motionless. If I got into a fight in here, then any gunfire could turn a tight hallway into a deathtrap. A ricochet could take out a hostile while my personal shield kept me safe. But TJ had none of that, and I couldn’t risk it. So I remained on the mag-lev sled, periodically cracking my eyes open to see where we were going.

We moved though the hallway into some sort of large, open processing lab. Stainless steel tables of various shapes and sizes were everywhere. Surgical tools could be seen on steel gurneys, and the room had a strong scent of blood. Massive stainless steel cylinders lined the room with piping coming in and out of them, going to various destinations above.

There was a recession in the floor leading to a circular contraption in the center. It was about twenty feet in diameter and it was covered with what looked like a slide-away iron plate. Despite being covered, I could smell something caustic.

If my guess was correct, the tables were where any required dissection was performed. The remnants were tossed into the covered acidic pit. From there, whatever was dissolved was filtered, processed, stored, and distributed through the stainless steel cylinders as the base chemicals First Heaven needed to keep year-round growth.

You know, I think I’d call the whole thing efficient and cool, in a macabre way. That is, if TJ and I weren’t about to be dissolved.

“Put them over here,” one of the guards said. “Strip them down first.”

“I know my job, Randall,” a female voice said.

“Then do it.”

“Are they going in whole, or are we chopping them up first?” a different male voice asked.

“Boss said to make it painless for them,” Randall said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, ask him.”

“What’s the difference?” a different female voice asked. “Dead’s dead.”

Randall sighed. “You remember those native folks we had in here while back? When the drugs wore off once they were in?

“Oh hell, I remember,” the first female said. “We had to hear them scream for several minutes until they were dissolved.”

“Exactly,” Randall said. “So if boss wants it to be merciful, we do it right. Slit their throats and let them bleed out first.”

“You got it. Dibs on the kid,” one of the men said.

“What, you have a fetish?”

“No, bad back. Kid weighs less and once he’s bled, he won’t be an issue.”

Something inside me broke, hearing these fuckers talk about our murder, TJ’s murder, with a casual tone. Each one of them had to die.

I had no idea where we were, or where we had to go yet. But anyone who butchered people–-children—like this deserved nothing short of my hands around their throats until their eyes bulged, they kicked, coughed, shit, and died.

My eyes snapped open.

“No!” I roared, jumping to my feet. “Not today, motherfuckers!”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Fragments and Fluid

I jumped off the mag-lift with amazing speed right at the guard behind me, roaring like a goddamn lion!

And promptly got punched in the face by the guard pushing the lift.

See, the only problem with the surprise guttural roar is that it elicits the fight-or-flight instinct in people. Usually people freeze or run. But once in a while you come across someone who reacts with a hard straight-right that breaks your nose.

“Oh, goddammit!” I yelled as I felt my nose break.

I lurched for the guard who punched me in the face, who followed up his punch with a clubbing left hook. I threw my right arm, blocking it while throwing a hard jab to his windpipe with my left. He gasped and hit the ground coughing, trying to breathe. Fastest way to take somebody out of a fight was really simple. Remove their sight or ability to breathe.

Three guards turned, fumbling for their weapons. I had no time. So I just moved forward to the next guard who had been behind my mag-lift. A tough-looking female also in combat fatigues, who raised a snub-nosed compact machine pistol. Grabbing the guard I hit in the throat, I dodged as best as I could as she fired a short, controlled burst.

I mentally applauded her combat reflexes, as she only fired a measured burst in a sudden combat situation instead of employing a video game kid’s spray ’n’ pray technique. But at the same time, she had piss-poor battlespace awareness: You NEVER fire your weapon unless you are one hundred ten percent sure you are going to hit your target. Otherwise, your allies might come down with a nasty case of friendly fire.

My human shield absorbed the attack as I let go and rolled across the floor, knocking over several of the steel tables with a crash of surgical instruments. I peeked my head around my makeshift barricade to get my bearing. Each of the remaining five guards had weapons drawn. Well, shit.

“Give up!” I heard Randall call out.

I almost rolled my eyes. “No! Why the shit would I do that?” I called out from behind cover. Peeking around as low to the ground as I could, I could see the feet of three of the guards standing in the cluster. I couldn’t see the other two from this position, but if they were smart, they were moving into flanking positions. I needed a damn weapon, and fast.

Rolling across the floor low, I fired nano-filament line from my tech bracer. The micro harpoon pierced the ankle of a female guard standing in the cluster.

She screamed.

I yanked hard, pulling her feet out from under her. She fell flat on her back, firing a burst from her weapon. Rolling again through another table for cover, I pulled harder on the line, dragging her towards me. As I’d hoped, she flailed and grabbed onto table legs and anything else she could. The motion and noise was enough of a distraction. I commanded the actuator to disengage and the line zipped back into my bracer.

“Vera! Vera, are you all right?”

“No! Shoot him!”

“Where is he?”

“How the hell do I know?!”

“Hold on, we’re coming.”

“Where the shit am I going to go?” Vera winced, gripping her ankle.

I moved around the outskirts of the lab on all fours, trying to keep distance between me and the troops. I dared to peek my head up for a second. Three of the guards were performing a slow sweep through the tables looking for me. The fifth, the one with the bad back, was standing over TJ.

I had to get to the kid. I had to wake him up. I had to get us out of here.

Peering around, I saw the guards get to Vera. Two of them had to sling their weapons to help her while the third stood guard with his weapon drawn. I had to make a move. God, I hope this worked.

I picked up one of the large steel tables with a heave. With another roar, I hurled it at the group. The table crashed into them with a clang of steel and a spray of gunfire. Turning, I sprinted at the trooper standing guard over TJ. He saw me coming and aimed his weapon.

But not at me.

“Stop! Or I swear I’ll kill him!” the bastard sneered, aiming the gun at TJ.

If I stopped, they’d kill us both regardless. If didn’t, TJ might get shot. Damn it. I only had a split second to make a decision.

I stopped, throwing my hands up. I just couldn’t risk it.

At that range, if he got a lucky shot off, TJ would have no chance. Maybe this way, I could think of something or bide my time. From behind me, I heard the others pushing the table off them and drawing their weapons.

“Well, that was stupid,” the guard said.

Then he shot TJ in the stomach.

“NO!” I screamed.

TJ’s eyes flashed open. The boy’s mouth was open as he tried to scream, but the pain prevented him from drawing breath. His young face was a mask of wordless agony.

Something . . . broke, inside me. There was no thought. No reason.

Only a target.

I fired my left nano-line into the guard’s throat. Once I felt it engage, I pulled hard, jerking the guard directly towards me. I fired up the mass inducer and energy shield in my right bracer. The stumbling guard fell face-first into the hardest overhand right of my life. Human flesh and bone collided with the technological equivalent of a two-hundred-pound sledgehammer.

The man’s head broke, collapsing inward, fracturing along the skull’s fusion plate. He dropped to the ground dead, but I kept hitting him anyway.

“HE . . . WAS JUST . . . A BOY!” I yelled, striking the guard over and over until there wasn’t anything left of his head but fragments and fluid.

The first burst of gunfire hit me in the back. Through the shield The Collective threw up, and my fury, I barely felt it. The next burst was more like being hit by hail. The third was like being kicked by a mule.

The firing stopped briefly, and what was left of my rational brain reasoned they were reloading.

TJ, I thought. I have to protect him.

My shield came down just long enough for me to take a few staggering steps towards the boy. I could hear him crying. Tears of pain and fear rolled down his face. I didn’t know what to say, or what to do. I had no idea how much ammo they had. But I did know I had to hold out until they were empty.

I scooped TJ off the table and quickly curled up with him on the ground, doing my best to shield him with my own body. I felt for a pulse, and it was there, rapid and thready. His body was going into shock. I ripped his shirt open to evaluate the wound as best as I could.

The burst had hit TJ in the lower stomach, to the right of his navel, probably perforating his intestines and appendix. The gunfire wasn’t going to kill him. It would be the blood loss, shock, bile, and potential sepsis that did him in.

Unsat.

No.

This kid was going to live.

I heard the snap-and-clack of the guards reloading and cocking their weapons. Curling around TJ, I waited. The barrage of bullets began striking my back, head, and legs. My shield deflected the actual bullets, preventing them from penetrating me. But little could be done about the kinetic impact.

The Collective did its best, pumping adrenaline into me and performing triage. But the only things I could do was lie there and shield TJ as hundreds of rounds slammed into me, over and over. The pain nearly caused me to black out, and it was only because of the scared, crying boy beside me that I clung to consciousness.

“It . . . hurts,” TJ croaked between bursts.

“I know . . . I, ngg, know,” I grunted back. “Just . . . hang on.”

“Am I . . . dying?”

“No, no of course not.”

“I’m . . . cold.”

There was a puddle of blood beginning to form under us and TJ was getting pale. Shit shit shit SHIT!

When the bullets stopped for the next reload, I commanded the shield down and looked over my shoulder. My head swam with double vision. No doubt the bullets to the head had given me a slight concussion. I spotted the dead guard’s weapon and reached my right leg back, pulling on the tac-sling with the toe of my boot.

Grabbing the gun, I aimed as best as I could, firing a burst of rounds. I hit one of the four, but my eyesight was garbage. The remaining three began to scatter. Desperation kicked in. I tuned over, putting my back to TJ and throwing my legs open wide, stabilizing my base.

Concentrating as best I could, I took aim before the next round of fire came in. I willed The Collective into an overclock. Everything slowed, including me, but I needed the time to process the targets and any incoming fire.

There were three targets. The wounded guard, Vera, was diving for cover. The other two were holding their ground to my right, taking aim. Tracking their movements, I ended the overclock and the world returned to normal speed.

I fired, killing the two standing their ground, then blasting in the area where the third dove for cover.

“Vera!” I yelled. “If you put your head out I swear to God I’ll shoot it off!”

“Salem,” TJ cried from behind me.

The boy was even paler.

“TJ, come on kid, stay with me. Look at me. LOOK AT ME! Keep your eyes open, stay awake!”

The kid’s eyes were fluttering. “Save . . . my . . . daddy.”

“NO! No you don’t, kid. You don’t get to stow away and go on a freaking adventure with me only to clock out early. You get your ass back here!”

I didn’t save us from being melted into liquid manure only to have this little trouble-making, stowaway, pain-in-my-ass, bedless boy die. I needed a first-aid kit or something. I put my hands onto the wounds as best I could, applying direct pressure to stop some of the bleeding. I looked around for anything that resembled a med-kit.

But even if I found something, I couldn’t let go or else the bleeding would start again. Damn it.

TJ gasped and his eyes went wide and glassy.

No . . . NO!

“No, no, NO!” I felt for a pulse and found nothing. I immediately started with chest compressions. I did a few rescue breaths and back to the compressions.

Before the world went to Hell, I was CRP certified. I even took the course to become an instructor. You want to know a dirty little secret?

It doesn’t work.

Eight percent.

That’s it.

With properly administered CPR, you have about an eight percent chance of saving a life. If you had an AED, the little box that charged up and auto-shocked the heart, it brought your chances up to about eleven percent.

Not like the movies, huh?

Another thing you may not know. When doing chest compressions, you crack the patient’s ribs. Sometimes they break entirely. In order to pump the heart, you need to press hard enough to actually pump it through the breast bone. The pressure creates fractures along the ribs, snapping them.

CPR is mostly a fruitless effort to give you the illusion of control in a fucked-up world. Something to keep your hands busy while you watch someone die. A pointless exercise to make you feel like you tried, while you realize our amazingly powerful bodies are in fact highly fragile bags of watery meat.

But that didn’t stop me from doing it.

Eight percent? I’ll take those odds. Because I didn’t have a choice.

I pumped and pumped that little kid’s heart and . . . nothing. No flicker. No spark. No life at all. No no no.

I charged up my tech bracers and used the hard-light projectors to create leads. I touched the leads to TJ’s body and released a current of energy. The boy’s body arched as the energy shocked his body into a contorted child-sized pretzel.

God, it pained me to see the boy like that. But I did it again.

And again.

And again.

I felt the cold metal circle of a rifle barrel against the back of my head. “Say goodnight, asshole,” the voice rasped.

“Vera,” I whispered. “I’m trying to save a life.”

“Why? He’s gone,” she sneered.

I looked at the kid. The tear that ran down his cheek reflected my own.

“Then just pull the goddamn trigger,” I whispered.

A shot rang out.

For a moment there was nothing. Just quiet. Then, Vera fell over, dead.

I heard breathing, and I looked to my left from an open corridor between a set of the chemical storage cylinders. Riggs stood there, holding a smoking gun.

“If you want that boy to live, then you have to do exactly what I say.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

All Forty-Four

In Flotsam Prison

Vali’s blood pooled beneath him.

He gasped for breath. Each gulp of air wracked his body with impossible pain. His sight grew dim. Of all the gods, the Aesir were the closest to human. They could live like a mortal if they chose. And they could die like a mortal in the right circumstances.

Which was why Vali cheated.

His blood stopped pouring from the wound. His breath was slowly returning and the pain was subsiding. Vali only hoped his enemies could not see his recovery. Thankfully, Yeela provided an unintended distraction.

“Do I get to see my sister now?” Yeela asked.

“In time, little one,” Gerhardt said.

“When you all pulled me out of the water, you said I’d get to see my sister if I brought any friend of Salem’s to you!”

Gerhardt sighed as he dropped his energy shield. “That I did, that I did. I am nothing if not honest.”

The mage walked toward Yeela, who bowed before him. Gently, Gerhardt lifted Yeela’s chin so she was forced to look into his burned, mangled face, and looked her in the eyes. “Would you like to see her now?”

“Yes, please.”

“OK.”

Gerhardt let go of the demoness’s chin, then opened his greatcoat, removing a small device from a black leather pouch on his belt. Affixing an artifact made of red crystal, bone, and what looked like human skin, Gerhardt flexed his left hand into a fist. The red crystal flared to life, emitting a scarlet light.

From a distance, Vali could hear stone sliding against stone. Daring a look, he shifted his head slightly to see several sections along the complex wall begin to slide open. Through the darkness, Vali saw monstrosities march forth. Each one was over seven feet tall, thickly built, and held together by surgical staples, leather bindings, and heavy stitching. They were the composite monsters, patchwork abominations formed from the formerly living.

Vali did not know what this Gerhardt called them, but in his mind, they were the draugr. The living dead nightmares his cousin, Hel Lokisdottir, enjoyed plaguing mankind with during the Iron Age. 

Among the twenty or more of the draugr, one was clearly feminine, standing in contrast to the masculine forms of the others. Slightly larger than the rest, the female was once a demon and still retained most of her original form. Her mostly dark skin was mixed with orange and lavender coloration. She still had her wings and walked on reverse-jointed legs. Her four muscular arms flexed as she obeyed the silent call of her master.

“Khlabra?!” Yeela half-yelled, half-shouted.

The demoness rushed towards her sister, stepping over Vali. Yeela was stopped almost immediately as three of the draugr grabbed her, slamming her face to the ground. Yeela thrashed and twisted. Writhing, kicking, and biting did nothing to the monsters as she tried anything to break free. 

Yeela’s head was twisted at an almost impossible angle. The hard ground tore the scales and flesh along her cheek. In the briefest of moments, she crossed eyes with Vali. Past the betrayal, he saw someone who would do anything to be reunited with her sister. And even through the burning of the demoness’s betrayal, Vali had to pause, considering her actions against his own.

Would he do anything different if it were his own brother?

She was someone who only wanted a connection in the world. Someone who wanted to matter to someone else and would do anything to ensure it. It was the same yearning Vali had every day.

“Khlabra!” Yeela cried again, pleading to her sister. The monster, Khlabra, stood completely still, watching her sister. The statuesque demoness was unmoving and unfazed by her sister’s screams and pleading. 

“Yeela, I am pleased to reunite you with your sister. Khlabra here has been quite the subject. I must say, her transformation has been something of a crowning achievement for me.”

“No!” Yeela screamed, but one of the draugr clamped a massive hand over her face, stifling her screams, nearly suffocating her.

“Shh,” Gerhardt hushed, kneeling down close to the demoness. “There’s no need for that. I promised you that you would see her and you did. I thank you for your service in bringing me this specimen.”

Gerhardt turned towards Vali, smiling at the blood-soaked god. Vali got his first clear look at the mage. His face, what was left of it, was blackened and burnt from some type of explosion. His lips were all but gone, exposing his teeth, and what was left of his nose was mostly a hollow nasal cavity. The charred edges of his skin ended in pinkish-white scar tissue.

“Not dead yet? Good. It would deprive me the pleasure of testing my indoctrination on a god. Even a weak Norse one. After you’ve been beaten down and humbled, the two of you will make excellent subjects.”

“No!” Yeela hissed. “I will not go back through that! Not again.”

“Oh, dear, does the thought of the indoctrination scare you? Or is it going through it without your mother and sister? Please be specific. It is vital to my records,” Gerhardt said to Yeela with an almost gentle, concerned timbre to his raspy voice.

Gerhardt turned his gaze then to Vali, his twisted face attempting a smile. “What about you, little god? Are you ready for what this island has planned for you?”

Vali leaned forward, reaching his arm towards Gerhardt. Vali turned his fist over and silently extended a middle finger.

Gerhardt chuckled. “We will see how long that spirit holds.” Looking away for a moment, the mage saw Maz still lying on the ground. Shaking his head, Gerhardt tsked. “Do get up, Archbishop. You are starting to become something of an embarrassment.”

“Maz’ael,” Vali whispered, “stay down.”

With a sudden move, Vali lunged forward, gripping Gerhardt’s head in both his hands. Before Gerhardt could react, Vali quickly got his feet under him and suddenly threw himself to the ground, taking the man’s head with him.

Vali slammed both his chest and Gerhardt’s jaw to the ground. The sudden downward movement and impact broke Gerhardt’s jaw while also ejecting Harpe from his body. Almost immediately Vali felt the breastplate he wore finish closing his wounds.

The magical armor was one of the last surviving pieces of an ancient set that had belonged to the Green Knight of Britannia. The fabled emerald steel protected its wearer from mortal wounds, and it was the most valuable piece of Vali’s gear.  

Calling upon his reserve of faith-bestowed power, Vali felt incredible strength course through his body. Picking up the fallen Harpe, the god rushed forward, kicking the draugr that held Yeela on the ground along the side of its head. While not reacting in pain, the monstrosity was hurled off the now-free demoness.

As the other draugr reacted to the attack, Vali swiped with the keen edge of the Grecian short sword, cleaving the outstretched arm of the draugr at the elbow. A swift strike removed the monster’s leg below the knee, dropping it to the ground. A final swing beheaded the monster.

Vali reached down and pulled the demoness to her feet. “Run,” he commanded.

“But my sister!”

Before Vali could respond, the rest of the draugr were upon him. A huge fist struck the back of his skull like a hammer, causing Vali’s eyes to flash a white light. Cursing, Vali spun, allowing his sight to guide him. His strike lashed out in a perfect horizontal swipe, beheading the draugr.

The headless creature toppled over. Vali grabbed the demoness by her shoulders. Turning, he hurled her clear of the draugr, only to be struck once, twice, three more times across his face and body. The blows dropped him to the ground. Even with his strength returning, and powered by the faith of the people of Löngutangar, the odds were not in his favor.

Vali had to even those odds.

Vali dove into a roll, clipping the legs of the nearest draugr, toppling two of them. Swinging his leg wide, Vali popped up to one knee as he reached to his back once more and unsheathed an ordinary-looking sword of ancient Slavic design. Stepping up, Vali took a step backward and hurled the weapon end over end into the mass of patchwork creatures. As he did, Kladenets the Self-Swinging Sword sprang to life.

As if wielded by an invisible blademaster, the weapon whirled and danced in midair. The enchanted sword hacked and cut with incredible speed and precision. Never slowing and never tiring, it was a fitting equalizer against the undead opposition.

As the draugr were shredded into hunks of once-again-dead flesh, Vali saw Gerhardt crawling away. He was burned, maimed, and holding his jaw in place. Vali had to admire the man’s tenacity.

But Vali still took great joy in spearing Gerhardt through the back with Gae Assail.

Ducking under the outstretched arms of a draugr, Vali retrieved the iron rod from his bracer and ran towards Gerhardt. The god brought his fist down, transforming the Celtic spear. Vali slammed the weapon through Gerhardt’s spine, pinning him to the marble pathway and paralyzing him from the waist down.

A horrid scream erupted from Gerhardt’s already-damaged throat. His fingers curled as he clawed at the cold stone. Vali could hear the mage try to form the words and complete the intricate hand gestures to craft his magic. Even as he pushed through the pain, his attempts failed over and over. The cold iron spear, forged by Tuatha de Dannan, was constructed to neutralize Fae magic. And apparently, the magic of Flotsam’s torturer.

“I . . . I’ll k-kill you!” Gerhardt choked through the pain.

“The world has been trying to kill me for a long time. You will not be the one to do so,” Vali said, mocking the man.

Above the sound of Gerhardt’s cursing, Vali heard the snipers and guardsmen above him along the wall’s vantage points. In moments, his minor victory on the small battlefield would become a killbox when the rain of gunfire came down.

Vali bolted, running in a broken field style, not giving a proper lead to any of the would-be shooters. On the move, Vali snatched Agneyastra the fire-bow of Agni from the ground. Vali had come to Flotsam to bring the fires of Hell. 

Rapidly, Vali drew and fired the bow, not aiming for the guards, but for the floodlights. With a few quick releases from the magical weapon, the garden was cast into darkness with the shattering of glass bulbs.

Vali threw his sight wide open, allowing everything in. In a flash of sensory overload, Vali not only saw their location as if it were a bright sunny day, but also he felt all their lives and all their weaknesses instantly.

There were seventeen guards along the wall at various checkpoints and lookout stations. One of the guards had a solid cranial cybernetic implant, but suffered from an arrhythmia. Another had a blood clot forming in his neck due to poor diet and a lack of exercise. Yet another guard, Caleb, was was sleeping with his friend’s husband and together, they were plotting to kill his friend.

His sight showed him countless ways to kill them. It showed him each of their weaknesses and their strengths. It showed him which guard was standing on loose mortar and which of the snipers were right or left handed, determining the angles at which they would bring their weapons to bear. It showed him which guard liked to piss on the inmates from high above them in his lookout tower, and which guards like to take sexual liberty with the prisoners.

“None of you are worth saving,” Vali said from the darkness. Finding Tarnhelm on the ground, Vali slipped it on, going invisible as the guards were most likely switching to night vision equipment.

“I am going to kill all of you!” Vali roared, nothing more than a disembodied voice cutting through the darkness.

True to his word, Vali unleashed Hell on earth.

The sniper along the far wall who thought of his friend’s children with lust was the first to die. The magical arrow through his groin burned his body in seconds. Vali held his breath for two heartbeats, then released his next shot. The arrow sailed silently through the night and struck another sniper along the opposite wall in his forehead, the one who could have saved his neighbor from disease but chose instead to ignore him. Immediately, the arrow burst into blaze, igniting the body and illuminating the dying man in a flash of divine fire.

Vali drew and fired over and over, each time carefully selecting another victim as his sight revealed his targets’ weaknesses and sins. For all the wickedness and cruelty each of the guards exuded in life, they all died screaming. Their burning effigies were beacons in the night, symbols for the Hell that Vali had brought to Flotsam. Burning to death in pain, fear, and panic on a cold winter night was too merciful for most of them.

Removing Tarnhelm and dampening his sight, Vali regarded the gruesome aftermath in the garden. Crackling fires, the smell of burning human, and the whimpers of a mad mage were all that was left. 

“Khlabra!” the god heard Yeela call out.

Vali looked as Kladenets cut through the last of the draugr, save Khlabra. The former demon seemed not only physically different, but also mentally different from the rest of the undead. She seemed to have more of an instinct than the rest of the wretched creations.

Khlabra moved and dodged with incredible speed as Kladenets sought to cut her apart like the others. She ducked under the magical blade, snatching it from midair by the enchanted weapon’s leather-wrapped grip.

Twisting, the former demoness pivoted into an overhand strike and drove the weapon, blade first, hard into the ground, piercing the marble pathway and imprisoning the sword. Kladenets vibrated, yearning for the freedom to continue the slaughter, but remained trapped in the stone.

Khlabra turned towards her smaller sister, who stood immobile before her. “Khlabra, please,” the demoness pleaded, trying to reach anything inside the creature who was once her sister. In response, Khlabra lashed out and grabbed Yeela by the throat with two of her four arms and held her high.

“Khlabra!” Yeela croaked, pounding at her sister’s impossibly strong arm.

Vali took aim with his bow, only for Yeela to see him. “N-no!” the demoness cried.

“You’ll die,” Vali said, keeping the bow aimed.

“This . . . is all so very t-touching,” Gerhardt said from the ground. The mage turned as best he could with Gae Assail still pinning him to the ground. The red-crystal artifact affixed to his glove glowed in the night.

“Release me, and I’ll let her live,” Gerhardt bartered.

Vali looked at the mage, smirked, then released his arrow. The magical missile flew through the air and pierced the arms that held Yeela just below the elbows. The arrow’s fire flared with a white-hot intensity, melting the draugr’s very bone and flesh. The arms that held Yeela burned to ash. Now freed, Yeela hit the ground and scampered off on all fours while Khlabra looked down in confusion at the stumps that used to be her arms.

Satisfied, Vali turned and fired another arrow. The bolt pierced through Gerhardt’s left bicep and, as it had done to Khlabra, burned like a miniature sun. Again, Gerhardt screamed as his flesh sloughed off and bone shattered due to the extreme heat.

“Yeela, take that artifact from his arm,” Vali said. “It controls his creations. It should control your sister. I don’t know if we can bring her back, but we can try.”

“T-thank you,” Yeela said, not meeting the god’s eyes as she retrieved the glove and glowing red-crystal artifact. The demoness placed the glove on her hand and she jerked as if a bolt of electricity had shot through her. As soon as it happened, it was over. Yeela looked back at her sister. “I—I can feel her. But it’s not her.”

“I am sorry,” Vali said with genuine sympathy. “But I know someone who may be able to help. We will bring her with us.”

“What about him?” Yeela asked, inclining her chin towards Gerhardt.

“Him?” Vali asked as he knelt down next to Gerhardt. “I have a plan for him.”

“What about me?” Maz’ael asked. “Is it OK if I stand now?”

Maz stood and brushed off his clothing while looking around the garden. “Wow, you all really fucked this place up.”

“He couldn’t have done it. Not by himself,” Vali said, looking at the broken, bleeding torturer.

“What do you mean?” Yeela asked.

“The children,” Vali growled. “The assault force who raided us and abducted the children. They weren’t from here.”

Vali looked to Maz’ael. “The raid on Löngutangar, it was precise and devious. This trash could have conceived it. But the raid was on a barony. He would have needed incredible authority to sanction it. Say, from an Archbishop’s level.”

“What?” Maz’ael asked. “You want me to apologize, godling? Everything done was legal.”

Vali stood and drew his bow, aiming at the archbishop, who quickly threw up his hands. “Wait!”

“Why?” Vali asked.

Despite having a weapon pointed at him, Maz’ael did not tremble or falter. His demonic mind spun the various angles that could benefit himself.

“Everything up to this point is forgivable, even justified in the right context. There is a little-known and not advertised law that allows an aggrieved party seventy-two hours for retribution. I’d say you fall within that window.”

“If I let you live.”

“Of course.” Maz’ael smiled.

“Would you have allowed Gerhardt to put the children through the indoctrination?”

“Yes,” Maz said, blinking at such an odd question.

Vali nodded once again. “Archbishop Maz’ael, I will not kill you tonight.”

“Good.” Maz’ael breathed out.

“Your death would not serve as the proper message.”

“What message?”

Vali smiled. “Yeela?”

“Yes?”

“Go back through the tunnel. Get the chains and hooks.”

“Which ones?” The demoness smiled as she asked, already knowing the answer.

“The small ones,” Vali replied, his teeth bared. “All forty-four of them.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Old Grudges and Older Scores

Now, in First Heaven

I grabbed a gun from the ground and aimed it at Lucian Riggs. He approached me with his hands out wide. Mere moments ago I was in a blind murderous rage. I was going to kill this man and all his friends for attempting to hurt me and TJ.

I wanted to kill them.

A tiny spark of humanity flared for the briefest of seconds. Was that all I was, a killer? All my best efforts led to pain. To the suffering of others. My breathing came harder. My finger tightened on the trigger.

“Put the gun down,” Riggs said softly as he kept walking towards me, dropping his weapon. “I’m here to help.”

“You want to help?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Are you going to waste time asking questions? That boy’s damn near dead, and if you want to save him, time is kind of working against us,” Riggs said, putting his gun away. “Now, I need you to ask for my help. And please, be specific.”

“What?” I asked. To say I was confused would be an understatement.

“Ask for my damn help. For everything you came here for.”

“I don’t understand. You just shot one of your own people.”

“Goddamn it, listen! Things have changed. Now, ask for my fucking help!”

“Fine, asshole!” I yelled. “Please help me bring TJ back and then get the Tears of God!”

Riggs closed his eyes and smiled. He rolled his head and stretched his neck, as if a great weight was removed. “Ahh, better. See, was that so hard? Now move, kid.”

Riggs pushed me aside and stood over TJ. Having no freaking clue what he was doing, I put the weapon to the back of his head.

“What are you doing? And why did you kill your own people?”

“Either pull the trigger or don’t, kid,” Riggs said, sounding almost bored with the idea of a gun pointed at him. Riggs scooped TJ up in his arms and carried him over to one of the steel tables that was still standing. “But if you want my help in bringing him back, then do what I say.”

“How are you going to bring him back?”

“Less talking, more listening. Grab that kit over there and bring it to me.”

“I don’t—”

“Move it, kid!”

I paused for a moment, trying to reign in every emotion I’ve ever felt at once. “Damn it,” I swore and did as Riggs asked. Opening the glass cabinet, I grabbed the kit he pointed at. Turning, I saw Riggs standing over TJ.

His hands and eyes were glowing white and green.

“What the shit?”

Riggs didn’t answer as he weaved his hands in an intricate pattern. A nimbus began to glow around TJ’s body. The energy seemed to pulse, like a heartbeat. The last time I saw something like that was when Ricky brought Grimm back after he was shot by Dantalion in the tower of Abraxas.

“You’re like Ricky.”

“No. I’m nothing like him,” he said while his hands continued a magical weave. “and the fact that you know him is giving me second thoughts about helping you.”

“Then why are you helping me?” I asked, feeling a little in the dark. Whatever this guy was doing and talking about, it appeared I was once again the last to know.

“I was tasked by some rather influential folks to kill you, should you make it here.”

“Who?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Your arrival sent off a massive ethereal ripple. That’s why the Abominations, The People, Wakinyan, and I all came looking for you. Since you made it here, it was my job to finish you off. That’s why you and the kid were drugged. I figured after everything you’d been through, a nice meal and a good rest wasn’t a bad sendoff. Sorry about that, by the way. You have to realize, the chemicals we need to keep this place going all year long aren’t exactly easy to come by. Not living in the cities has its drawbacks. So, we improvise. And dissolved people work just as well as dissolved Abominations.”

“What changed?” I asked. “Why are you sparing me?” I looked at TJ’s body. “Us.”

“Well, that’s the funny part. I had a visitor in my private sanctum. He . . . kinda filled me in. Needless to say, I was surprised to find out who you were.”

Visitor? I thought. “Chael? Giant crazy guy? What did he say? Who do you think I am?”

“Chael?” Riggs asked. “Is that what he’s calling himself? A little on the nose, don’t you think? But I guess we all have different names these days,” Riggs said as he turned his head slightly towards me. “Isn’t that right, Isaac?”

The bottom of my stomach dropped out as I stared at the back of the man’s head.

Riggs turned back to TJ with a sense of mirth to his voice. “Weren’t expecting that one, were you?”

I opened my mouth to say something . . . but nothing came out.

“Don’t sprain your brain, kid. It’s a long story. The short of it is, I know who you are now. I thought I knew you when we met, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. ‘Chael’ only confirmed it. And trust me, I’m just as shocked about it as you are. Damn, you’ve grown.”

I stood there dumbstruck, unsure of what to say or how to react.

“You see, I’m kind of compelled to help one of my own. One of my many curses. So I live all the way out here in the hope that I don’t come across any of you little bastards. Mostly because they’re always after the same thing. But since that particular curse is older and more powerful than the request to kill you, all I needed you to do was ask for my help. Neat, huh?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Do I know you?”

“Last I heard, you were going by RJ Doral. I thought you died in the wars. Glad to see you made it, kid,” Riggs said, ignoring my question. “OK, that should do it,” he said as the energy around his hands stopped glowing. TJ still radiated green-white light.

“But yeah, kid, you know me. As for how—well, I’m not quite sure you’re ready to know all of it just yet. Might make your head explode. But the last time we saw one another, you were just a kid, and I looked different. Now, get over here and do your part.”

“My part? Aren’t you fixing him and bringing him back? Like Ricky does?”

Riggs sighed and stood up straight. “Do me favor and don’t mention him again. I get that you are somehow mixed up with . . . ‘Ricky’,” Riggs said, using two-finger air quotes. “But let me tell you, kid, that oily bastard is not who, or what, you think he is. Anything he tells you is a half-truth. Anything he gives you has strings attached. In fact, that son of a bitch is really . . . ” Riggs winced, as if in pain. His mouth slammed shut and he had to look away.

“Mmm . . . damn it,” Riggs swore. “Old Accords. Hate that geas shit. But only God Almighty has the power to bring someone back from the dead and still remain human, and he’s gone. But lucky for you, the kid’s soul was strong and lingered just long enough to leave the tiniest sliver of life. And that little spark of life is what I am currently fostering and tethering his soul to. Anyway, just take my advice and get the hell away from Ricky and anyone associated with him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked. He seemed generally concerned.

“Ricky and I go way back. And after Grimm and I set up my town, Ricky has been there the whole way. And—”

“Whoa, back up there, chief. Grimm? You mean Father Grimm? Tall, dark, and spooky? Not big on smiling or conversation? Looks like a magical cross between a dark Jedi and a gunslinger? Man, you’ve been swimming with all the major players, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, Father Grimm. He and I are . . . I dunno, partners, I guess. What’s the matter, you hate him too?”

Riggs pondered this new piece of information. “No, I don’t hate him. Not anymore. I’m not sure I ever did, really. Jealous, yeah, but never hate. But I’m not sure if it’s mutual. Out of . . . courtesy we’ve stayed out each other’s way for a long, long time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. Riggs regarded me with eyes that conveyed oceans of time, age and wisdom. Were they rival mages?

“It means, young Salem, that as old as you are, there are far older things in play. With old grudges and older scores to settle. And if I’m right, then Ricky has nudged you and Grimm into working together. Which means things are accelerating. Shit. The pieces are on the board and they’re in motion. Damn damn damn.”

OK, I was getting really fed up with this esoteric, one-sided circle jerk. “I’m not even going to pretend like I know what the hell is going on. But right now, Lou, I need two things from you. First, tell me what I need to do to save TJ. Second, get me the freaking Tears of God.”

“Why?” Riggs asked, unflinching, but with a slight smirk. “What do you need them for?”

Shit. I didn’t have time for this, but I could tell Riggs wasn’t going to budge.

So, I told him. I told him about Löngutangar, the children, and the plans of the Lady Bathin and Maz. I gave him a brief rundown of who I was and how I became a land baron in charge of those people at Löngutangar.

Riggs took it all in. When I was finished, he surprised me by sitting down on the mag-lift next to TJ, reaching into a side pouch on his belt and producing a small metal box. It sprang open and he popped out two smokes and an old-world Zippo lighter. He offered me a smoke while lighting up his own.

I took it and immediately realized what I was holding.

An actual old-world smoke. Original Salem menthols.

Outside of myself, I didn’t know of anyone even possessing that particular brand. Riggs lit my smoke on the ancient Zippo and snapped the lid shut. I stood there and breathed in deep, menthol serenity.

Oh god, yes. That was the tar-laced, carcinogen-laden nirvana I was looking for.

“I’m going to help you. But you have to know that taking, or possessing the Tears of God, is not something to be taken lightly. There is a very good chance you won’t make it.”

“I have to try.”

“I get that, kid. Just saying that the Tears are protected by some scary people who won’t let them go easily.”

“Will you help me?”

“I’m compelled to. Hell, maybe it’s time for me to be another player in the game. If things really are in motion, then there’s little I can do about it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not supposed to. That’s why I’m talking all cryptic like.” Riggs smiled, quirking up just a corner of his mouth in an infuriatingly charming smile.

I looked over at TJ. The white light around the body was beginning to fade. “Is that supposed to do that?”

“Yeah. It means his soul tether is complete. Now all you need to do is repair the body,” Riggs said, as if that were no big deal.

“How do I do that?”

Riggs pulled another table over close next to TJ and opened the medical bag. He produced a pair of syringes, some plastic tubing, and an IV bag of fluids. “Easy. We infuse the kid with some of your blood. Your Collective will do the rest. Once the body is fixed, we take him down to my temple, to The Well, and we stuff the kid’s soul back in him.”

The Collective. He knew about The Collective? Oh shit. Just who the hell was this guy?

“How did you—”

“Know about The Collective?” Riggs finished. “Haven’t you figured out that I don’t just know who you are, but what you are?” Riggs stared at me with knowing eyes. “Yes. I know about your Collective and what it is capable of.”

“If you know that much, then you know that—”

“That The Collective is DNA-encoded to you and you alone. Yeah, I know that as well.”

OK, this was getting really frustrating. If I didn’t need this guy so bad, I would be tempted to break his smug jaw.

“Here’s the catch, kid, so pay attention. There is something I know that you don’t about your Collective.”

I gave Riggs a look that said “Bullshit.” “Oh yeah? And just what’s that?”

“I know how to unlock the DNA encoding,” he said with a smile.

“That’s . . . impossible. My dad designed it to work only for me.”

“I know. Who do you think gave him the idea?”

“Bullshit,” I said.

Riggs smiled. I did not.

“I’m also the one who convinced him to build in a back door to the program. A back door that authorizes a DNA unlock. So the nanites can be transferred into a new host, creating a new Collective.”

“Why?”

“In case we ever had to weaponize it.”

I felt my face harden. “My dad would never do that.”

“There’s a lot about your old man you don’t know.” Riggs smirked. “From the look on your face, I can tell this is more of a shock than you were ready for. Odds are you are feeling a little confused and apprehensive about the idea.”

“Yeah,” I said. “A little freaking bit.”

“Well, good news for you. I’m taking the decision out of your hands,” Riggs said, standing up fast.

I was on my feet faster and ready for him to make a move. Riggs sighed.

“Look Isaac, I know you’re scared. But if you want to save the kid, then this is what we have to do.”

I looked at TJ, lying there. If I could help him, I would. I turned back to Riggs. “I still kinda want to shoot you.”

“I’m sure you do. Good thing for me you have an off switch.”

“What?” I asked. But before I could react, Riggs said something in a language I didn’t understand as he reached out and touched my forehead, and then I felt my body go limp.

Last thing I heard as my head hit the floor was Riggs saying “Sorry, kid.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Final Warning

Day Sixty-four of The Wild Hunt

“Report,” Chimera ordered.

The squad of redcaps refused to look at the huntmaster. The lead redcap idly looked towards the snowy ground. “Apologies, Huntmaster. The village is like the others.”

“Casualties?”

“Minimal, ma’am. He . . . terrorized them, took what he needed and fled.”

“Direction?”

“Unknown, Huntmaster. There were no tracks in the snow. Huntmaster, if I may?”

Chimera nodded for the redcap to continue.

“His attack patterns make no sense. He seems to randomly attack a village, then double back on his trail only to reappear a day’s march away.”

“It makes sense if you step back and look at the larger picture. We know where he’s going. But he’s stalling for time. Instead of going directly for the windgate, he is forcing us to protect our own. Forcing The Hunt to react to his terrorism rather than focus our efforts on tracking him down.”

“Should we divert a portion of The Hunt then? Send a cohort to the windgate?”

“And how do you think a smaller force would fare against this monster?” Chimera asked. The redcap said nothing and lowered his head.

Chimera shook her head in frustration. Without looking, she spoke over her shoulder to the dwarf who perched behind her on a frost-covered rock formation. “Kendall, what remains of the hunt?”

The bald, muscular dwarf stroked his beard. “With the recruits from the last three villages? Over a hundred, Huntmaster. But there are four more dead.”

“Who?”

“Oleg, Dimitri, Marrowsuckler, and Gurhl.”

“The bodies?”

“On display.”

“Show me,” Chimera demanded.

Kendall hopped off the rock and moved across the snowy ground with a bow-legged stride. The redcaps cleared a path for Chimera as she followed Kendall to the site. In the small clearing, it was as before.

The four Fae were butchered. Their insides hung from the trees in a macabre mockup of Yule decorations. The white ground was speckled red and green from the Fae blood.

“They did not obey your orders, Huntmaster,” Kendall offered. “They chose a secluded spot to make camp.”

“They were my responsibility,” Chimera said, looking at her dead friends. “How’s morale?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. Complete and utter shit.”

Chimera said nothing for the moment. Instead, she looked at the body of Marrowsuckler. The Hag and she once ran wild through the Hitherlands as friends. During tea time in the glade, Marrowsuckler regaled Chimera with tales of the ancient world when mankind feared the forest.

Beside the Hag was Oleg the Leshy. He was a good creature who used to protect lost woodland travelers. He endured imprisonment in the Hitherland with a smile on his face, a song on his lips. Oleg always kept faith that one day release would come. Together they recalled their favorite movies and fast-food meals. He spoke hopefully that the Fae would once more walk the world of Man.

Spoke, Chimera thought to herself. Never again would she hear Oleg’s song or be in the presence of his hopeful nature. For almost every member of The Hunt, Chimera had a tale of friendship. A shared memory. And he was robbing her of those friends.

“Where’s Ghost?”

“Searching, mistress,” Kendall said, pointing to where the giant armored form sat slack against a giant tree. The armor was vacant, nothing more than a shell.

Nodding, Chimera took a solemn moment to look over the bodies of her dead friends before whispering, “Cut them down. Prepare the funeral fire.”

“Yes, Huntmaster.”

Within an hour, four pyres burned brightly in the circular clearing of the snowy forest. The falling snow collided with the intense heat of the fires, melting into a misty nimbus. The clearing soon filled with a foggy mist.

The land of Caern Frigidia remained unrelenting, ever cold. Those Fae not born of winter wrapped themselves in cloaks while their breath came in steaming gasps.

Chimera took her place, standing atop an old stump and preparing to perform The Rites of the Fallen Hunter. Eyes closed, the Huntmaster held her arms out. Taking a deep breath, she sang the first note of the dirge.

The Hunt responded weakly, singing The Rite out of obligation rather than emotion. Conviction did not fuel hearts of those who sang for the dead. Exhaustion and misery hung on their being.

And fear.

Fear of the very being who once drove the proud people of the forest and earth into this damned prison. Fear of a final end for those who knew only eternal life. 

Chimera stopped the Rite, ceasing her song. “Wild Hunt . . . bah. The most feared curse in all of myth and legends. Are you only truly wild when the quarry is meek game? You disgust me,” she said, the words a venomous sneer upon her lips. “We have kin who are dead. No longer will they feel the wind or taste the rain. And here you huddle like broken men. You are the Fae. Children of the elements. The Wild Folk. Out there? That is just a man! A man who robbed you of the free world! You are afraid!”

“You are not one of us!” a spriggan called out from the gathered Fae.

“You do not know what he did to us over the centuries!” cried a group of fairies in unison.

Drawing her cold iron whip from her hip, the Huntmaster unfurled the weapon and gave it a resounding crack. All eyes of The Hunt, which moments before had stared at the snowy ground, were now upon her.

“I don’t know?” her voice seethed. “I was THERE when the windgate was closed and we were sealed in. And his betrayal to me still burns like iron to the flesh!”

“You’re all out of line,” Kendall said, scolding the Fae. “True, Chimera was not born one of us. And I hated her long before we came here. But she’s been Fae for almost two centuries. She knows our stories, she knows our songs. And the elders among us know what she did for us before the Hitherlands was our prison.”

The dwarf’s words hung on the air, and no one dared speak. Chimera gave her lieutenant a nod, then cast her gaze upon the Wild Hunt. The tension built as the silence continued. Chimera danced on a razor’s edge. If she pushed them too hard, they would break. If she backed down, they would turn their frustration and fear upon her.

In a moment of blessed mercy, a streak of silvery blue light zigzagged through the snow and darkness. The beam of pure energy vanished inside the gigantic suit of metal armor as Ghost found his way home.

The sound of clanking metal broke the silence as Ghost’s metal form rose. Her closest ally turned, searching for her. “CHIMERA.”

“I’m here, friend. What did you see?”

“HERE,” the rumbling voice boomed.

“Who?”

“GRIMM.”

No sooner had Ghost’s spectral voice given the warning than all the funeral pyres doubled in size. The fire emitted horrible crackling and pops. The soaring flames scorched the treetops. All the Fae were forced to shield their eyes from the sheer power of the radiating heat.

As quickly as the bursting fire came, the pyres were snuffed out, dropping the clearing into complete darkness. A voice, magnified by arcane means, echoed through trees.

“Wild Hunt, I applaud your efforts,” Grimm’s voice came. Directionless, the mage’s somber voice seemed to roll along the snowy ground, creeping and twisting through the land.

“If you continue your pursuit, I will be forced to bring swift and terrible finality to your existence. Thus far I have been . . . polite, only taken what I absolutely needed. Done only what I must. I lament killing your comrades, but I will slaughter each and every one of you if you continue along this path. This is your final warning.”

The voice stopped, retreating into the darkness. Each of the Fae listened to the dark prophecy, unsure of what to say or do. Only the slight sound of falling snow was heard amid the stunned silence of The Hunt.

“No. He’s bluffing,” Chimera said to herself, shaking her head. “He’s been running for so long, his power must be reaching its limit.”

“AGREED.”

“Huntmaster,” Kendall said, getting Chimera’s attention.

“What?”

“The Hunt. It’s leaving.”

Fae were turning and leaving. Some walked silently towards the nearby village. Some simply walked into the forest. Others quietly walked back the way they came, returning to their homes.

“Get back here!” Kendall called out. “Cowards!”

“No,” Chimera said, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Let them go. They’re scared and they should be.”

“But mistress, the Hunt?”

“It’s not over. Ghost and I will continue.”

“I will come with you.”

“No, old friend,” Chimera said. “Return to Loreholm. Tell the Green Man what has happened.”

“I have a feeling he already knows,” Kendall said, pointing to a small flock of blackbirds perched high above.

Chimera nodded. “Yes, he probably does. But if The Wild Hunt fails, if I fail, you know what he will do. No more true Fae need die this hunt.”

Kendall tightened his jaw, then rubbed at his bald pate. “You be safe, girl. I mean it. I know you two have a past. But I’ve been running from that one for centuries. He’s more dangerous than you can possible know.”

Chimera looked towards the smoldering, charred wooden pyres of her fallen friends. The smoke and ash of their bodies mixed with the falling snow. “I know exactly who he is, Kendall.”

“He won’t harm me,” Chimera said as Ghost came to stand next to her. Looking up at her giant friend, the Huntmaster smiled.

“But we sure as hell can hurt him.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Many People

Now, near First Heaven

“Arise, lost sheep, and rejoice in the glory of a fallen kingdom,” a deep, booming voice called to me. “Awaken, and see the Hell your actions have wrought upon a doomed world.”

I opened my eyes slowly. Above me, Chael had his sausage-sized fingers in his mouth, pulling his cheeks back as he waggled his drooling tongue back and forth.

“What are you doing, Chael?”

“Soothing your broken mind.”

I close my eyes in time as a wad of his spit hit my forehead. “Gross,” I said with a weak laugh, wiping the spit, and my memories, away.

“You live. I am pleased. I would not deny you the privilege of darkening the world even a single lumen of his grace.”

“Where’s TJ?” I asked.

“The youthful avatar of hope slumbers in a state of death and life beside his guardian.”

“What?”

“He’s next to you, kid,” Riggs’s voice said from behind me. “You sure you fought in the wars? Your situational awareness is shit.”

“Hey!” I said, rolling to my side to look at Riggs, “I’ll have you know . . . ow, shit!” I exclaimed, falling off the mag-lev lift I was being transported on. I hit the ground with a thud and tore out the IV tube in my arm.

“Complete shit,” Chael agreed with Riggs’s assessment.

“Shut up,” I grumbled. “Where are we?”

“Deep within the rumbling gullet of the firmament, the prison of the elders,” Chael said with excitement.

Looking around, I saw that we were in some sort of tunnel. Like the tunnel through which I was brought to the processing room, this one was circular in shape with segmented ridges, carved out of white stone. There was rumbling in the tunnel, far below, and the walls were wet.

The tunnel sloped downward. I could feel cold and moisture around us. Wherever we were going, it was deep in the earth. Riggs offered me his hand. I took it and stood up. I touched the wall, pulling back a viscous clear fluid.

“What is this?”

“In the wake of the maggots of festering slumber we march.”

I ignored Chael’s insanity to look TJ over. The kid was asleep on the mag-lev mover. There was an IV hooked up to him as well with familiar-looking base materials. Looking at him, I had a small flashback to when I was a kid and the same thing was done to me.

“Did it . . . did it work?”

“Yeah,” Riggs said. “He’s going to be fine. More than fine, if your system serves as an example.”

“How did you know about me?”

“We’ll talk about that later. We still have a lot to do,” Riggs said, dismissing the question as he began pushing the mag-lev further down the tunnel.

If Riggs really did infuse some of The Collective into TJ to save his life, then his world forever would be changed. Back when I was injected, The Collective was young and growing, and it took years for me to come into my abilities. But since The Collective had had about two hundred years to evolve, TJ would change much faster. I hoped Taylor would forgive me.

Hell, I hoped TJ would forgive me for what was to come.

The truth was, I didn’t want to explain to him what came next. Once he reached full maturity, his aging would slow. It would look like everyone was passing him by. He’d get older, but be trapped in a younger body.

His mind would advance, but he would be young. It sure made dating something of a bitch. Anyone of my actual age thought I was a kid. Anyone who looked my outward age was a child to me mentally.

But it did give me the near-immortal life I had now. Thanks to it, I got to watch all my friends die. Thanks to it, I got to live and fight through wars and cold and starvation and pain and . . .

Oh hell . . . the kid was alive, and that was what most important. As long as I didn’t do anything too stupid, like get dead, then I’d be there to guide him.

It was then that I noticed there was a familiar weight around my waist. I looked down and my gun belt and blasters were back.

“Thanks,” I said as I readjusted the belt.

“Welcome,” Riggs said. “Nice custom work. You do that?”

“Some,” I answered. “A friend did the rest.” I looked at Riggs, then at Chael. “I take it you two know each other?”

“What? Me and . . . ‘Chael’, is it?”

“Yes,” Chael rumbled.

“He and I go way back. But based on his current state, I’m doubting he remembers too well.”

“I know all what was and will be, from the shores of time to the deserts of entropy.”

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Riggs asked.

“I hate you.”

“Mutual. It took forever for my hip to heal from that one time.”

“Good.” Chael smiled as the two of them walked ahead.

What were they talking about? I reached in my pocket for a smoke and to my surprise, I felt something in my coat. Two somethings to be exact. I pulled them out to inspect them. One was a metal case and the other was a Zippo lighter. They were just like the ones Riggs had. Turning them over, I noted they were not the same ones, but very similar. A gift from Riggs?

I pressed the small button along the edge of the metal case and the box sprang open, the old springs still working like new. Inside were old-world cigarettes aligned perfectly and held in place by a spring-levered metal flap.

Salems.

Smiling, I took one out, tapped it against the case, and put it between my lips. Closing the case, I put it back in my pocket while I looked the ancient Zippo over. It was beat up, but in working order. The old lighter had an engraved image, that of a lighthouse, with the words “Nova Scotia” under it.

Nova Scotia was a rather awesome province in former Canada. New Scotland had good music and great beer. I pinch-snapped the lighter open and flicked the steel wheel against the flint, sparking the lighter to life. I lit the smoke and breathed in the old-world perfection.

I closed the lighter and looked at it. Something about that lighter tickled a memory as I turned it over and over in my hands. I knew that lighter. From where? That was the problem with an immortal life. Memories fade. But this lighter was from my past. I knew it. Putting the lighter back into my coat, I caught the rest of their argument.

“. . . You were an anathema to The Plan. It is your fortune that I no longer care or feel the songs,” Chael said.

“Bitch bitch bitch. Just because I tried to destroy the world a few times I get labeled an ‘anathema’.”

Chael’s dead eyes flashed blue as he stared at Riggs. “You were supposed to learn a lesson. You were always meant to learn a lesson. Each time a path was set before you, and yet you always went the wrong way,” Chael said as something inside him was breaking through.

“Yeah yeah, I know. I knew then and I know now. I eventually figured it out. Just too late to make it matter.”

“But now you can be part of the new plan.” Chael smiled.

“The new plan? Yeah, that’s not happening. I’ve way too much invested in this world now.”

“What’s with you two?” I asked.

Riggs cocked his head to the side and half shrugged. “Eh, he’s tried to kill me in the past.”

“Tried? Bah.”

“OK, fine, you succeeded a few times. Happy?”

“Yes.”

Riggs said with a shake his head, “And sure, I may have enslaved him a time or two.”

“Who the hell are you?” I asked.

“He has been many people,” Chael answered. “He has been The Killer. The Usurper. He who wrestled with Angels. He has been The Earthly Master of Angels and Demons alike. The greatest Mage of his time. He who controlled the earth-moving Shamir.”

“Shamir?”

“Creatures I bent to my will. Sightless Lesser Deep.”

“Maggots of the Elder Sleepers,” Chael added.

“Something like that,” Riggs added. “They can burrow and carve rock like none other.”

“He was also once the offspring of David and Bathsheba,” Chael said. “And so many more powerful and horrible people.”

That last bit sparked an old Bible story. David, who killed Goliath, became a great king. And he saw a woman bathing and had her husband killed so he could have her himself. The beautiful Bathsheba. And their son became the greatest and wisest king in all of the Bible.

“Do you mean . . . Solomon?”

Chael grinned. “Yes. Solomon.”

As Chael said that, the tunnel came to an opening into a colossal underground cavern. And in the center of the cavern, I saw . . . it.

“By the power of Indiana Jones . . .”

A temple. A massive temple of white stone in the middle of the cavern. Illuminated by soft iridescent lights set up along the walls, it looked as if the temple was partially constructed from the very stone of the cavern. It reached into the solid rock walls at odd angles and the entire complex had a sense of connection.

The feeling was hard to describe, but it felt like the temple was here and yet elsewhere at the same time. The entire edifice practically hummed with otherworldly power. This place was special. It was . . . amazing.

Looking upon this place of power, I was moved to express myself as eloquently as I could.

“Holy shit.”

Riggs smirked and lit a smoke. “This is my temple. It’s not much, but I like it. What do you think?”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

A Choir of Pissed-Off Angels

“Solomon,” I said.

“Yes.”

“The Solomon?”

“Yup.”

“The wisest king that ever lived?”

“Well, let’s just say history was kind to me. I mean, come on, I advised a couple of ladies to cut a baby in half.” Riggs laughed. “I was really stoned that day. Hell kid, I dabbled in magic and enslaved angels and demons alike. How wise is that?”

“Fair enough. But you’re saying that this place is the Temple of Solomon.”

“Yes. Jesus, are you that dense?” Riggs asked, shaking his head.

“I’m calling bullshit,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve seen some really kooky crap in the last few months. But there is no freaking way the Temple of Solomon is in an underground cavern beneath freaking Solomon, Kansas.”

“To be fair, it’s just one of them. My most recent. Still pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. And yeah, kid, I was once Solomon.”

“What?” I asked. None of this made any sense.

“You see only the flesh,” Chael explained. “The spirit beneath was once, among others, Solomon.”

“What do you mean ‘among others’?”

“That old soul,” Chael said, pointing at Riggs, “was marked a long, long time ago. Cursed. Never to enter the afterlife, above or below. Every death brought him back. A new form of flesh. Yet every memory from the former life carried over to the new.”

“Ahh, the old curses,” Riggs said, smoking his cigarette. “The big man upstairs really knew how to throw them around back in the good ol’ days. Born a baby, yet possessing the full memories of every life that came before. Stuck in a useless, non-responsive infant body for months, then having to go through puberty a decade or so later. Over and over. But it made rising to power each time easier, and potty training a breeze.”

“What did you do?” I asked. Chael just looked at Riggs and the pair of them laughed. Hard. Hell, I guess it was pretty bad.

“When this is over, you’re answering all my questions.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Riggs said, pushing the mag-lev forward.

As Chael and I followed Riggs into the temple, the big man turned to me. “You won’t like the answers. No one ever does.”

********

The temple was enormous. I couldn’t accurately describe the size or the magnitude of the hauntingly beautiful white stone complex. I felt that if I tried to express my thoughts of this magnificent place, in every beautiful, poetic way I could, it would somehow diminish its truly awe-inspiring grandeur.

The courtyard was perfect, down to the smallest detail. The stone was clean and smooth. Statues decorated the interior at select locations. Domed gazebos and benches were set strategically throughout the massive courtyard. This place resonated with life and power.

I felt as if there were people there right then, watching, moving, living, just out of sight. I felt that if I turned my head quick enough, I would see them.

We were not alone. I couldn’t put my finger on it. But everywhere I looked across the empty sea of stone, it was quiet. Peaceful, with only the perfect architecture. Yet there was motion at the corner of my vision. I’d turn to look, only to see nothing. Phantoms seemed to be there, at the corner of my mind like a song one tried to remember.

At the center of the opening courtyard, there was an immense working water fountain. Water bubbled and sprayed into the air from a statue in the center. The statue depicted two angels in a state of fighting, at the same time almost embracing. They were at one another’s throats, but there was a sadness in their eyes. They loathed what they were forced to do.

Other than the natural marble striations and artistically carved grooves representing cobbled interlaced stone along the courtyard ground, I couldn’t see a single seam where the stone fit together. It was as if the entire temple started as a single titanic piece of stone and had been whittled away by an insane master sculptor.

Well, considering I met Solomon, that could be a freaking possibility. I finished my smoke and was about to flick the butt into the fountain, but a growl from Chael told me that would be a mistake. And from the look in his eye, said mistake would cost me no less than three broken bones. I field stripped the smoke and stashed the butt in my pants pocket. Chael nodded in approval.

Past the courtyard, atop a set of semicircular steps, was a massive set of black stone doors framed in gold. The doors hung wide open, inviting us deeper into the temple.

“What’s through there?” I asked.

“Where we need to go,” Chael responded.

“That’s helpful.”

Through the giant black doors, we moved into the temple’s inner sanctum, a walled-off courtyard garden. Lush, green, exotic foliage created something of a maze in the enclosure as it grew in a chaotic pattern of life. The air was thick with moisture and the scent of growing things.

Everything in the garden was giant and colorful, making it impossible to get a sense of direction. The acoustics were off due to the growth, and I gave up using my hyper sense of smell because the garden was too pungent.

A white marble path led us through the garden. We walked quickly but did not run. I wanted to be able to pay attention to what was around us. We came into a clearing where the stone path joined other paths and formed a perfect circle with continuing pathways moving out from the circle, back into the garden at the cardinal compass directions.

At the dead center of the stone circle was what looked like a four-foot-tall stone pillar. Unlike the surrounding white stone, the pillar was made of a jade green crystal with tendrils of black and white smoky liquid swirling through it. 

The pillar seemed to glow with a strange energy, emitting light alternating in color and intensity. The light coming from the well seemed to pulse in a rhythmic tempo. Like a heartbeat.

That wasn’t creepy at all.

I started to reach my hand out to touch the pillar. I wanted to see what made it glow like that. Riggs reached out and grabbed my wrist.

“Don’t.”

“Would it be bad?” I asked, pulling my hand back.

“Without the Key, it would scatter your mind. Or blow your hand off. It’s been a while, so I really don’t know. Let’s just file it under ‘it would be bad’.”

“Key?” I asked. “Key to what?”

“Why, the Well of Souls, of course.”

“That? That’s the Well of Souls?”

“No,” Riggs said. “That’s a portal stone. The real Well is . . . you know, just hang on. Things will become clear in a moment.”

Riggs reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. Looking over his shoulder, I could see it was an old ring. Ancient, and remarkably well crafted.

The ring was covered in carved script I didn’t know. Atop the ring was a small flattish disc with an engraved intricate pattern. The pattern was sort of pentacle shaped, but complex. Every time my mind tried to reason out the pattern, the pattern itself seemed to shift, preventing me from understanding it.

Groovy.

“What is that?” I asked.

“An exquisite gift,” Chael said. “For the hand that bears it shall forever know the burden of power. Of Life and Death. Of control and freedom and the illusion they both represent.”

Riggs nodded. “That it is. This little baby was the key to many of my successful ventures. I shaped many different worlds and times with this.”

“The Key of Solomon,” I whispered, realizing what it was I was seeing as my mother’s teachings came back to me. “The legendary seal of Solomon’s power and fortune. Some say it was gifted to him by a demon or an angel. The wearer gains dominance over demons.”

“Yup. And if you invert a few of the markings, dominance over angels as well. It’s tied to me and my bloodline, and it’s the only thing that can operate The Well of Souls. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Riggs said as he made his way to the portal stone.

He stood beside the stone and placed his hands on the glowing crystal. Energy began to well up around him in a nimbus of light. In a few moments, his light was soon pulsing in time with that of the portal’s.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw motion. I turned my head and there was nothing. Then again, just beyond my sight I saw something large and moving fast. I turned around and again, nothing.

What the hell was going on?

Something huge and menacing was just over my shoulder, so close I saw a pair of bright blue eyes.

“Shit!” I yelled, dropping to the ground and going into a shoulder roll. I came up with both blasters out and and aimed at . . . nothing.

“OK, what the hell?!”

“The portal is bringing us into phase with the others,” Chael answered.

“Other what?” I asked.

“The other temples,” Riggs answered. His hands moved along the portal stone’s rim like a maestro’s. “You see this one, this temple, is perfect like the others, down to the smallest detail. They are all identical. Each temple has a stone like this one, tuned to their respective Ley Line intersections. And when they are brought into synch using the Key, then we will be in all of them and none of them at the same time. The true Temple of Solomon and the true location of The Tears of God.”

Holy crap.

If Ley Lines were seams of power in the world moving data like the Ultra-Net, then this temple was a server. And the “true temple,” as he put it, was a digital construct like the old data cloud model, each temple compiling a bit of itself and dynamically reconstructing it in the ether. Well, I was impressed.

“When we come into full synch, you will notice some differences. Try not to freak out. And try not to piss off the temple’s locals.”

“Locals?”

Then the Universe seemed to warp and bend around me. Traveling the Lines before with Chael had made me puke. This made me want to rip my own skull off and vomit stomach acid and fire. I closed my eyes and tried to block out all of existence.

When I felt human again, I opened my eyes. I beheld the true Temple of Solomon. It was exquisite. Beyond mere words. A place where the divine and mortal worlds melded into one.

The architecture of the model temple beneath First Heaven was drab and mundane compared to the true temple. If what Riggs—Solomon—said was true, and each temple was a part of the whole, then the true temple was like seeing for the first time.

The stonework was of purest white, the vegetation of the abundant garden, the lushest greens. While there was no sun and no sky to speak of, light, pure light, radiated through the temple and deep within my heart.

It was beyond scope and reason. Oh yeah, and it was positively packed with a choir of pissed-off angels.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Whispers of the Dead

All around us were angels.

Lots of them.

Hundreds and hundreds of them.

They were beautiful. And terrifying. Some embodied the perfect human form. Some were monstrous—patchwork nightmares from the darkest corners of a hellish mind, like Mastema. Some looked like the Renaissance paintings, like men and women in winged form. Others were multi-eyed interlocking wheels of fire and eyes. And when my mind began to comprehend a form they were in, the form would then shift at the speed of thought to something else.

They ranged from normal height to towering taller than Chael. Some wore clothes while others none at all. Some were armed with ancient implements of battle. And some some stood weaponless, yet were somehow more formidable than those with weapons.

There was truly only one thing they had in common—they were all looking at us. And their brightly-colored eyes were blazing orbs of contempt and hatred.

“So,” I began, not really sure what to say at a moment like that, “what did the one angel say to the other angel?... ‘Halo, how are you?’ Eh?”

Crickets.

Eh, no accounting for taste.

The nearest angel approached us. He towered over me, easily eight-plus feet tall. He was human-looking, naked from the waist up, with downy-white feathered wings that matched his white hakama-like robed pants.

“Killer. You have returned here once more,” he said in a stern, authoritative voice, stating the obvious. “And you have brought the outcast. Explain yourself. Now!”

“Jophiel,” Riggs addressed the Angel, stepping forward and lighting a smoke. “I respect your authority over this choir. But you exist here, in MY temple, safe from the world only because I allow it. Now, don’t think the humor escapes me that you, of all angels, are trying to bully me out of here. But I’d watch my tone if I were you. I’m not my dad. I’ll kick your feathered ass. And my name now is Riggs. ”

The giant angel flexed his wings in a way that suggested a throwdown was seconds away from happening. The angel Jophiel looked down at Riggs and regarded him the way a cat regards a mouse.

I heard a slight clack-clack-clack sound. I caught Jophiel’s gaze drifting. Not at Riggs’ eyes, but to the ring Riggs wore. The ring that Riggs was gently tapping against his Zippo lighter. Not too loudly—just loud enough to reinforce its presence.

The Ring of Solomon. His Seal. The one that gave him power over demons. And by his own admission, the one that commanded angels as well. His ace in the hole.

“Forgive me . . . Riggs,” Jophiel painfully acquiesced. “But please, enlighten us on why that . . . thing is present?” he asked, pointing at Chael.

“Him? He is here to enforce what needs to be done. So please excuse us. I have work to do. Then we have to speak to them.”

Jophiel stood aside, then looked down at TJ and at me. His face darkened. “They were not to be permitted here.”

“And yet, here they are. Move.”

“You have broken the promise.”

“No,” Riggs corrected. “I’ve found a loophole. Move. Last warning.”

“You cannot,” Jophiel said, taking a step towards Riggs. Immediately, Chael took a step forward, blocking the smaller angel from coming towards Riggs.

“Return to your simple life in peace or remain and bleed.”

“I no longer fear you,” Jophiel hissed.

“You should.”

Jophiel drew a golden blade from his hip, a foot-long, dirk-like weapon. Instinctively I stepped in front of TJ’s unconscious form and drew a blaster in my right hand. The other angels in the garden drew weapons as well. The courtyard was now a nut hair’s width away from turning into the OK Corral.

“Try it,” Chael said, half smirking.

Jophiel obliged and attacked Chael in a violent and swift motion. Chael leaned into the attack like a masochistic freak. The angel’s blade plunged deep into Chael’s right pectoral. Chael then clamped his left hand on the smaller being’s wrist and squeezed until the bone audibly cracked.

Jophiel’s jaw clamped shut and quivered in silent pain. I gave the angel credit; he didn’t scream out. Jophiel then tried to pull away, but Chael’s grip was too powerful. The smaller angel kicked Chael in the knees and crotch, yet Chael said nothing. Did not move. He only regarded the flailing angel the way a parent observes a child’s temper tantrum.

Slowly, Chael reached out his giant right hand, grasping the squirming angel’s face. Chael’s powerful fingers began to close. Jophiel’s flesh and bone did little to stop him. This time, the angel screamed.

If you’ve never heard an angel scream, consider yourself blessed. Eons of reserved pain and mournful hate create sounds that cause the primitive human mind to revert into a feral-like state. I wanted to flee and hide in the darkest cave as if I feared a thunderstorm that rattled and shook the cosmos.

“Chael. Remember who he is,” Riggs said, and immediately Chael stopped. Again, his eyes flashed a bright blue, and he looked at Jophiel as if he did not realize what had just happened. Compassion flashed across the giant man’s face, and he released his hold on the angel.

The other angels flooded around their wounded companion and cast hateful glares at the giant. Chael only held his hands up in an apologetic way, confused and sorry.

“Chael. Come,” Riggs commanded.

And like that, Chael’s bright blue eyes reverted to dead milky white and he obeyed. “Yes. The Tears.”

“Tears?” Jophiel whispered, holding his broken face.

Riggs leaned in close, keeping his voice low. “Salem, grab the kid and hurry up.”

“What’s up?”

“Just move,” Riggs cautioned.

Confused, I followed Riggs and Chael along the garden path, pushing TJ. I kept my weapons out, because everywhere I looked there were angels. Behind us, within the garden, everywhere. Watching.

“Where did they all come from?”

“The angels?” Riggs asked over his shoulder, not looking back.

“No, the original lineup of George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic. Yes, the angels.”

“There were many after G-Day who couldn’t function without the big man. Those who found their way to my temples, I’ve given refuge.”

“Why doesn’t that sound as altruistic as it should?” I asked.

“Because you’re not an idiot. Sure, I give them a home here in the True Temple, hidden away from the real world. But their presence also leeches just a bit of their remaining power back into the Well. And I use that power to do a lot of things.”

“Like?”

“Like keeping my city running.”

“You’re using them as generators?”

“About all they’re good for anymore.” he replied.

“That’s cold, man.”

Riggs rolled his eyes. “Please. It isn’t like most of them even have a purpose. I’m sure you’ve noticed a lack of their presence in this new world. At least here, they’re safe. And eventually, when they run out of power, they will be as human as you or I. Well, maybe not you or I, but regular folks.”

I listened to Riggs explain it. Truthfully, I’d never been sure angels existed. Demons, yeah. I saw them every day for almost a hundred years. But until I met Vali and Vidar, I didn’t know angels even existed. Not real ones.

“What makes these angels different from the gods?”

“Oh, you know about them, huh?” Riggs asked, sounding impressed, and I nodded.

“I know a couple.”

“Well, the difference is, these angels never decided to leave God’s grace. They remained loyal, by his side, doing his will. And this was their reward: abandonment. When He left, the walls went up. Anything not in Heaven was left behind. Since these bastards never became lesser gods, cultivating worshipers, they have no incoming power from faithful believers. All they have left in the tank is what they had when God left. Once that’s gone, it’s gone.”

At first I thought that didn’t make any sense. If they wanted more power, even if they were never gods, then they just needed people to believe in them. Have faith in them. But then again, what were they supposed to do? Go out into a world that never really had faith in them to begin with? Start doing good work in this cesspool of a world? People wouldn’t welcome them, and the demon masters would kill them.

They were refugees. Cosmic transients.

“But why the temples? Why come here? Why not join the other gods?”

“Lots of reasons, I guess. The other gods weren’t in much better shape. People stopped worshiping the big ones long ago. And there’s always been something of a rift among the family. Those angels that left God’s presence to become gods were looked down on by the ‘faithful’ angels. The children they created, the demi-gods, the nephilim, were an abomination as far as they were concerned. So, if you spent eons mocking and hating someone, could you go hat in hand, looking for handouts from them?”

“I guess not.”

“I think the reason they came to the temples was because of the latent power of The Well of Souls. Once the True Temple became the final resting place for the Tears of God—well, it was like flies on shit after that.”

“What does the Well of Souls do? I mean, I always thought it was just a tomb. A resting place Solomon had built for the relics of the God of Abraham.”

“You want the truth?” Riggs asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s a central power repository. A battery booster for my magic. I used my ring to force powerful demon princes and angelic hosts to reveal their knowledge. Then, I bent them to my will and forced them to construct it. The shamir did the rest, creating the temples around the wells.”

“Why? For what purpose?”

“So I could rip a hole in the fabric of reality and force God to destroy all of creation. And when that didn’t work, I turned the Well on the Earth itself and tried to awaken the Heralds of the Deep Ones.”

What. The. Fuck?

I stopped walking and just stood there dumbstruck.

“Don’t stand there with your mouth open.”

“You’re a monster,” I said in awe.

“I had my reasons, kid. It wasn’t the first time I tried something like that and it wasn’t the last.” Riggs approached a domed shrine in what I guessed was the center of the temple. “Ahh, here we are.”

The shrine was high atop a set of stairs that went all the way around it in concentric circles. Built similar to the old Jefferson Memorial, the shrine had white stone columns forming a perimeter and a domed top. Even from this distance, I could feel the power.

“Come on, kid. Time’s wasting,” Riggs said, making his way upward to the shrine.

“How am I supposed to follow you now, after what you said?”

“You put one foot in front of the other, preferably with your mouth shut.”

“Go to Hell.”

“I tried once or twice. They wouldn’t let me in,” Riggs laughed.

When I said nothing, Riggs stopped and sighed. “Look, I don’t give a shit what you think of me. I’ve lived too long to be burdened by morality or the judgments of others. But I do understand doing what’s right for your people and your family.”

I refused to move.

Riggs turned on me and squared up. He lit a smoke and collected his thoughts. “You’re part right. I was a monster. I hated God. I hated him for the curse he laid on me. I hated him for the benevolence and forgiveness he showed others, but never me. Reborn over and over and over. I saw The Gates of Heaven. I saw the Pit of Hell. And each time, in each location, I was turned away. I was forced back to earth, in another form, another life. Another baby being born with all my knowledge intact. And when I spoke upon birth, my head was crushed by fearful fathers and mothers who thought their newborn was possessed by a demon. And thus the cycle repeated.”

Riggs turned away and continued the march upwards. “Oh, I hated the world and its God. I hated that my only love and passion was stripped away from me. The growing of the earth turned to salt. My children were taken too young. My descendants were all cursed in some way. So we abandoned tilling the earth and became the smiths. Forever cursed to shape what the earth gave, but never able to grow from it again.

“I hated that God sent his son for forgiveness, but my sons and their sons, all innocent, forever carried my curse. I cursed Jesus on the day he died, when I was crucified next to him. I was a simple thief then, but I knew he was telling the truth. That if I believed in him I would go up to Heaven. But I rebuked him.”

Riggs rubbed his hand over his face, then lit another smoke. “Now, can you comprehend the vastness of all that, or should I spell it all out again with smaller words?”

Riggs turned and walked forward up the stairs of the shrine. I followed in silence, processing what he said.

“What changed?” I asked, unsure of what to make of this man.

“Hmm?”

“You said you were a monster. You’re not anymore? What changed?”

“Fair enough. No, I’m not a monster now. You see way back when, I decided I could no longer go on like that, living life after life, century after century. So I decided, stupidly, to unmake creation. Each new life I entered, I sought a way to bring this whole thing down. And each time I failed. And that last time I tried, man, things really went Tango Uniform. So, in this new world, I took the opportunity to return to my first love, growing things. The Curse still applies, and the earth bears no yield to my touch. But I provide the infrastructure and technology for those who can.”

Riggs reached the top of the shrine and lit another smoke “Man, I need to quit. These stairs really take it out of ya. Bring the kid inside.”

Pushing the mag-lev past the columns, I followed Riggs inside. The shrine was a circular room made of white stone and glowing crystal. From the domed ceiling down, pulsing veins of energy moved through the crystal. It appeared the power emanated from a glowing hole in the center of the shrine’s floor.

The Well of Souls.

“Bring him here,” Riggs asked as he knelt beside the hole, laying his right hand, the one with the Key of Solomon, along the well’s lip. His cigarette dangled from his mouth as he prepared to do whatever it was he was planning. Once again, there was something about his manner that tickled hazy memories.

Damn, who was this guy?

Obeying, I picked TJ up and carried him to Riggs, laying the boy down beside the well. Riggs laid a hand on TJ’s chest and instantly the hair of my arms stood on end from the amount of power flowing through the air.

“Will this work?” I asked.

“Best shot we have,” Riggs said with his eyes closed.

I stared in awe of the shrine, unsure of what I was seeing. “How does it work?”

“This place exists in a quantum state, existing in all the temples and none of them at the same time. Because of which, each of the ley-line intersections the respective temples are built on pour their energy here. This shrine, in this tiny dimension, is a focal point for that power.”

The shrine began to glow with an intense white light. Amid the glowing crystal, I briefly saw inky black tendrils of darkness, flowing like a stain inside the pure energy. The air began to swirl in random patterns of color and light. Around me, I heard voices. Whispers of the dead. They asked for guidance. They asked for forgiveness. They were cold, they were lost, they hurt, and they were hungry.

A nimbus of ethereal power hovered above TJ, while around it, the room swam in a sea of motion. The little cloud of energy seemed to be tethered to TJ and it sparkled with a simple, earnest light. Slowly, the sparkling light lowered itself, merging with TJ’s form. As it did, I swear I heard TJ say “Thank you.”

The lights of the shrine stopped flashing. The voices of the dead ceased speaking. In the briefest of moments, we were once again standing in quiet, save for the slow, rhythmic breathing of the thirteen-year-old boy on the floor with a smile on his face.

I looked down at TJ and wiped at the corner of my eye.

“Thank you,” I told Riggs, who only nodded his head and lit two smokes, handing me one.

“You’re welcome.”

“It’s hard to see you as some sort of monster after all . . . that.”

“Like I said, I was one, right up until my last attempt to end this damn world.”

“What did you do?”

Riggs turned his head towards me, looking me in the eye. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Yes?”

“Remember, you asked,” Riggs said, taking a puff from his smoke as he seemed to collect his thoughts. “I had a plan, once technology had caught up to my ambitions. It was before G-Day, back when I was known as Ken.”

“What?” I asked, refusing to allow my mind to process the information.

“Kenneth McMillan, to be exact. CEO and co-founder of Kurasawa-McMillan.”

“You, you were … Ken McMillan. You were my . . . my . . .”

“You got it, kid. I was . . . once. That’s why I know everything about you. Why I know about The Collective. I wrote part of the code my son Abraham, your father, used to create you. I used Kurasawa’s advanced cloning technique to bring about the coming of the Anti-Christ. I knew that would be what brought about the end of the world. Sadly, instead of ending the world, it only brought more pain for all of us as He left. Pain and a shit-load of demons.”

Ho … Lee … Shit

“Granddad?”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Room With No Doors

“You . . . I . . . you’re lying,” I stammered.

Millions of questions flooded my brain. But for the life of me, I couldn’t even ask one. I just stared at him like an idiot.

“For the sake of your soul, I wish I was.”

In that moment, I knew. I knew he was telling the truth. Little nuances all came flooding back to me. The looks he gave, the way he moved, the way he stood, his humor and inflection.

Memories came crashing back in vivid detail. Of the wood and tools in his basement workshop with the ever-present smell of mildew. Memories of sitting on the counter while he tinkered on something and we listened to his Johnny Cash records. The Zippo lighter with the lighthouse engraving in my pocket . . . was his.

I remember my grandmother telling me it was Granddad’s good luck charm from WWII. He bought the lighter in Nova Scotia, Canada before he shipped out to the European front.

This man was, or had been, my grandfather. Not in this form, but it was him. His spirit. I knew it was him. Granddad Kenny. The man who held me and loved me when I was young. The man who fostered my tinkering, helping me take apart old TVs to see how they worked. The man who taught me about death at six years old when he died of a heart attack.

The same man who was the genesis for the end of the world.

I drew my blaster and aimed it at his head. One squeeze, and that would be it. Riggs—for I refused to call him Granddad—turned away, looking instead at Chael, who’d remained quiet during the exchange, watching us with gleeful intent.

My hand trembled on the trigger.

“Make it count, kid,” he said with his back to me.

This . . . person tried killing the world. This person tried to end everything that was or would be because he was angry that he got a bum deal however long ago. And he then spoke so cavalierly about redemption, as if a person could just change his nature as easy as changing his mind.

Then, for whatever reason, Gh’aliss came to mind. I saw her in my memories. Powerful and beautiful. Corrupt and decadent. And I walked beside her for decades while I sold out humanity to demons because I decided to back the winning team.

I helped enslave my fellow man and turned a profit while doing it. I told myself it was for nobler causes, to hasten the inevitable. But how many people did I turn my back on because I too felt like I’d received a bum deal in life?

I thumbed the safety back on and holstered the blaster. Like a child, I looked at my feet, because I felt like I couldn’t look up. Because looking up meant I had to accept the situation. Accept his—and my—reality.

“Not wanting something to be won’t make it so,” Riggs said. “Once the kid is awake, we have to finish this.”

“But why me? Why you? Here, now?”

“It means there are things in play you don’t know about yet. And the fact that I was the one picked to finish you off hasn’t escaped me.”

“No shit,” I said. “It feels like I was set up . . . again.”

“Welcome to the deep end, kid. You just jumped in.”

Chael stepped towards us with a crazed smile on his face. “The boy lives. Now is the time for darkness to spread its dominion over the waning joy in the hearts of men. The plunder within the Room With No Doors awaits. We take The Tears of God and blight the world.”

“The Tears!” a voice called out. A previously unseen angel materialized outside of the shrine and leaped skyward, its voice calling out like a vengeful bird of prey. “They’ve come to remove The Tears of God! Kill them!”

“I take it that’s not good?” I asked.

Riggs gave me a dumb look. “When has anyone ever screamed ‘kill them’ at you and it turned out to be good?”

Hmm . . . he had a point. It looked like my bittersweet family reunion was cut short as the last of the Heavenly Host descended on us. From atop the shrine’s stairs, I looked down and saw the angels, swarming. They came from all directions, moving across the white stone pathways and through the garden’s vegetation.

They didn’t move like I expected—not that I had a really great idea how an angel fought to begin with. I decided right then and there that if I survived this, I was going to do everything I could to never have to fight an angel again. Because—let me just say this up front—it’s really hard.

They were savage. Berserk. Bestial. Like wild silverback gorillas. Some moved on all fours while others moved easily on two legs, scrambling and insane with only one goal—to kill you. Those with wings moved through the air of the garden as easily as those on the ground. They came at us with terrifying ferocity and complete abandonment of fear.

“Do we . . . kill them?” I asked, drawing my guns.

“Well, they aren’t gonna try and tickle us,” Riggs responded, quickly ditching his brown leather coat. He wore metallic bracers that were made of a smoky gray-black material and extended from his wrists to his elbows.

“What are those?” I asked, looking at my own tech bracers.

Riggs looked at mine and smirked. “Cute.”

A Riggs clanged his bracers together, the gray-black material suddenly flowed over his skin, moving like liquid metal. In seconds, Riggs was encased head to toe in his armor, with stylized ram horns along his head and fists.

“Damn,” I whispered. “Cool.”

“Nano-bot technology in programmable matter,” Riggs’s altered voice said through his armor. “Don’t worry. One day you can play with the big boys.”

“I hope you get shot,” I said, turning my weapons towards the oncoming choir. I kept TJ shielded behind me as best as I could while I popped round after round at the angels. But they kept coming.

Even with my cybernetic enhancements, I had a hard time tracking them. They were just too damn fast and moved too damn erratically. I guess I assumed they would be more . . . cordial? If there was such a thing in a fight. More organized, perhaps? Like a cohort of Roman soldiers—disciplined, methodical, proficient.

No. Angels were none of those things. Once upon a time they might have been God’s messengers and emissaries, but they were also the ones who were sent to lay waste to whatever He pointed at. And right now, that pointing was a big-ass middle finger at us.

I saw exactly why they were God’s assassins. They came in with everything from bare hands to blades. I had to fire up my energy shield in my left bracer and try and pick my shots with my right-handed blaster. When the semi-auto blasters weren’t cutting it, I switched them to sawed-off shotgun mode. The hardlight cameras in my bracers supplied the additional required modifications. New barrels and energy capacitors glowed around my weapons.

BOOM! Click-clack BOOM!

I fired off round after round of condensed and powerful energy. The additional firepower was a bit more effective, as I sent the furious angels airborne, tumbling down the shrine’s stairs, only for other to swarm over their fallen allies. Their wounds were severe, but they were closing fast and they kept coming.

Chael at least held his own against the angels. As they swarmed him, he would fling them like children back into the thick garden.

Riggs, in his armored form, blended martial arts attacks with unseen kinetic energy I assumed was magic. I had to admit, learning a touch of magic would be pretty keen. But the way Grimm described it, one needed to come as close to death as possible in order to gain a higher level of understanding of the universe.

Screw that. If that’s what it took, I preferred to live well and be ignorant.

After only a few minutes of fighting, I was breathing hard. The fight was futile. It was only a matter of time before they got us. At least I got a chuckle from seeing a bunch of feathers flying when I blasted them through the air.

Riggs ducked a flaming sword attack aimed for his head and snapped an armored jab into the angel’s ribs. The punch crackled with energy as the sigils on his armor lit up like a neon sign on impact, branding the angel and forcing him back into the pack of winged warriors.

“We need to move,” Riggs announced.

“Yeah, no kidding. But if we stay out in the open, we’re dead. We need to run, now!” I responded.

“Are you kidding? This is awesome,” TJ said weakly from behind me.

“TJ!” I whipped my head around. The boy was rubbing at his face, watching the fight and trying to get his bearings. “Are you OK?”

“Depends,” he said, trying to get to his feet. “Are we being attacked by . . . angels?”

“Yes.” Chael smiled, tossing a creature made of interlocking wheels covered in eyes.

“Then I guess I’m personally OK, but I think we’re screwed.”

“Kid’s got a gift for the obvious. Sure he’s not yours?” Riggs asked, clapping his hands together and sending a shock wave of force coursing outwards, knocking back several angels.

I ignored the comment, trying instead to clear the shrine’s steps of several angels who were rampaging towards us.

“Gimme a gun! I can fight!”

“TJ, just stay behind me!”

“You need help!”

“We didn’t bring you back from the dead so you could charge in and do something stupid! Just, ngggg!” I gritted my teeth as a big nine-foot female angel broke through the ranks, leaped into the air, and brought her heel down on my energy shield. I dropped my blaster and had to use both hands to brace my energy shield to keep her foot from crushing TJ.

“TJ,” I grunted. “Run!”

“Screw that!” he said as he picked up my blaster and aimed it at the giant angel lady’s other leg.

“It won’t work!” I warned the kid. Damn it! My weapons were coded specifically for my DNA.

TJ aimed the weapon and pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

The weapon, point blank against the angel’s knee, ripped it apart. She shrieked and collapsed to the ground.

And so did TJ.

What the hell?! How did he fire the weapon? It shouldn’t have worked. Only my DNA could activate it, and the gun itself took its charge directly from me. Unless . . . oh shit. The Collective transfer Riggs performed did more than we expected.

Ahh, hell.

“TJ! TJ! Can you hear me?!” I yelled. There was no response from the boy. He half rolled his eyes open, then closed them. Whatever energy the kid had, the gun had sapped it. Damn it. His Collective hadn’t yet evolved to the point where it was assembling electro-capacitent cell structure. The weapon stored its own charge, but pulled the reserve straight from me. And in that shot, it took the almost-literal life out of TJ.

“Riggs, how do we get out of here?” I asked as I scooped the kid up in my arms.

“That way!” He pointed down the stairs towards a path leading deeper into the garden. “Follow it until you reach an ancient shrine. It leads to the Room With No Doors. You will have to find your own way in, but make it fast. I can hold them back for a few minutes, but not longer than that.”

Riggs de-armored his right hand and held his fist in the air. The fist that held the Ring of Solomon.

“STOP,” he commanded the angels.

The garden suddenly quieted, devoid of all combat and noise. The eerie quiet only echoed the hate and rage the angels radiated. The celestial beings were locked in place, motionless. I felt Riggs’s tangible will spread out to each of the violent angels in palpable waves. While they ceased moving, they all stared at him with deep, murderous contempt.

“Go!” Riggs yelled. “Chael, get ’em to the Room!”

Chael responded by picking up TJ and barreling through frozen angels, knocking them to the ground. I followed as fast as I could in the wake of the giant’s destruction. Due to Chael’s long strides, I was forced to actually run.

Damn him.

“Why didn’t he . . . do that . . . sooner?” I huffed as I ran along the path, now clear of the immediate danger.

“The Ring was meant for a singular command for a singular being at a singular time,” Chael explained as he moved onward. “Spreading his will out on a larger scale only works for a short time. They will soon be free and then they will come for us. Blood will flow from the eyes and lips of the children of the God who no longer exists. It will be glorious,” he added with a slight giggle.

“What’s going to happen to Riggs?”

“Delicious, painful death for The Killer,” Chael answered.

For a fleeting moment I wanted to go back for him. He was family, after all. But TJ’s form in Chael’s arms brought me back to reality.

I couldn’t save Riggs and care for TJ at the same time.

If Riggs really was Solomon and some sort of spirit-immortal, then I guess he couldn’t really die, could he? He would have to survive on his own. I cast a quick look over my shoulder, where my grandfather remained behind to give us a chance at survival. And in order to keep the boy alive, I had to press onward.

I’m sorry.

We pressed on quickly, putting as much distance between the choir of angels and us as possible. The path opened into another clearing. Unlike the rest of the temple’s massive, beautiful gardens, this clearing was overgrown and wild.

And reeked of death.

Twisted versions of nature sought to reclaim this space. The grass was brown and patchy. The trees suffered from rot and fungus. Pale white spots shone through where the bark had fallen off the dying trees. Everything here smelled of sweet decay. This place was tainted by something wrong. Something beyond evil.

Chael smiled and took it all in.

All around the clearing were the ruins of ancient buildings. Broken columns and stained stone peeked through the oily-slick vegetation.

“Which way?” I asked, and Chael moved towards the deepest pocket of jungle-like growth.

As we approached, I could see that creeping vines and foliage hid what was left of some sort of massive stonework. White stone and crystal peeked through the dense decaying overgrowth. It was as if nature itself swallowed this place, yet couldn’t quite finish the job.

The building looked like the top of a mighty palace, complete with domed roof. The craftsmanship was intricate and exquisite in every detail. But the once-giant edifice listed to one side, now in ruin. The rest was buried in the corrupted earth.

I eventually took note that there was no way in. No doors. No windows. Nothing. Seamless crafted perfection with no way inside. Was the entrance buried? Was this where we were supposed to go? Riggs mentioned a Room With No Doors. Was this it?

Chael set TJ down on the long wild grass and propped him up against a piece of white stone that had fallen off the structure. Chael began to twitch nervously, bouncing from foot to foot in childlike giddy excitement.

“Chael, what is it?”

“Close close oh Gods, so close! Close closecloseclosecloseclose . . .”

“Dude, what’s up? You’re starting to go all Smeagol.”

“Can’t you hear it? Lamentations! They know I am here. They know what we are here for. Yet they cannot stop it! They cannot stop us! Today the Light will die!”

OK, he was back to Crazytown. Every time Chael took a step towards sanity, something would happen and he would leap back four steps. As usual, I had no idea what he was talking about. But he was right in one thing. If the Tears were in there, then this was the end of the journey.

I had to focus on that. I had to keep my mind on the fact that in order for my people—

No, damn it. I had to stop thinking of them that way.

They were more than just my people or my responsibility. They were my friends. My family. If I wanted them to live out the next few days, then I had to find a way in there and get the fucking Tears of God.

So how does one enter a place with no entrance? Blow a hole in it? That would be my first guess. But since Riggs mentioned there were occupants, that meant there had to be some other way in that didn’t resort to high explosives.

Plus, I didn’t have any with me.

So that meant there had to be something I wasn’t seeing. I switched my eyes through the various modes. Nightvision? Nada. Thermal? Nope. Radioscope? Not even close. Then, on a hunch, I switched them to a particular radiation spectrum. One through which I’d seen strange energy in Abraxas’s citadel flow. That energy turned out to be the souls of humans being sucked away and piped to him.

When I did, something happened.

I damn near went blind. I felt a power from within me surge up through my very bones. I felt the same power well up within me as it had when Chael and I were inside the Deep One. Whatever it was that Grimm had inscribed upon my bones radiated painful energy.

I closed my eyes quickly and centered myself, yet the pain inside me burned with a glorious heat. The etching that Grimm had performed to keep me free of the Deep One’s influence was somehow mixing with Nicky T’s ocular modifications. They had fused into some new vision. I saw something like the magical flow of the world interacting with the corruption of the Deep Ones.

In my flash of sight, what I saw was brilliant. The whole structure lit up as in the glory days of Las Vegas. But instead of hot neon, all-you-can-eat buffets, strippers and sex, I saw something else. I saw the Light of Infinite Glory and the creeping Void that sought to extinguish it.

And I didn’t mean I saw darkness. I saw Void. The absence of all. This place was at war. With the Now and the Outside of Time. I didn’t know how I knew what it was that I saw, but I did. After the images that flooded my mind when I was in the Deep One, I knew that this place served as a beachhead. A line that They could not cross. A place They could not cross.

I could see the lines of corruption, the void, pulsating in asymmetrical patterns, trying desperately, passionately, to penetrate the broken shrine. And in the same vision, the power of the shrine, while weak, fought back in equal measure. While the corruption’s assault was spontaneous and erratic, the shrine’s defense was measured and precise. It never defended harder than it needed, it did not exert more power than necessary. It met the void with angles of pure light, burning the corruption like a cauterized wound.

And for all the light’s temperance and resolve, it was failing.

For every two attacks the light defended against, a third managed to seep into the shrine. And as it did, more and more of the creeping, decaying vegetation sprouted along the outer stone.

“Chael. How do we get in?” I asked while I kept my eyes shut.

“I don’t know. Not anymore. Gone, gone, gone. Burned away it was.”

Shit.

Through the turmoil of moving energy, there was one space that held clean. A space where the corruption circled, yet could not enter.

And I’d be damned if that space didn’t make the shape of a door.

I hurried over to the space and looked it over. In my normal sight it was just a stone wall, carved with ornate runes and bird-like designs. But with this new vision, I could see script emblazoned into the rock. I’d never seen the writing before, but I heard the words in my head.

“ONLY THE TRUEST NEED MAY ENTER”

I laid my hand on the rock and I thought of the only thing that mattered. The only reason I was doing this.

My people, who would die. My friends and family, who would be killed if it weren’t for me. Friends and family who would die because of me.

Children without beds.

The door swung wide open, then sucked me inside and shut behind me.

Chapter Forty

Just A Prayer

In Flotsam Prison

Yeela looked at the bloody scene and shook her head. “I’m a demon, and even I have to admit, that’s fucked up.”

“Thank you,” Vali said.

The god and demoness stood back and appreciated their work. Before them, illuminated by the fire of seventeen funeral pyres, Flotsam Prison’s Master Torturer Gregory Gerhardt and Archbishop Maz’ael hung from the trees of the garden. Twenty-two hooks apiece were embedded in their flesh and the attached chains were bound to the boughs of the trees high above.

The two swung in the cold winter wind, moaning in pain. Vali’s sight showed him many horrible, twisted ways to kill them. But the god simply pushed his sight back down. He wanted to witness their suffering with his near-human eyes.

“This reminds me of something,” Yeela said as she watched.

“What?”

“An old comedy movie I used to watch with my mother and sister.”

“What movie?”

“Hellraiser,” Yeela said.

Looking at the glove on her left hand, the one with the red-crystal artifact, Yeela frowned. After a quick glance over her shoulder at her sister Khlabra, who was standing in the same spot where she was left, Yeela frowned even more deeply. “Do you really know someone who might be able to help?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry I stabbed you in the back.”

“No you’re not,” Vali said, not looking at her. Instead the god continued to watch the men suffer. “But I understand. If someone were to take something, or someone I loved from me . . .”

“You’d do this?” Yeela gestured at the bloody nightmare of artistic expression.

“Exactly.”

“THIS FARCE IS OVER,” a deep, ominous voice rumbled from everywhere and nowhere.

The magical fires of the dead guards dimmed and lowered to nothing more than glowing embers, casting the garden back into pools of shadow. Patches of darkness swirled and moved across the garden’s grounds while laughter began to fill the night.

Vali drew his bow while Yeela crouched and hissed. Vali’s sight did not show him the new threat, only suffering and pain.

His.

“What is this?” Vali asked Yeela.

Before the demoness could answer, a patch of shadow grabbed Vali by the left foot. The liquid-like blackness crept up his leg and froze like the winds of Ymir’s breath. With a sudden twist, Vali’s knee snapped with a terrible, wet pop.

As Vali began to scream, the shadow flung the wounded god with swift and tremendous power. Vali flew into the far wall with a sickening thud. As he fell to the ground, more shadows swirled around him. Again, icy-cold darkness sprang forth, clamped down on both of Vali’s hands, and squeezed. Twenty-eight snapping sounds, like firecrackers, echoed as each of his knuckles was simultaneously pulverized.

“WHILE I APPRECIATE YOUR WORK, YOU ARE BUT AN AMATEUR,” the voice sounded.

Unseen force gripped Vali and hurled him across the garden into the opposite wall. Vali felt ribs break and both shoulders dislocate. Before he even hit the ground, the darkness was upon him, cradling him like a spectral hand made of living shadows.

The shadows, still carrying the god, moved slowly across the garden. Rotating the god face first, the shadow-hand glided towards the inferium-laced razor wire of courtyard’s duranium-mesh fence.

Vali saw the reddish metal of the necrotic hell-steel coming towards him, knowing there was nothing he could do. The shadow-hand pressed the Aesir deity’s face and torso hard into the wicked metal.

Inch by bloody inch, the hand drug Vali downwards, across the razors. Vali screamed in pain before the sound was nothing more than the sound of wet gurgling. Broken, bloody and rent, the body of Vali Odinson was pulled by the shadows under the very trees where Gerhardt and Maz’ael hung. 

Vali’s one remaining eye could only look upward. His body, what was left of it, could not move. The fact he was still conscious was less of a testament to his will and more a testament to the power of his equipment. The armor of The Green Knight, which prevented mortal harm, kept Vali awake and responsive through the pain.

His attacker knew it, and was using it to his delight.

“Vali!” Yeela cried as she was suddenly beside him, cradling his head. “Mastema!”

“R-run,” Vali softly said. Yeela stood no chance against the power. Her only option was to flee.

“No!”

“Please . . . run,” Vali pleaded, a tear forming in his remaining eye.

Yeela looked at the god, closed her eyes and shook her head. “No.”

Yeela flexed the glove on her fist and willed her sister to come to her. Obeying Yeela’s mental command, Khlabra knelt down to scoop the fallen god into her remaining arms.

The shadow hand once more sprang forth from the darkness, gripping the two demons. With a nonchalant flick, the hand threw the sisters across the garden into the far solid wall.

“TOO LATE FOR THAT, I’M AFRAID,” the voice boomed.

Above, high in the trees, Vali watched as the shadows coalesced into a form of nightmare and pain. Slowly descending down the branches of the tree, Vali saw the form of a spider-like creature with eight legs sprouting from the back of a large, man-shaped body. Eight red eyes glowed as the thing descended vertically down the tree towards him. 

In his long life, Vali never really considered himself to be brave. He planned ahead of time. He made sure he was more prepared than his victims. He didn’t have to be brave; he only had to be strategic, cold, and committed.

Just like this Mastema was.

If it didn’t burn like Helheim, Vali would have laughed. He had walked into this trap like a fool. If Mastema was this powerful, then he had allowed Vali to believe he had won. He had allowed Vali to attack and maim Gerhardt and Maz’ael, if for no other reason than to pull that sense of victory away from him.

Vali sensed Mastema was near him now. Hard, strong claws gripped Vali by his armor and wounded flesh. Slowly, he was lifted into the air like child. Vali had nothing left. His dwindling supply of power could do nothing to this being. While he was a terror to gods and men, this creature was far beyond Vali’s sphere of power.

Vali opened his one eye and looked into the face of the Warden of Flotsam. Behind the chitinous mandibles of Mastema’s jaw, human teeth smiled back at him. He was held aloft by Mastema’s spider-like legs so that the god was face to face with the giant creature.

“I can see in your eye, you are resigned to your fate,” Mastema said. “Good. That is wise. But I am still going to hurt you. Greatly.”

Vali tried to spit blood in Mastema’s face, but the shredded flesh of his face and the lack of whole lips prevented him. Instead, only bloody drool oozed from his face.

“Ahh, the famed Armor of the Green Knight. I remember this. I greatly enjoyed reaping his smug life,” Mastema said as his spider-like claws began to tear and shear away the green steel.

Vali’s head lolled, his strength gone. He could see the small collection of weapons and equipment piling up below him. It was sad, really. The sum of his life’s work was nothing more than a famous murder, a few refugees, and a pile of stolen trinkets. What would live beyond him when Mastema killed him?

Stripped of his protective armor, the culmination of all the trauma he’d received hit Vali at once. His face contorted into a mask of agony. A breathless scream tried to escape, but found no voice. There, at the end of his life, Vali found he had a choice: He could simply accept death and give over, or he could fight.

Vali fought.

Giving into the pain, Vali dug deep, to his Viking heart and the core of his being. Summoning everything, every last scrap of power he had, Vali healed himself as best as he could and willed himself to fight.

“Ahhhh!” Vali screamed.

Gripping the spider-like claws in his hands, Vali brought both of his feet up and kicked Mastema in the mandibles. The warden’s head snapped back. Vali used the force to flip his legs up and over backwards, breaking free and landing on his feet. His broken knee buckled, but he remained standing.

Quickly, Vali snatched up Mmaaghn Kamalu in his broken hands, forcing it to obey his final acts. Pushing through the pain, he threw the sheath away. Spinning, Vali swiped the glowing red weapon into a deadly strike.

But Mastema’s spider legs moved with blinding speed, dodging the attack. The warden smiled, excited by the combat.

“The weapon of Kamalu? What did he do to earn your wrath?”

Vali moved with deadly accuracy and precision. But with each attack, the larger being parried or dodged. “What all the fallen gods did,” Vali said. “They sought to rule rather than live. Dominance and reverence rather than unity.”

“Your naivete borders on stupidity,” Mastema said, slashing outwards with a spider leg.

The blow struck Vali across the left side of his face. Were his missing eye still there, Vali may have dodged it. For all his years of combat, Vali knew he was woefully outclassed. Even if he was at full strength and fully sighted, he would not stand a chance against this Mastema. Yet the god remained focused. Because he knew one simple truth.

He wasn’t trying to win.

Through his combat tactics, Vali managed to position himself so that his back was to the same razor-wire fence that Mastema had used as a weapon against him. Suddenly, Vali turned and slashed three times, opening a triangular-shaped hole in the fence. Diving through, Vali hobbled into the open courtyard of Flotsam.

“Run little god, run!” Mastema called out. “I do so love the chase.”

Ignoring the warden, Vali ran as hard and as fast as his crippled legs could carry him. His breath came in labored gasps. The only thing holding him together was his will and anger. But before he died, he had one last thing he must accomplish.

Everywhere he looked, Vali saw demon, human, hellion, and cyborg prisoners. With them were armed guards and more of the monstrous draugr keeping order. From their perspective, it must have been comical as a bloodied and broken man ran waving a naked blade across the courtyard.

Looking toward the sky and then across the island, Vali ran to what he estimated was the center of the island. Once there, he stopped, dropped to one knee, and tried to regain his breath. Over his shoulder, he saw Mastema slowly coming towards him. The warden advanced like a predator.

With his sight open, Vali saw everyone who gathered around him. Each of them, guard and prisoner, was a murderer, or rapist, or thief, or child abuser. He could see their sins as clearly as the best way to kill them separately. But Vali still had one way to kill them all together.

Vali came to Flotsam to hurt them. To leave his mark and let Hell know that Löngutangar was not weak. With his power leaving him by the second, Vali decided that if this was his end, then it must be a spectacular end.

Vali watched Mastema, who drew closer and closer. The warden’s spider legs carried him aloft so that he looked like an angel of death approaching. Vali held his resolve, waiting for the right moment.

Suddenly, Mastema melted away in the darkness. Bracing himself, Vali waited. From behind him, the god felt Mastema’s arm wrap around his throat as the creature reappeared.

Right where Vali wanted him.

Mastema pulled Vali inward, so close that the warden’s voice was a warm, wet whisper on the god’s ear.

“You’re good,” Mastema said, as he turned Vali’s head slightly back towards the garden.

Admiring the gruesome scene of Maz’ael and Gerhardt, he said, “I liked watching you work. Not just today, but over the years. From one who delivers death to another, my respect for your mind and skill is given. But you came into my domain and hurt my child. That I cannot forgive. With your armor gone, I can feel the battle within you. Your power ebbs away inch by inch.”

Instead of answering him, Vali ran Mmaaghn Kamalu across his palm, letting the sword drink deeply of his remaining blood. Vali turned the weapon and slammed it, point first, into the hard-packed ground of the island.

“Go . . . back . . . to hell.”

“Wrong direction, little cousin,” Mastema smirked, confused as to why the Aesir rid himself of his weapon. “As an assassin, you take life. As a killer, I’ve exterminated it. With all your godly power, compared to me, you’re nothing. Send an assassin after a killer and watch the killer win.”

“Just . . . kill me. I-I’d rather be dead . . . than listen to any more of this . . . bullshit.”

“Kill you? No. My child was correct. You will live. And you, and the hell bitch, will be indoctrinated into this place.”

There in the place known as Flotsam Prison, a sound was heard which was not native to the island.

Laughter.

Vali, for all the pain he felt, started laughing so hard his remaining eye watered and shut.

“What?!” Mastema demanded, spinning the god around and striking him in the mouth. Through losing teeth and spitting more blood, Vali continued to laugh.

“What is so funny?!” Mastema roared, striking the god again, again, and again.

On the ground, Vali raised the hand he used to cut himself. With his life’s blood flowing freely, the Odinson gave Mastema, warden of Flotsam, the finger.

At first, nothing happened. Then, ever so slightly, a rumble could be felt from all over the island. The rumbling continued, growing stronger with each concurrent seismic tremor.

“Mmaaghn Kamalu has one additional gift along with detecting evil,” Vali coughed through the blood in his throat. “The Igbo war god imbued his weapon to emit tremors so strong it could shake the ground, and if left unchecked, massive earthquakes. Your island, your domain, will sink.”

Mastema looked to the weapon, then back at Vali. The warden slammed one more large fist into the fallen god’s face, then went to retrieve the sword. Gripping the handle, Mastema pulled and pulled, yet the blade refused to budge from the packed earth.

“Blood bound,” Mastema softly laughed. “Well played, little god. But you will release your hold on the weapon. If you do not I will personally slaughter every breathing being in your fucking town and laugh while I do it.”

“You might live if you leave now, “Vali groaned, as he tried picking himself up. “Not to mention your son.”

“Stupid, puny, bastard offspring of a pure wellspring!” Mastema roared as he picked Vali up off the ground. The warden began once again striking the dying deity. “All I have to do is kill you and the blood bond will break.”

“Then all I have to do . . . is hang on . . . until this place sinks,” Vali said.

Mastema tore into Vali’s already mutilated body. He tore Vali’s flesh. His entrails were spilled out. His chest cavity was torn open. Only the faith of over two thousand souls from Midheim and Löngutangar kept him from dying.

With his eye still closed, Vali did the one thing he could, the one thing that a dear friend had suggested to make the world a better place.

He prayed.

Not to the divine, but just a prayer. One that conveyed his hope that Longutangar survived. Hope that his brother would one day find love. Hope that Salem and TJ would survive and save his people. Hell, he even prayed that Yeela woke up and fled with her sister in the hopes that, one day, they were a family again.

“Yield! Release the hold on the weapon! I am your god now!” Mastema roared as he tore more and more of Vali’s flesh away.

“Tsk tsk,” a soft, but powerful disembodied voice chided. “You know how He felt about false idols.”

For a moment, Vali felt the hair on his bloodied arms stand on end. An omen of something coming. An arrival.

A crack of thunder, so loud it was like a mountain breaking, split the night with deafening, concussive force. Mastema stopped his ravaging and looked about.

A bolt of red and white lightning, so bright that the night sky over Flotsam was turned to day, struck directly between Vali and Mastema. The sheer power of the lightning strike’s impact separated Vali and Mastema, flinging them apart.

Vali landed in a mangled heap. His remaining eye was closed, but the image of the lightning strike was burned into his retina. And in that image, Vali could see a giant white and red figure with four feathered wings and four arms.

Groaning, broken, bleeding, and dying, Vali rolled to his side and forced his eye open. Before him, standing in the middle of the scorched, blackened ground . . .

. . . was Taylor?

“Heya, boss. Toldja praying helps.”

Chapter Forty-One

Are You Worthy

Now, in The Temple of Solomon

For a moment there was no me.

There was only Light.

The Light was painful. The Light was beautiful. The Light surrounded me. Penetrated me. Filled me to the brim with pure ecstasy, and without the Light, I knew I would be . . . less. Dim. Absent. 

In the bathing glow of The Light, I felt all the pain I ever inflicted on others. Their suffering was my suffering. I felt guilt. I felt loathing. I felt the desire to redeem myself in the presence of The Light. I felt hope. I felt courage.

All at once, in the blink of an eye, The Light vanished. Or was it I who no longer could be in the light? I didn’t know

I was lying on a floor.

The crystalline stone beneath me glowed white. Looking up, I saw it wasn’t just the floor that glowed. It was the walls, the ceiling, the columns. Pure warm light flowed from the very rock. Pulsing radiance moved everywhere.

Yet at the very edge of the light was a darkness. A corruption. Staining the outer edges of everything. This place—whatever it was, wherever it was—reflected the same battle outside. The Light held back the dark corruption of the void.

I turned, looking around. I didn’t see the door I came through. Just a wall. I was alone. The room had a hallway leading away, and that was it.

Where was TJ? Where was Chael?

“TJ? TJ! Where are you?!” I yelled, my voice echoing. “Jesus, where the hell am I?”

“Somewhere you are not supposed to be,” said a deep, strong, yet definitely feminine voice. “Somewhere you were never meant to reach.”

“Yet, here you are,” said a second female voice.

“Your young ward is outside these walls,” a third voice which was both masculine and feminine said. “And do not blaspheme in our presence, mortal.”

“Oh. Shit. Oh, damn . . . sorry. Hi,” I said, unsure of what to do. Looking around, and seeing no one, I spoke aloud. “My name is—”

“Isaac McMillan,” the first female voice said.

“The Lightrunner known as Salem. Previously known as Winston, Reynolds, and RJ Doral,” the second female voice said.

“We know who you are and why you are here,” the mixed third voice said. “Come, and let us see if you are worthy.”

Oh shit. “If you know who I am, and why I’m here, then you know what I’ve come for. You know what I have to do.”

“We are the Guardians of the Tears of God. We do not own them. If you can remove them, then that is where they are meant to be,” the first female voice said.

“Come to us, if you wish,” the second voice said.

“The choice is yours,” said the third voice.

I had no idea what was going on. But if this was where The Tears were, then I had to press on. No matter how freaking scary the disembodied voices were.

As I followed the hallway, the pulsing light in the strange construction seemed to flow in a way that guided me. As I stepped, ripples of warmth spread outward, pointing me down the hallway.

The strobe-like effect was dizzying, and I rested my hand on the hallway walls to steady myself. I felt carved pictograms in the crystal stone. Looking at them, I had flashes in my head. Flashes of wars. I saw battles over Heaven. I saw the fall of the unfaithful. I saw a single, beautiful angel look back over his shoulder as his army fell. With a nod and a reluctant smile, the angel leaped from Heaven, cast out with the flock of usurpers.

I pulled my hand back and shook my head. Wiping at my nose, I felt blood trickle out. I wiped the blood on my clothes, not wanting to stain such a beautiful place with my mortal filth.

The hallway stretched for an eternity. With each step I felt sluggish. It was as if the air itself resisted me, holding me back from reaching my destination. I took a step and thoughts of Gh’aliss flashed in my mind. Thoughts of how easily I cast her away decades before. With the next step, I could only dwell on how she returned to my life. And because of my very nature, independent of any identity I wore, she died because of me.

My head swayed and I reached my hand out to steady myself, only to snatch it back before I touched the wall, not wanting to relive a war in Heaven. Once I had my thoughts under control, I took my next step.

An image of Jensen, my possible son, shot through my mind. The image changed from the grown man I knew to a boy. A boy without a father living on the streets. I saw the boy forced to do . . . unspeakable things to survive. I heard him. Calling out the name “Winston” over and over.

Winston, the only name he was ever given as to who his father was. A name and nothing more. No flesh to give form. Only an empty name and an empty hope of a father’s arms to protect a child from a hellish world.

I fell to my knees. Tears streamed down my face. I wept how only a broken man could. Without dignity. Without restraint. My stomach wretched as my whole body vomited up centuries of remorse.

“I . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I moaned.

I crawled forward on my hands and knees. Each step was another vision of suffering. Another life cut down too soon because of my action or inaction.

My dead lover and her children. My son. The people I betrayed when I sold humanity out. Those who died in The Catoctin Massacre because of me. The countless souls of the dead whose lives I ended haunted me.

They condemned me.

I crawled three more steps until my body gave out. My heart, heavy with the burden of so many, finally gave out, and I fell face first to the ground.

“I’m . . . so . . . fucking . . . sorry!” I yelled into the stone, slamming my fist against the luminescent floor.

Then, something changed. A pressure lifted, and I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked and there was no one there. Then I felt another, and another. Against the physical impossibility, I felt thousands of hands upon me.

The hands guided me gently along the floor. The hands lifted me. Not only my body, but my spirit. I heard the thousands of voices speak at once, whispers magnified by the sheer volume of them.

“We do not condemn you,” the voices said. “You set us free.” Once more I was lifted, rising to my knees.

I saw a flash in my mind. A memory. But not mine. I saw me, standing in the Tower of Abraxas. I stood beside the control system of the machines that were harvesting the very souls of people to give demons power. I heard myself apologizing to the hundred thousand people I doomed to death.

“I promise I will try and make it a better world. I-I’m sorry,” I heard myself say as I pressed the button that shut down the machine and ended their lives.

The voices’ whispering roar boomed in my head. “We are free.”

Suddenly, the voices were gone, and I was once again alone in the hallway. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to take a single step forward.

Nothing happened. My knees damn near gave out with a sense of relief.

I mentally pushed all the thoughts of Gh’aliss and Jensen, the pain I caused as Reynolds, and every other person I hurt, deep, deep down inside me. I knew there would be a day when I’d explode from an ulcer. Hell, I had enough repressed emotional trauma to resurrect Sigmund Freud and kill him all over again. But that was future Salem’s problem.

I still had a mission.

Continuing down the hall, I followed until the hall made a single left turn that opened into a vast, magnificent, circular shrine with a beautiful domed ceiling. Everything was made of the purest white alabaster and crystal. The room glittered in a rainbow of multi-colored reflected lights. I stood inside a dream.

Seven colossal thrones sat empty at seven cardinal points around the shrine. The thrones were not identical. Each was decorated differently, depicting a specific aspect of whoever was deemed worthy to sit upon them.

But it wasn’t the thrones that mesmerized me. It was pedestal in the center of the room. A single crystal pedestal. Floating there, suspended in midair by nothing I could see, were two golden, teardrop-shaped objects.

The Tears of God.

The Tears were each about two feet long and rippled as they floated. They were not solid, nor liquid. They were a sort of tangible energy. And they cast off the purest, warmest, most powerful light. A light so beautiful I felt shame for looking upon it. As if my very perception of it tainted the raw nature of the photons in motion.

“Welcome,” a voice said from behind me.

I spun around, my hands going to my blasters. Behind me, sitting now upon the previously empty thrones, were three beings. If I were to call them angels, that would be like calling the Grand Canyon a hole in the ground.

These beings, while indeed angels, were so much more. Each of them was twice the size of Chael. Each of them was dressed in armor and garb that told a story of who they were.

The first female was adorned in thick, crimson battle armor trimmed in silver and a quilted brown leather war skirt. Her form conveyed a simple message—warrior. Her skin was a purple so deep it was almost black, while her hair, eyebrows, eyes, lips and fingernails were pure gold. She was handsomely beautiful. Golden angelic script tattoos lined her strong jaw. Her wings had dark purple feathers with golden downy highlights.

While the first angel gave off an air of calm confidence and quiet power, the second female was anything but subtle. She was dressed in shamanistic garb and armor of leathers and feathers, tinted the color of the storms after a sunset. Her flesh was half black and half white, split down the middle of her face. Each side was tattooed with the opposing color. Her wings transitioned from dark to light gray with blood-red tips. Her hawkish features stared at me with an intensity and familiarity once only reserved for a most-hated enemy.

Last, the third angel stared at me with an intensity that made me want to hide and weep. The angel wore a lower faceplate made of a strange silver metal. Only its glowing green eyes peered through the hooded cowl.

Neither male nor female, the being sat there, relaxed yet ready to spring at a moment’s notice. It wore a dark blue armor over a sleeveless black robe which split past a braided belt into divided skirts. Silver script and runes were embroidered in the angel’s garments, matching their ornate interwoven silver bracers. Silvery and black tattoos flowed up its thin yet muscular slate-gray arms. 

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am Gabrielle,” said the purple and gold female. I sensed that if I crossed her, she would systematically destroy me in a clean and efficient way.

“Remiel,” the black and white female replied. Her voice rumbled and rolled. I felt electricity charge through the space between us. If she were to turn on me, then it would not be a clean death.

“Sariel,” the final being said.

“Uh, hi. I’m—”

“We know who you are,” Sariel announced.

“Yeah, that was dumb,” I mumbled. “What is this place? And how did I get in here?”

“This is the Shrine of Light. And we are its Guardians. This is where we protect The Tears of God and guide its light to the dark places of the world. And you were allowed sanctuary because your need was great and selfless.”

Remiel gave me a hawkish, stern glare, tilting her head at an odd angle. “If it were our decision, you would have remained barred from this sanctuary.”

The power of the three guardians rolled off them in waves of energy, life, hope, and fear. I felt that they were in fact holding back the very essence of their true selves, lest it bring me to my knees. It was hard to meet their gazes.

“You’re more than just angels, aren’t you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” Sariel said. “Archangels. We are of the Fourteen. Three of the original Virtues. Gabrielle is The Purest Strength of Will. Remiel is the Raging Storm of Unyielding Faith. And I am The Truest Mercy.”

I felt cold to my core when Sariel spoke, yet there was comfort in the sense of finality.

“You’re Death.”

“A name I have been called, yes.”

Oh . . . crap. The Angel of Death. Salem, what have you gotten yourself into? I was clearly in over my head. I tried to look around calmly for an immediate exit.

“I am here because—” I started.

“You are here to try and remove the Tears of God,” Gabrielle said flatly, finishing my thought. I felt the urge to run away from her stern gaze.

“No I’m not,” I lied reflexively.

“Do NOT lie to us,” Remiel bellowed in a voice that was half roar and half screech.

“We do not appreciate lies in this place,” Sariel said.

Crap. I think I just pissed off The Angel of Death.

In moments like these, I had always found that honesty was indeed the best policy. When your back was to a wall and the big scary whatever it was had you by the balls, lying to them almost never worked out. Mostly because “big and scary” got to be that way by already knowing the truth. And much like the cops of olden days, they just wanted the confession.

“Yeah. I am. I need them,” I said aloud as I looked at my feet. Then, as I thought about why I needed The Tears, I felt a surge of righteous courage.

I lifted my eyes to meet their faces. “Not for me, but so that others may live. So that others may have a chance of survival. Because I fucked up and the only way to save these people is to bring back The Tears. So, does this mean we are going to fight?” I asked, my hands rested on my blasters.

“No. We will not,” Sariel said, and I let out a relieved breath. Sariel gestured toward the pedestal. “You are free to attempt to take The Tears. You have one chance. Are you worthy?”

Chapter Forty-Two

We Were There

If being in the presence of the archangels was enough to make me quake in my boots, then standing before a piece of God made me want to fall to my knees and weep for forgiveness. There, in the center of this magnificent room, I felt small and insignificant. I felt unclean. Worthless. Every sin and act of moral malfeasance I had ever committed was there, just resting below my skin like a vile oil.

I’ve done a lot of horrible things. I thought I had come to terms with them long ago. But here, in this place, before the Tears, it was like I needed to confess. I needed absolution. I needed to feel like a child again, innocent and full of faith instead of aged and full of denial and bullshit justifications.

I approached the Tears of God. I cautiously reached my hand out to touch them, then stopped. I looked back over my shoulder at Gabrielle, Remiel, and Sariel.

“What do I do?” I asked.

“If you can take them, then you can take them. If your need is great and you feel you are worthy, then The Tears will follow,” Sariel said.

“However,” Gabrielle cautioned me, “if the Tears are removed, their current purpose will cease to be.”

“What?”

Crap. Naturally there was a catch.

“OK, I’ll bite. What’s their current purpose?”

“We focus the Tears of God through this dynamic space, in many places at once, to push The Light into the dark places of the world,” Gabrielle explained.

“Come again?”

“We keep the Deep Ones at bay,” said Sariel.

“While simultaneously trying to bless this world with the last remnants of His Grace,” Gabrielle finished.

Double crap.

“You’re telling me these things are what’s keeping the Deep Ones back?”

“The only things,” Remiel confirmed. “The Light that the Tears of God emit transcends the physical. His Light is their enemy. From here we can project that Light into the deepest of the firmament. To the darkest of the waters. The Tears maintain the Balance. While keeping this universe’s greatest nemesis at bay, they shine their warmth on all of mankind.”

Something inside me snapped when I heard Remiel take credit for something I knew was a lie. “That’s bullshit!” I yelled at the archangel with a ferocity that surprised us both.

On instinct, my hand went to my weapons. Gabrielle’s angelic warblade had already cleared its scabbard in a blink. Thunder rumbled in the shrine while a miniature lightning storm crackled between Remiel’s hands. I saw her looking at me, and I just stared right back.

Sariel did nothing but watch me.

“You think what you’re doing is helping mankind?! HOW DARE YOU?! Answer me, goddammit!”

A wave of unseen force crashed into me.

I was lifted off the ground and propelled backwards into the stone and crystal wall at major league fastball speed. My head slammed against the wall hard enough that I tasted copper. My vision blurred and the air escaped my lungs. I hung there several feet off the ground, held up by sheer will. Before me, Sariel stood with an arm outstretched in a—I shit you not—Jedi Force choke gesture.

“We told you not to blaspheme,” Sariel said flatly.

I don’t do bullies and I don’t do censorship. America may have fallen two centuries ago, but I still felt in my heart of hearts, the Red, White and fuck-you Blue. So, I exercised my First Amendment right to speak my mind as plainly as possible. But with trying to choke in air, all I could do was extend my middle finger.

Despite a distinct lack of dignity, I think I pulled it off. But there was no way I was done my rant. Sucking in as much air as possible, I unloaded.

“I’ve got news for you three. The world freaking sucks! Out there, inside the light of His Grace”—I tried my best to air quote with my hands as I hung there—“it is a cesspool of demonic tyranny and shit. Near soulless men and women walk about every fucking day in their gray-washed lives. They grovel and scrape. Beg and steal. They’re alive, but not living. Every day people are taken off the streets by demonic enforcers and no one says shit because that’s just how it is.”

I yelled as best I could. My throat was raw, but I was just getting warmed up. “I lived through it all. The Wars. The surrenders. The destruction of the old world and the building of the new civilization. The poor and the hungry and the cold, forced to live in places that rats abandon, only to be gobbled up by some of the Lesser Deep. So good job on that one, a-holes! So you can tell yourself you are doing good work keeping back the Deep Ones all you like, but I’m here to tell you, you suck at your job. And you know what I never felt in all the time since G-Day? Not one iota of hope, or light, or your warmth! So I don’t know if the three of you are locked in here doing shadow puppets, but it sure as shit isn’t helping mankind!”

After yelling, I seethed, catching my breath. Beyond my own labored breathing there was no sound. The archangels did not respond; they simply watched me. Remiel and Gabrielle stood and joined Sariel, flanking the Angel of Death.

“When you fell from the Citadel of Abraxas,” Sariel whispered, “we were there.”

“What?”

“When you were cold and alone in Flotsam, we were there,” Remiel added.

“Deep down, you knew you could not quit,” Gabrielle said, slowly lowering Sariel’s hand, guiding me gently back to the ground. “You wanted to. But something inside you refused to let go. And as that spark of resistance almost vanished, like a lone candle flame in the wind, ready to flicker out, you felt something reignite it. Something that gave you just enough of a push to persevere. That is what we do.”

“We see everything,” Remiel said, casting her hand upward.

The crystal dome of the shrine shifted. Each and every little facet within the massive crystal dome was now a window to somewhere in the world. Hundreds of millions of tiny scenes played out. They shifted over and over so fast it seemed like the twinkling stars of night.

I saw the world. Lives being lived. People in their darkest moments, the saddest of times. Each one at a crossroads of pain. Yet they hesitated before continuing down the path of destruction. Not all of them chose to fight on. But some did. And I felt joy. Hope.

“The world is a very large place,” Gabrielle said, putting her blade away. “I am here, in this place, to give them the will to go on.”

“I bless those who show faith to something greater than themselves in the face of opposition,” Remiel said.

“And I am the blessed mercy so many need,” Sariel said almost sweetly. “You must understand, we cannot change the lives of so many. When He left, we were also left behind.”

“Seven of the Fourteen took refuge here. We focused our abilities and power to help mankind for as long as we could. We created a home for those who no longer wanted to live in the world. Those who were too angry at mankind to live among them. Those who blamed the His absence on your kind.”

I looked at the seven thrones, then at the three of them. “What happened to the the other four?” I asked.

Sariel, Blessed Mercy, Angel of Death, looked away, saddened. Garbielle placed her arm on the archangel’s shoulder while Remiel spoke.

“We lost Hanael, the Purity of Joy, shortly after The Abandonment. Where she went, we do not know. With her went the Joy of Man went. Raphael walks the world of man while Orphiel oversees a realm, leading his mutations.”

“And the other?” I asked. “That’s six. Where’s the seventh?”

Gabrielle looked to Remiel, who then looked to Sariel.

At Sariel’s nod, Gabrielle spoke. “As long as this shrine has stood, in a time and place that exists, yet does not, The Deep Ones have tried to corrupt this, the last of Holy Places. They eventually succeeded in their attempt to corrupt one of us. A thin tendril of corruption laid low the heart of our ally and mightiest of us. They made him doubt the cause, made him lose his faith. And the corruption of the Deep Ones transformed him into their powerful thrall.”

Her voice resonated an ocean of regret. “He is no longer with us. No longer an archangel, exiled from this place. He is now twisted and dark. And he seeks to remove the Light from The Tears of God. To allow the Deep Ones full entrance into this world.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Outside this shrine, attempting to slaughter the very angels he once swore to protect and lead against the adversary Satan.”

Holy . . . freaking . . . crap. That meant . . .

“Chael?” I asked.

“A simpler name for a simpler form,” Gabrielle said. “Once I called him my brother. Once, he was known as ‘He Who Is Like God’. He, like Sariel, Remiel, and I, was of the Fourteen. He was Courage in The Darkest of Places.”

Sariel’s glowing green eyes stared at me through the shroud of darkness. “You, and the world, knew him as the Archangel Michael.”

Chapter Forty-Three

Beyond Strangers, Beyond Enemies

Michael.

Chael. Mi Chael.

Michael.

Seriously? I lifetime of playing Scrabble and I didn’t see that? That’s it. I am now officially the dumbest human that ever was or ever will be. But in my defense, how often does one come across a ten-foot bloody psychopath and think “angelic deity”?

“Chael is Michael? The Michael? The guy who fought the great Dragon and led all the choirs of angels?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Sariel said.

“He was the Second of the Fourteen. The Second Child of Light. While Pride came First, he who would be called Lucifer the Morningstar, Michael was the Second and equal and opposite of his older brother. For when Light was absent, there was Dark. And thus the Courage to Face the Absence of the Light was created. In all things powerful and courageous Michael was,” Gabrielle said, saddened.

“Can he be fixed? Could he be an archangel again?”

“We do not know,” Sariel said. “I fear my brother is forever taken by The Deep Ones.”

“That’s why he has been helping me,” I said aloud to no one as my mind raced back to Flotsam Prison. It was only when I mentioned the Tears of God did Chael’s dementia shift and his demeanor change. He became helpful. Hell, he was the only reason we got off the island.

I knew he was crazy and possessed, but I didn’t realize there was enough gray matter in his head to carry out a long-term agenda like the removal of The Tears.

“If I take The Tears, then The Deep Ones will awaken fully and enter this world?” I asked.

“Not immediately. But eventually. Years, maybe? Another eon? No one knows for sure. What we do know is their lesser minions and possessed ones already walk the world, carrying out their bidding. Creation itself is their prison. If they were to wake up and regain their full power, they would rip the world apart. And everyone and everything would perish.”

“So, I take The Tears and save my people. But ultimately they die, and I’d be subjecting the world to increased Deep One deaths and possessions?”

“Essentially,” Remiel said.

Well, that’s it. That’s my choice. Take The Tears and save my people for now and screw the world. Or leave them and watch Löngutangar burn while the crappy, shitty, dreary, subjugated world limps ever onward.

So, how would you like to be violated: anally or orally?

Maybe I could get back in time and move my people again, I thought. But that was stupid. No, I couldn’t. Even if I could be there right now, I’d never get them out in time. And where would we go? Into the waste again? Back to Midheim? We would all be tracked down and killed.

The magnitude of the situation hit me. Overwhelmed me.

I dropped to my knees, right there in the beautiful crystal and stone shrine where no one but three archangels could see me, and I wept. Tears ran down my face. I was beaten. How could I remove the Tears and let the world suffer so only my friends and family could live? And even then, they would eventually suffer. So The Tears had to stay and keep us in this wretched state because the alternative was far worse. Hell, I didn’t even know why Lady Bathin wanted them. Maybe some sort of power reserve for her and her demon lackeys.

So, that was my answer.

I thought of all the people of Löngutangar. I thought of my mother and father. I could never get their machines out in time. Their existence I had taken for granted. And they would forever be gone to me. The one tie I had to a family, to life before G-Day. Gone.

I thought of all the children who would die, sleeping on the ground. Without beds.

Nikola Tesla. Perhaps one of the greatest minds to ever exist, who cheated death and continued on, would be snuffed out in fire and pain.

Grimm. What could I say? In such a short time, he had become an uncle to me. A mentor. A friend. Gone. And I doubt even the powerful Ricky could bring back a pile of immolated ashes.

Vali? Vidar?

There wasn’t a fucking thing I could do. There was nothing in my pitiful scope of power I could do. So I lit a smoke and continued weeping.

Oddly, Sariel and Gabrielle sat down next to me while Remiel simply continued to watch me.

Had someone taken a picture, the scene would have been laughable: two giant archangels in their heavenly regalia sitting next to a little human who smoked and cried like a child.

“Even in sadness, there is Hope,” Sariel said.

“If the Will is strong, so will the flesh be,” Gabrielle said and she rubbed my back with her massive armored hand.

There was something unsettling about an armored figure who was triple my size being maternal.

I hated being beaten. It wasn’t the first time, but it churned my guts with fiery anger as it did every time. A lifetime of getting knocked down made me get up and try harder. It inspired me to find a new way, a new approach. And then I would win.

Maybe that was the answer? Maybe that was the real choice I needed to make?

“Can the Deep Ones be beaten?” I asked.

Gabrielle smiled. Sariel nodded. “If the world united against them. Perhaps.”

I stood up, took another drag and flicked my smoke aside. “I’m taking The Tears.”

“If you can, you can,” Sariel said.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means The Tears of God are of Him. If The Tears allow it, then you will have them.”

Not understanding anything the archangels were saying didn’t stop me. Hell, I didn’t understand half the crap I go through. But if I let ignorance rule me, I’d still be holed up in my underground bunker counting the years until my long, shitty life finally ended.

I looked at The Tears, floating on the pedestal.

In a hundred years, there had been no new music. No new creations of beauty and art. People just weren’t people anymore. They were cattle. Drones and worker bees. They worked and existed, but didn’t live. And sometimes, something needs to come along and force a wake-up call.

I hoped this was the right choice.

If I took the tears, then my people would be safe. For now. And others around the world would be forced to deal with a darker presence of the Deep Ones.

But so would the Legions of Hell. Demons would have to contend with them.

They would have to come off their elevated perches and deal with it right alongside people. And people would be forced to wake up. They would be forced into situations where they had to grow. They would live and suffer. But they would be human again. They would inspire others. And their souls would grow.

I stood at the precipice of human change. A new era. And all I had to do was reach out and take the two floating objects before me.

“What will happen when I touch them?” I asked.

“We do not know,” Sariel said.

“Then here goes nothing,” I said, and I reached out to take the tears.

But before I could, a ripple of golden-white power erupted from The Tears, blasting me back as my mind burst into a million pieces.

********

Day Ninety-five, the end of the Wild Hunt

He was gaunt, starving, and frozen. Yet Father Grimm stood. Nearly three months of running, yet he stood.

Grimm crested the ridge of a dark, snowy hilltop, shivering and nearly naked. His robes had long since torn away. Without his normal protective magic, his once pristine black cassock and black leather pants had succumbed to the near three-month exposure to the elements. His tattooed spells were nearly depleted.

Nights of running and hiding, hunting and fighting. Bit by bit, his sanity, like his clothes, was torn away. Constant running. Constant fear. Constant grappling with his waning humanity tore through his being as he ripped through the undeserving Fae.

Now both soul and clothing were threadbare.

But at the bottom of the valley below, shimmering like a silver beacon, stood The Windgate. The ancient yew-and-oak-blended frame was engraved with the words of power that tethered this pocket dimension to the prime plane. The small valley opening was set in a circular clearing with dense forest all around, and the gate sat in the exact center.

Once he crossed though, all the pain, the suffering, and the killing would be over. Placing one frigid, weary foot in front of the other, Grimm began his trek down the ice-covered hill. 

Grimm’s vision blurred. Narrowing his eyes, he forced his slipping mind to focus. Focus on the gate. His last meal, his last taste of blood was over two days ago. He left the little hamlet of spriggans mostly intact. But he had to consume one, lest his bloodlust cause him to kill them all.

Starving, Grimm pushed onward. Taxed to his very mental and physical limit, Grimm never noticed the streak of silver spectral energy blending into the continuously falling snow.

Bursting forth from the forest, the beam struck him in the chest. The psychokinetic energy slammed into him with incredible force. Grimm’s hat flew from his head as his body was launched backwards and his head slammed into a snowdrift. His tenuous grasp of control slipped, and his eyes went black.

The beam of energy snaked through the air at odd, infrequent angles. As Grimm sat up, the beam redirected, shooting back towards him and striking him in the head. Grimm didn’t exactly feel his cheekbone and nose fracture so much as he was aware of it.

When Grimm sat up, his face resembled the maw of a far deadlier, and eviler, creature. His eyes were now canted black orbs and his mouth hung open impossibly wide, revealing elongated teeth. The nails on his hands likewise turned black, coming now to razor-sharp points.

A wooden arrow suddenly pierced his chest. Grimm looked at the shaft as a nuisance and snapped it with a swipe of his hand. From the woods several more arrows rained down, each one piercing his flesh. Angered, Grimm pulled the arrows from his body and bellowed in rage.

Chimera stepped forth from the woods with her longbow drawn. As she did, the beam of silvery energy streaked past Grimm, snaked past Chimera, and disappeared in the woods.

“I’m glad you’ve finally revealed your true nature!” Chimera cried out. Taking aim, the angry Fae fired three arrows in rapid succession.

None landed.

Grimm, in his monstrous form, moved too fast for her to see clearly. His hand and arms moved in a blur. Grimm simply snatched the arrows out of the air as if they were slow gnats. Missiles in hand, Grimm spun in a small circle and hurled them back at Chimera.

The arrows sailed through the air towards the awestruck Huntmaster with supernatural force in spite of the arctic winds. Striking her armor, the arrows pierced her shoulder, stomach, and thigh.

“Ahh!” Chimera gasped, dropping her bow. Her injured leg buckled as she took a step. Falling to the ground, she rolled as best she could to keep from driving the arrows in deeper.

“NO!”

The colossal armored golem burst forth from the forest, splintering full-grown trees. The massive form tore across the clearing and headed straight for Grimm, who was fast approaching Chimera. The mighty Ghost swung his maul-like fists down onto Grimm, intent on crushing his enemy.

The blows never landed.

Flesh impacted steel, resonating like a bell across the snowy field. Ghost’s helmeted face showed no emotion, but his body conveyed surprise that such a small thing could not only survive, but also match his strength.

The two held there, locked in mutual hate. The golem bore down with overwhelming mass and leverage. Grimm’s knees buckled under the sheer power of the armored titan. Yet Grimm held, matching the creature’s strength with sheer supernatural ferocity.

Grimm’s hands began to squeeze. The metal of the golem’s fist slowly buckled under Grimm’s grip with a high-pitched squeal of shearing steel. The silvery-blue eyes flashed in a moment of uncertainty.

“AGATHA,” Ghost boomed.

At first Grimm said nothing, because the word meant nothing to him. The power of thousands upon thousands of years of otherworldly existence poured into him. His legs straightened as his hands closed around the behemoth’s steel fists.

Pivoting, Grimm moved aside while pulling the titan to the cold ground. Immediately, Grimm was atop the golem, slamming his fists down over and over, denting and breaking the giant’s armored form.

“AGATHA!” Ghost repeated as Grimm slammed a fist down across the downed giant’s head, bending one of the horns. “DAUGHTER!”

The word stopped Grimm, his fist cocked back, ready to strike. Daughter? Then, slowly, Grimm began shaking his head. Agatha. Daughter. The words echoed through his primal mind.

Agatha? Daughter? . . . AGATHA! Grimm’s eyes cleared, if only for a brief second. Pushing the massive fist aside, Grimm spun away, his hands coming to his face.

Looking at his hands, at the talon-like black nails, Grimm emitted a low, mournful wail. Memories trickled in, pushing past the mindless rage of his altered state. Something of Father Grimm flashed in his mind.

A last resort?

Tearing at the last bit of his robes, Grimm placed a hand over his last tattoo, a small intricate knot work design with the letters “AG” woven into the ancient pattern over his heart. As he released his last bit of stored magic, the final tattoo vanished in a crackling flash of red and white energy. The creature dropped to the ground in shock and pain as his form changed, reverting to the more “human” Father Grimm.

Shaking his head, Grimm sat up. Looking along the treeline, Grimm saw her, lying alone, in the cold wet snow, riddled with arrows.

“Agatha!”

Leaping from the ground, Grimm sprinted through the snow, leaving the fallen Ghost behind him. Grimm dropped to his knees, sliding in beside and Chimera cradling her head.

“Agatha, Agatha!”

“You . . . don’t get to call me that anymore,” Chimera said weakly. “You left me.” She rolled her eyes to see Ghost rising from the snowy ground. “You left us.”

“I . . .” Grimm began to speak, but shut his mouth. He knew no words could salve her wounds, both physical and emotional. Instead, he held her for as long as she would let him.

Chimera shook off his hands and began to pick herself up from the ground. Instinctively, Grimm reached his hand out to stop her. “Don’t—”

Chimera slapped his hand away as she stood. With a grunt, she grabbed the arrow in her shoulder and pulled it out with a wet pop. Gritting her teeth, Chimera repeated the process with the remaining arrows, pulling each of them until her greenish-red blood flowed from the wounds. As she focused, Chimera’s skin changed a slight shade of green and the wounds began to heal.

“Troll blood?” Grimm asked.

Instead of answering, Chimera threw the arrows in her hand at Grimm, who was still on the snowy ground—not out of intent to harm, but out of sheer contempt, the way one might discard trash at a beggar.

“That thing,” Chimera said, not looking at him. “Is that what you truly are? It’s fitting.”

“I never wanted you to see me that bad.”

“So I didn’t know the truth?”

“Yes,” Grimm said flatly.

“How did you change back?”

“My last stored spell. The ink had a touch of your blood and the power of an old friend. Enough to give me an hour of . . . clarity.”

“And if you don’t feed?”

“I will return to that other form. I will hunt and I will kill.”

Chimera nodded, saying nothing. Grimm looked at her, not knowing what to say. “Ag—Chimera, you have to know, I did not wish to hurt those Fae.”

“But you did. They were my friends.”

“So was I, once.”

“But you left.”

“I had to.”

“And you had to leave me here? A forgotten mistake?”

“You were never a mistake. It was—it is—for your protection. And theirs,” Grimm said, holding his hand out wide, gesturing to the whole of The Hitherlands.

“Bullshit. You hate them. You always have.”

Grimm hung his head. Many Fae lives he took. Some for sustenance. Some to invoke fear in others. He told himself it was to preserve lives.

It was only partly true. A part of him enjoyed it. At his core, he was still mostly “human,” and it was only human to take partial delight in hurting those who would hurt you. But the war between Grimm and the Fae had waged so long that who started it no longer mattered.

The truth was, Grimm never truly hated the Fae. He hated only their inherent weakness. Their existence was anathema, for their creation was never intended. Over the centuries, their continued existence was a nuisance on mankind, hence the stories and legends he taught his sons, who committed the folklore to books.

But it was the Fae’s vulnerabilities that allowed the Formori to come into being. The Altered Ones. And those creatures were a danger to mankind. That he could not abide.

However, those were not words one spoke in order to repair the broken trust of a child. It is easy to talk directly to a friend or an enemy. But to one’s own flesh and blood, the words turn to ash. Only deeds matter. And from her perspective, his deeds were those of an absent father.

“I have to go,” Grimm said, standing. “You know what will happen if I stay.”

“We could just kill you now,” Chimera threatened, inclining her chin towards Ghost as the giant came slowly to stand next to them.

“In other circumstances, and if I could, I would allow you. Yet I must leave. I have friends counting on me.”

“They’re more important than me?”

“They are in danger. You are not.”

A tear rolled down Chimera’s cheek, followed by several more as the stoic warrior stared at her father with hatred and contempt.

“Go. It’s what you’re good at,” she said as she walked away.

“I do not wish to part like this.”

Chimera spun, lashing out with her cold iron whip. The lash sliced a ragged gash along the mage’s exposed chest.

“Fuck off and die!” Chimera screamed as she snapped the whip twice more. Each flick of her wrist added another scarlet rip in the skin of her father.

Grimm did not move. He simply bore the suffering in silence.

“You did this to me!” Chimera yelled as she pointed at herself, her voice echoing through the small valley. “You left us here for almost two hundred years! And when you do show up, it isn’t to bring us home; it’s by accident. And instead of actually doing what you promised, you’re leaving me . . . us . . . again!”

Chimera struck out with the whip once more. Grimm’s hand snapped up, catching it. The whip tore the flesh of his hand, and Grimm’s blood ran down his hand as he stared at his child.

“I said I would return for you. And I will. It is not the time.”

Grimm released the whip. Chimera snatched the whip back and rolled it up, returning it to her hip. The silence between them reflected the distance in their hearts. Lifetimes ago, they were close. Now, they were beyond strangers. Beyond enemies.

“My blood, the one in your spell, is the last thing I’ll ever do for you. I don’t ever want to see you again. If you return, I’ll kill you.”

Chimera turned and sprinted into the dark vastness of the forest. Grimm watched her go, wanting to hold her. To tell her he kept her, and the Fae, in The Hitherlands for their protection. Instead, he said nothing.

In all his many years, being a father was what he had failed at.

Grimm stood for a few moments in silence, listening only to the falling snow and the soft humming of the Windgate.

“TRUTH,” Ghost said, placing a gigantic hand on Grimm’s shoulder.

“No, you can’t, Marcus. If you do, she will hate you. She will hate them. Let her hate me. I can take it. It is perhaps the only fatherly thing I can do for her.”

“RETURN?”

“When it is safe.”

“FORMORI?”

“Yes. The threat is far too real now. If they were to return, then they would change.”

Grimm turned to look up at the giant being. He placed a hand on the crumpled steel of his armored form. “I am sorry for what I did to you.”

“HEAL,” Ghost offered.

“I know you will. And thank you. Thank you for keeping her safe and being her friend.”

“RETURN.”

“I will, I promise. Goodbye, Marcus.”

“GOODBYE.”

After Agatha and Marcus left, Grimm stood alone in the cold a few more minutes, breathing in and out, listening to the snow fall. When he deemed it time, Grimm adjusted his hat and tied up the loose shreds of his robes as best he could. His spell would not last long. As he approached the Windgate, he looked back once more at The Hitherlands. The time would come when he would free the Fae. He would bring Agatha home.

“You made it,” a voice said from behind him.

Grimm turned to see The Green Man standing there. Grimm was not surprised. The Hitherlands were his domain.

“Yes,” Grimm acknowledged. “I did.”

“You know she is more my daughter now than she ever was yours.”

Grimm’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

“If you return—”

“You will kill me?”

The Green Man smiled. “No. I will kill her.”

“If you do, I will slaughter everything you have ever created,” Grimm countered.

The Green Man smiled. “I know. But she will still be dead. Goodbye.”

Grimm watched as The Green Man’s form flickered for a brief second. In the shimmer, Grimm clearly saw the brown- and green-armored archangel in his winged form before disappearing. 

“Goodbye, Orphiel.”

Stepping through the gate, Grimm returned to the prime material plane, marveling at the thought that he was perhaps the only man ever to have wept in two dimensions at the same time.

Chapter Forty-Four

The Return of Something Lost

Now, in The Temple of Solomon

My mind suddenly snapped back. I rolled over and vomited, staining the white crystal floor of the forgotten temple.

“I—I saw . . . Grimm.”

“Explain,” Sariel demanded.

“In another . . . place? I saw him. He was ragged and hungry. A creature. Something dark. A—a daughter? An armored . . . thing?”

The vision was beginning to fade, like a dream upon waking. I knew the information, I knew the structure, but the details melted the more I concentrated on them.

“And . . . an angel? An archangel. Orphiel?”

Sariel, Remiel, and Gabrielle exchanged looks, concerned with my vision. But I didn’t focus on them.

I focused on Grimm.

I felt sadness. Horrible sadness and guilt.

How many times did I silently curse him while I suffered in prison? I waited for him to come and save me, only for my wishes to fall on deaf winds of hope.

The vision showed me where Grimm had been. It showed me all, from the moment he’d stepped into the . . . Hitherlands? I saw his suffering. I felt it. Like I had in prison, Grimm suffered. But his suffering went beyond the physical. That Chimera person was his daughter? He was hunted by his own child?

Again, the clarity of the memories faded, leaving only a desire to remember like a terrible thirst. I looked once more at The Tears. Standing, I took another step towards them.

And once more, The Tears erupted in power. My mind fractured, awash in the visions of a god.

********

In the ruins of Flotsam Prison

“T-t—?” Vali groaned, trying to speak as the tall, lanky mechanic knelt beside him.

“Shh,” Taylor shushed the god. “If ya don’t mind me saying, boss, you look like warmed-over shit,” Taylor said in his mock-redneck accent. With a wry grin, Taylor placed two fingers on Vali’s forehead and gave him a wink. “This should help.”

Warm red and white energy coursed through Vali’s body. His wounds began to close and the god felt his body fill with more than just healing. He felt the return of something lost. Something are able to feel only when all is gone. Vali felt hope fill him, and tears fell from his remaining eye.

“Who . . . who are y—” Vali tried to speak but once more, Taylor placed his finger to his lips.

“Shh, just rest. I got this, boss,” Taylor said as he stood. “Trust me.”

Vali stared in disbelief and utter confusion as Taylor’s entire demeanor changed.

“And just where have you been hiding all this time, uncle?” Mastema, said using his spider legs to stand himself up as the ground continued to rumble and shake. The Warden of Flotsam drew himself to his full height and walked up to Taylor.

Despite being several feet and hundreds of pounds smaller than Mastema, Taylor seemed to hold the balance of power as the two stared off.

“Where I’ve been doesn’t matter, Nephew,” Taylor said, his voice changing. The Southern accent was gone, replaced by a rich, warm, and powerful baritone. “What matters is what are you are going to do now that I’m here.”

“You have no idea how powerful I’ve become,” Mastema sneered.

Taylor turned his head and cupped his hand to his ear. “Could you say that again? Because I swear I just heard horseshit.”

“Do not push me, Raphael.”

“Or what? Hmm?” Taylor asked with a smirk on his face. “What are you going to do? Unleash the awesome power of the few pitiful human souls who serve as your guards or the few who manage to survive this place and fear you?”

Taylor stepped up to Mastema, poking his finger into the creature’s chest. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did I hear you correctly when you said to my friend there, that compared to you, he was nothing? Well, compared to me, what does that make you? I am one of The Fourteen, while you’re just the result of a horny choir’s afterbirth.”

Mastema stared down at Taylor, all eight of his multifaceted eyes narrowing in anger. The mandibles covering his mouth quivered in rage.

Taylor’s arms snapped out wide, red and white energy crackling in his hands. In a flash, Taylor ceased to be. In his place stood a twenty-foot-tall archangel with red and white coloring, four wings, four arms, and four eyes. The giant angelic being stared down at Mastema with such power and presence, Vali swore he saw Mastema cringe.

“If you wish to try me, you may. But you will not survive,” the archangel said as the ground shook harder. “If you leave now, you have time to save your spawn and the demon Maz’ael. Be smart. Go back to your masters.”

“Revealing yourself marks a great change, you know that,” Mastema said.

“I know.”

“What should I tell him?”

The archangel crossed his arms. “Tell him whatever you want. Just let them all know, Löngutangar is under my protection.”

“Enjoy the moment, Uncle. But your boy is in play now.” Mastema smirked.

“Mastema?”

“What?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The archangel drew back his two right hands and struck the warden across the face. With a sickening crack followed by a clap of thunder, Mastema’s mandible along the left side of his jaw exploded in broken bone as the archangel released a fraction of his power into the strike. The concussive impact sent the warden across the yard and through the courtyard’s stone wall adjacent to his garden. 

With a nod of satisfaction and a smirk upon his face, the archangel turned and walked back towards Vali. With each step, the archangel shrank until only Taylor remained. The mechanic extended a greasy hand to the fallen god.

“Little anti-climactic, isn’t it? Sorry, boss. What say we git on outta here?” Taylor said, his accent returning.

“You—you’re Raphael. He Who Brings the Healing Word of Hope,” Vali said, his remaining eye staring wide.

“Nah boss, I’m just Taylor. A guy who likes to fix things. You know, like a tailor? Eh?!” Taylor laughed aloud at his own pun. When Vali said nothing, the mechanic rolled his eyes. “Norse. Too stoic to know good wordplay. What say we get out of here?”

Taylor pulled the god to his feet, then nearly fell over as the island once again shook even harder. Looking across the island through the night, Vali saw the shimmering reflection of black, brackish water beginning to pool up from the ground.

From above, a small quad-rotor military-style assault helicopter awkwardly bobbed through the sky. Looking up, Vali could see Twitch at the controls. The cyborg’s face was a mask of frustration and determination.

“How?” the god asked.

“Well, I got bored and made my way to the shore complex. Twitch and I hit it off. After she taught me a few new choice curse words, we found a neural implant training program,” Taylor explained as the copter listed hard to the left, overcompensated, and lurched to the right. “Eh, it’s an older program and her newer implants could only glean the basics. But this should work.”

“No, not that. How . . . you . . .”

“Boss, I reckon you have a ton of questions. But now is not the time. Let’s get scarce and safe for now,” Taylor said with a smile as the quad-rotor came to hover a few feet off the ground near them, then softly crashed into the wet ground.

“Let’s go, a-holes!” Twitch’s voice barked through the quad-copter external speakers.

Leaning on Taylor, Vali limped his way to the open bay doors of the copter. With a grunt of effort, Vali took a seat. Instead of sitting next to him, Taylor remained standing outside the copter. With his hands on his hips, the mechanic surveyed the scene.

“You really mean to sink this place, boss?!” Taylor yelled over the rotors.

“I came here to deliver a message!” Vali said. “Looks like you did a better job at it than I did!”

“And what about the people still here?!” Taylor asked. “What are their lives worth?!”

Vali frowned. “The prisoners?! Nothing! The island has to sink.”

“Why?!” Taylor asked as the ground began to tear apart beneath their feet.

“Because I can’t look Salem in the eye and tell him I failed to kill the monsters who hurt him! Could you?! For everything he’s done for us, this has to be!”

Taylor said nothing at first, simply nodding at Vali’s words. Then he briefly placed a hand on Vali’s forehead. Within his mind, Vali heard Taylor’s voice, no louder than a whisper, but clear. “I was going to kill you. Did you know that?”

“What?” Vali asked aloud as the ground shook.

Water began spraying upwards as the island was being shaken into pieces. Sections of the outer wall began crumbling and falling into the watery sinkhole. Buildings slowly began sliding into watery darkness. Everywhere, prisoners and guards were screaming for help.

Taylor looked to Vali. “When I came to Midheim, I came to kill you.”

“I—”

“Shut up,” Taylor commanded. A power resonated with the words and Vali could not look Taylor in the eyes.

“I tracked you for years. After each of your divine kills, I followed. I assumed you were collecting their weapons to heighten your own power, positioning yourself as a demagogue. But when I came to Midheim, I saw what you were doing, what you and Vidar built. A refuge. A place free of demonic rule. Even though led by the divine, you and your brother fostered hope and peace. You gave a home to wayward scum, reformed murderers, and innocents looking for a home. That is the only reason you still draw breath. And the reason I stayed.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because even with my power, I cannot save these people, and the chopper doesn’t have sufficient space. You have doomed them to die. Prisoners they are, but they are no worse than the first generation of Midheim citizens you welcomed with open arms. When you return, and take your place as leader, you WILL remember these people. You will remember them for the rest of your days. Your father paid a price for his power, wisdom, and insight. And so shall you.”

Taylor stepped towards Vali and laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. Once more, the god felt the warm, healing power of the archangel flow into him. The first time Taylor had laid hands upon him, Vali was stabilized. Now, he was healed . . . mostly.

“I have healed your body, but I will not heal your missing eye. It will be a reminder, for all days, to the people you turned a blind eye to. That is your penance.”

Vali looked at Taylor, or Raphael, and nodded, saying nothing. Despite the destruction, chaos, and cries for salvation, Vali forced himself to watch the island sink.

Taylor placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

Vali continued watching the island populace, and the fate he’d consigned them to. Shaking his head, Vali said, “No. Not yet.”

The god hopped down from the chopper and took off running, “Keep the engines running. I’ll be right back!”

“Where the shit is he going?!” Twitch called out.

“I don’t know!” Taylor answered.

Minutes passed as the island continued to shake and break apart. People screamed and looked for salvation. Twitch would fire off occasional bursts from the weapon systems to scare off would-be stowaways.

Moments later, Vali came running towards the chopper. Over each shoulder, the god carried a demoness. As he approached, Taylor offered his assistance in getting the unconscious Yeela and the unresponsive Khlabra into the copter’s bay.

“Why them?” Taylor asked.

“The others might be doomed, but I promised them salvation.”

“No way!” Twitch called from the pilot seat. “Not that bitch! Or her big-ass sister!”

“They’re going!” Vali yelled.

“Look, pretty boy, it isn’t about the fact that I can’t stand them—it’s weight. This thing can only handle a four-man team! We’re too heavy!”

Vali looked at the two demons, then back at Twitch. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

“Get your ass in here. Keep Yeela if you have to, but the sister looks catatonic.”

“NO!” Vali commanded. “Get them back to Löngutangar. I—I’ll be fine.”

“Boss, there is no way I can let you do that,” Taylor said. “Get on the—”

“Shut up!” Vali roared

“Boss, let me—”

“It’s settled, Taylor! She doesn’t know the way home and you do. You have a kid to worry about. Just tell Vidar . . . tell him . . .”

Vali couldn’t finish the sentence. What could one possibly say to summarize over a thousand years of friendship and brotherhood?

What was the best way to say goodbye forever to the one who was always there for you? The one who brought you back from the brink so many times, the one you’d saved over and over yourself?

How do you say goodbye to someone like that?

“No, idiot,” Taylor said, shaking his head. “I’ll take the skyhopper. It’s parked over on the beach where I left it. Unless you want to try and fly it?”

“Oh,” Vali said, dumbstruck.

“Just get on the chopper, boss. I’ll meet y’all in the sky.”

Vali climbed into the open bay, shutting the sliding door as Twitch took the quad-copter airborne. Taking a seat in the gunner position’s sling seat, Vali leaned his head against the bay door and looked out the window. He saw the skyhopper power up, take flight, and zip through the air to rendezvous with the copter.

Far below, Vali watched as Flotsam Prison sank beneath the dark nighttime waters of the old Chesapeake Bay. He could barely make out the thrashing waves of the dying. But with his sight, he could see them all, in their last moments of life. Through the sight, Vali saw the things that lived in the water moving inward. The Deep Ones moved on the survivors. In moments, they would drag them deep below the waters to feed, or worse.

Vali forced himself to watch every moment until there was no one from Flotsam still living.

“You came back?” Vali heard Yeela ask. Her voice was weak and her eyes were still closed.

“I told you I would.”

“I wanted to kick you out,” Twitch said over the roar of the engines.

Yeela ignored Twitch as she held her sister’s head. Khlabra said nothing, looking straight ahead and blinking only when absolutely necessary. “Can you help her?”

“I don’t know,” Vali said. “But we’ll try. You have to have—”

“Faith?” Yeela spat.

“No, not faith,” Vali said with a smile as he looked out the window at the skyhopper dancing through the night sky, leading the group home. “Hope.”

********

Now, in The Temple of Solomon

Curled up in a tiny ball on the ground, I held my face in my hands. If it was possible to cry and laugh at the same time, to feel simultaneous sadness and joy, I did.

Yeela. Khlabra. Twitch. They were alive.

My heart burst. Gh’aliss’s daughters lived. My friend lived. I felt lifted and relieved. The burden, the guilt of their passing that had weighed on my soul, was gone. Even as the memories faded like the first vision, I felt the warmth the images had brought me.

Vali. That crafty, sneaky bastard. I could never repay him for what he did. What he suffered through.

He wouldn’t have to have suffered if it hadn’t been for me. My very existence in his life destroyed Midheim and drove him to drink. Because of me, the children were taken from their homes in the first place.

I pushed myself to my feet and lit a cigarette. “Raphael,” I whispered. “Freaking Raphael. I knew that accent was bullshit.”

“What did you see?” Remiel asked.

“I saw another of your wayward flock. And apparently, he’s my mechanic.”

“Where did you see him?” Sariel asked.

“Flotsam,” I said, rubbing at my head. “He helped Vali by . . . well, pimp-slapping the taste out of Mastema’s mouth.”

Again, the trio looked to one another. They spoke in a language that was part music and part light. The visions The Tears were showing me clearly had their feathers ruffled.

Again, I looked at the Tears of God. They shimmered in golden light, inviting me once more, to approach. Unsure what I would see next, I took a step towards them. Stretching out my hand, for the briefest of moments, a fraction of a second, I felt something solid.

Then my mind was blasted with another vision. Not a current vision of a wayward ally. Instead, it was the final piece of an old memory. The moment when my old life, and the last lingering piece of my childhood, died.

Chapter Forty-Five

The Shuddering Pain of Loss

A Long Time Ago

“Kill you?! Dad, are you crazy?” Isaac exclaimed as he broke the embrace.

Abraham looked at his son. “Yes. You have to kill me. You must bring my brain close to death. Insert me into to the stasis module and then into the nutri-vat. After that, you simply activate the program.”

“Then what happens?” Isaac asked.

Abraham looked back at the already-running model. He thought about it and took a breath, rattling off the process in a scientific, clinical manner. In a way, it helped him see the inevitable.

“You will inject me with this.” Abraham held up a syringe. “This is what will bring my body to near death. Once inserted into the module, the shock will technically kill me. When the program is activated, an AED will charge my system just enough to bring my brain back to minimal electrical activity. Then, the computer sub-routine will begin to map my neural pathways into the computer. And then, when my mind is mapped, I will become an AI and my body will be technically dead. Alive only enough to establish a periodic baseline. I will exist as long as you need me.”

“Dad . . . I can’t.”

“You will.”

Isaac shook his head, unable to meet his father’s eyes. “I won’t.”

“You will. I need this. And I need one last thing.”

Isaac looked up. “What more could you possibly ask of me?”

“I need you to activate a certain program after the initial baseline is established.”

“What program?”

Abraham produced a flash drive. “This one.”

Isaac stared at his father for a moment. “What does it do?”

“It will erase a portion of my memories, and install false ones. Ones that are happier. Where we were all together more. Where I wasn’t a driven man who ignored his wife and son. Where I died in my sleep peacefully. And where I ‘awake’ as an AI who is happy to assist his son in this new world, not an angry man filled with regrets.” Abraham sobbed, choking on his words.

“And I won’t be filled with hate for myself for doing this to you,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the other stasis tank—the one that held his dear wife, Elena. “And what you did to her.”

“You mean you also don’t want to hate me for all eternity for . . . killing Mom,” Isaac said as his own tears welled up. “That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it?”

Shamefully, Abraham could not meet his son’s eyes, but he managed to whisper, “Yes. Will you do this for me? For us?”

Isaac lit another smoke and sat down on a nearby computer chair. “You get to exist without the memories that I have to carry forever. How is that fair? How do you get to excuse yourself for doing this to me? For leaving me? To go on without the burden of your actions?!” Isaac asked, his voice growing angry. “How is that fair?!”

“It isn’t,” Abraham whispered. “Son, there are things you don’t know. About me. About her. Things I thank God you don’t know. Trust me, it’s better this way. But this,” he said, holding the program, “this is a new chance. I want to exist in a world with you as your friend. ”

Isaac took in the image of the man he’d called “Dad” all his life. The smartest man he ever knew, who was always full of confidence and always had the right answer. The way all sons see their fathers. Until the day comes when sons realize their fathers are fallible. Humans like the rest of us, making it up as they go along.

Isaac also now saw his father as a man who both loved and hated his son. He knew then and there his father would always blame him. And that thought led him to a horrible realization.

“The program to wipe your mind.”

“What about it?”

“You had it written before . . .” Isaac said, looking back at the stasis module. “Before Mom. How long have you hated me? Hated us?”

“Isaac, I—”

“What, Dad? Say it!” Isaac sobbed.

“When you mother said we were pregnant, I felt . . . trapped. I was trapped. I never wanted children. My work, and Elena, were my passion. But you have to understand, over time I came to realize—”

“Gimme the fucking needle,” Isaac said, standing and tossing his smoke aside.

Abraham lowered his eyes and complied, passing the syringe to his son.

“Son, I—”

Isaac took his father into one last hug, cutting off his father’s words. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, son. I just wish that, ahhh—”

Isaac slipped the needle into his father’s neck and pressed the plunger. His father went limp almost immediately. Isaac caught him before he hit the floor, picking him up as if he were a child.

Isaac carried his father’s body to the awaiting stasis chamber, all the while thinking, “Now I’ve killed both of my parents.”

********

My mouth hung open while my body convulsed. I wanted to cry, but I had no tears left. Only the shuddering pain of loss.

Unlike the previous visions, this one did not fade. I saw this one with perfect clarity. Everything. Every moment of their deaths with every emotion I felt then was once again fresh and raw, and my body reacted the only way it knew how.

“Why why why?” I cried, trying to take in breath. My jaw locked open.

While Remiel, Gabrielle, and Sariel had put obstacles in my way to prevent me from getting here, even trying to kill me, The Tears themselves was the power behind that memory. Bringing to the surface the very core of who I believed I was: the bastard responsible for his mother’s death, who was begrudgingly tolerated by a father who never really wanted a child.

The Tears used that to make me feel how I always felt, deep down—worthless. Unworthy. It was only a brief touch of the power The Tears held, and a brief touch was all it took. Because when I looked down at my hands . . . they were empty.

I had failed.

“I—I’m not worthy,” I said, defeated. I pushed myself to my knees and just stared at my empty hands.

“It was not your fault. You hold that memory incorrectly. It was an accident,” Sariel said. “And a parent’s confession does not confirm a lack of affection.”

I ignored him.

“You failed because your conviction wavered,” Remiel said. “You felt doubt. You made yourself unworthy. You had no faith.”

I looked up at the spiteful archangel, narrowing my eyes at her. “How do I make myself worthy then?”

“It does not matter,” Gabrielle interjected. “Those with hearts of great purpose may enter and try to take The Tears. However, you failed. There is no second chance.”

“Then, it’s over,” I said, shaking my head, stunned at the thoughts of those who would die in a matter of days. And here I was, in the ass end of Kansas in a freaking pocket dimension, with no way of getting back to save them.

“Perhaps, ” Sariel paused, choosing his words, “if you felt the innocence and conviction of purpose as . . . as a child would, you could have retrieved The Tears.”

“Sariel!” Remiel bellowed. “Silence.”

The Angel of Death turned on his sister. “Do not presume to command me, Remiel.”

“Then know your place as a Guardian.”

“What does it matter?” I asked, drawing the attention of the giant celestial beings. “You win. I failed. I made it past all your death traps. Your tests.”

“Tests?” Gabrielle asked. “You have survived Trials of Flesh, Trials of Faith, and Trials of Will, that is true. Yet there were no ‘death traps’.”

“You three sent the Abominations. You sent The People. You commanded Riggs to kill me. Those weren’t tests. They were executions.”

“We did no such things,” Sariel said flatly.

“I thought there were no lies here.”

“Do NOT accuse us of sin!” Gabrielle commanded.

“I’m not lying! I damn sure remember everything that happened when Chael—Michael—brought us here from Flotsam. I thought you saw everything.”

“Mortal . . .” Sariel warned.

But it was then I noticed something. Something that made my stomach clench. Remiel wasn’t speaking. In fact, Remiel said nothing at all. Instead she crossed her arms and stared at me with contempt. Waves of anger rolled from her.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

Sariel looked down at me, then at Remiel. “Explain.”

“Remiel, what did you do?” Gabrielle demanded.

Remiel ignored both of them as she took a step towards me. “You should both be dead.”

“What did you do?!” Gabrielle demanded, stepping between me and the approaching archangel.

“What I had to, sister,” Remiel said with but a whisper as she barely touched Gabrielle’s armored shoulder. A burst of thunder and a crackle of lightning flared. The discharge sent Garbielle aside, crashing into the throne to my left.

I backed away from the archangel. “Why do you hate me so much?” I asked her bluntly, while I looked for an escape. 

“My people allowed you to live and to leave,” Remiel explained.

Her people? The People? Then it dawned on me. “Oh hell, you’re Wakinyan.”

“And my daughter failed me,” Remiel said. “They disobeyed, and they shall be punished.”

Sariel too stepped between us. The Angel of Death put a hand out. “Cease, sister. This will not end well. There are so few of us already.”

Remiel stopped, but her eyes blazed with anger. “You were always too sympathetic to Father’s creations. These . . . monkeys are little better than Orphiel’s twisted vessels.”

“We guard, and then accept the inevitable change,” Sariel warned.

“You have no faith.”

Gabrielle stood wearily, using the throne as support. “We too were cast away after The Great Departure.”

“And you would throw away our purpose for change,” Remiel sneered at her sister. “Cast your lot in with—” Remiel paused, shaking her head. “It matters not. He has failed, not that he really had a chance. The real threat is being dealt with.”

Sariel’s head turned. “Dealt with?”

Remiel pointed towards the multifaceted crystal reflections. The crystal projected a scene into the domed ceiling and the very air before us was filled with the scene outside the Shrine. I expected perhaps to see Riggs and Chael fighting the angels.

But I never guessed that I would see Legion. Hundreds of him. Portals in space opened and more and more of the assassins came through, attacking everything in sight. I saw Chael and Riggs fighting back. But then I saw something worse.

TJ was pinned behind one of the white stone gazebos in the main courtyard by the fountain. Several of the Legions were opening up with automatic fire, whittling away the boy’s makeshift cover. He was balled up, making himself as small as possible. His hands were to his head and he was screaming in fear and desperation.

“You . . . fucking . . . bitch!” I yelled, pulling my guns. “He’s just a boy!”

Lighting crackled around Remiel. She looked at Sariel and Gabrielle. “Perhaps you are correct. Change is coming, and I see that you two welcome it.” Then the archangel turned to me. “But the Child of Hope will never reach The Tears.”

Slapping her hands together, exploding the room in flash of lighting and and a deafening clap of thunder. I felt myself thrown backwards, hitting something hard.

After a moment, when my ears stopped ringing, I opened my eyes and the room was still. Quiet as a tomb. Remiel was gone. Only Sariel and Gabrielle remained, both of them standing, but the look on their faces one of betrayal and loss.

The vision of the war going on outside the shrine still showed Legion raining down hell on the angels, Chael, Riggs, and . . . TJ. Remiel must have have brought Legion, a lot of him, here with her power to finish the job.

Well, the only thing better than killing Legion was killing a lot of him.

“OK, I have no idea what she’s going on, but crazy bird’s gone, so let’s get out there!” I said. “Let’s kick Legion’s ass!”

I was pumped! How often do you get to go into battle with the Angel of Death and Gabrielle the Hornblower?

Sariel looked to Gabrielle, who shook her head. “No.”

Chapter Forty-Six

God’s Gonna Cut You Down

“No?!” I yelled. “Pardon any disrespect, but what the holy hell are you talking about ‘no’?”

“We cannot,” Sariel echoed.

“What? Why? Those are your angels. Your brothers and sisters.”

I saw Sariel’s head shake. “And we will mourn their passing for the remainder of our days. But Gabrielle and I are needed here. The Tears of God still have a function. And three are required, at minimum, to continue that function. Remiel knew that. Two can use the power of The Tears for a short time, but it will consume us holding all of The Deep Ones at bay. Perhaps this was her final stab at securing our fidelity.”

I looked at them, and they at me. Both reflected the sorrow of the situation. I watched the vision of what was going on out there. I didn’t know what one pissed-off cyborg could do, but damn it, I had to try.

“Fine. Then let me out of here,” I whispered.

Sariel looked down at me. “If you do, you will most likely perish.”

I looked at the crystal’s image and saw the Legions attacking and killing. I nodded. “Yeah, most likely. But that’s my choice. Chael may be crazy, Riggs may be an asshole, and TJ some pain-in-my-ass kid, but they, and your angels, don’t deserve to be slaughtered by some freaking lab experiments.”

Sariel looked to Gabrielle and the two of them shared a private thought. Sariel looked back at me and shook his head.

“You have a formidable presence. While you are no angel, you could use your passion and your courage here.”

“What does that mean?”

Gabrielle answered, “Sariel and I could imbue you with some of our grace. You could take a place here. You could help us guide The Light from The Tears of God.”

Well, now that was a job offer I never expected.

And one I couldn’t accept.

“I already have people who count on me. I have to get out there and help them. And when that’s done, I have to do what I can to keep Löngutangar safe. You have to understand that.”

“No,” Sariel said. “We cannot. You are being called upon for a higher purpose. Those outside are already dead, or soon will be. And Löngutangar is doomed. There is nothing you can do to help them. You must remain here where you could help countless others.”

I stared right into Sariel’s face. “Let me out of here.”

“No.”

I clenched my fist. “Open the portal. Let me go.”

“No.”

I fired up my right tech bracer’s mass inducer, exponentially adding weight. “Open the portal.”

“No,” he repeated.

I activated the bracer’s shield generator, wrapping my hand in defensive energy. “Open. The fucking. Portal.”

“No. And if you think you can attack me, you may try. Many have. Yet I remain the Angel of Blessed Mercy. The Angel of Death,” Sariel said leaning down, inviting an attack.

I don’t know what possessed me, but I swung.

And I connected.

Several hundred pounds of unbreakable fist cracked the Angel of Death across his armored jawline in the blink of an eye. The sound of my force-field-enveloped fist rang out like a giant tolling bell as I struck the strange jawplate. Gabrielle and Sariel may have watched the world go by from their crystal viewing portals, but they didn’t really grasp the raw power of mankind and his technology.

I knocked The Angel of Death on his ass.

Sariel laughed.

“I told you,” Sariel said to Gabrielle.

“You were right. He is too much like his kin. He would not last here. He cannot see beyond the immediate,” Gabrielle admitted.

“What?” I asked. “Hey, I’m right here. No need to talk about me in the third person.”

“You may go,” Sariel said. At a gesture, a portal opened, leading back out into the temple’s garden.

“Thank you?” I said, confused.

Before I walked through the portal, Gabrielle stopped me. “This is for you. You will need it.”

Gabrielle touched me on my forehead with her giant forefinger and golden fire enveloped me.

I felt . . . awesome.

Months of pain and weariness I hadn’t realized I was still carrying washed away. My beard burned away to my usual stubble. My matted hair crackled and burned, leaving only my normal buzzed cut. I felt body mass come back. And I felt my internal energy levels topped off.

To be honest, I almost got a boner. But I figured a twenty-foot armored archangel wouldn’t see it as a compliment.

Or even physically feasible.

“Thank you. I feel . . . incredible,” I told Gabrielle, who nodded and took a step back.

Sariel came to stand next to me. “I too have a gift for you. Two of them.” Sariel laid a giant hand on my chest and I felt like my heart was seizing. My insides boiled in a golden, molten energy. The pain stopped as suddenly as it started. Yet I felt . . . a presence within me.

“What did you do to me?” I asked as I grabbed at my chest, lurching backwards.

“A gift. A gift you may come to hate, yet you must know it exists. I have bound your soul to your body. You have one free life. One free cheat of death. When you die—and considering how you choose to live it will no doubt be soon—you may choose to return to your body. Once.”

“Holy shit,” I blurted out. Realizing, once again, I was speaking to the Angel of Death, I sobered up. “And what’s the second gift? Is it going to hurt as much as the first?” I asked.

“Worse.”

“What is it?”

“Humility.”

The Angel of Death hit me so fast and so hard that I swear the ghost of Bruce Lee sat up and said “Oh, damn!”

I flew through the portal out of the Shrine of Light and landed in a heap outside in the Temple of Solomon. I knew then and there that what Sariel did was nothing more than a love tap.

Wheezing, I rolled to my side. “Message received,” I grunted, knowing Sariel was watching. One does not sucker punch the Angel of Death and get away with it.

But for now, I had work to do.

I closed my eyes and listened, willing The Collective to open my senses. The battle was down towards the Well of Souls. I heard gunfire and screaming. I heard angels calling out war cries. I heard Riggs swearing. I heard Chael laughing.

And I heard TJ whimpering. So that was where I needed to go.

Back in the wars, each soldier had a ritual, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Just before going into battle, they would go through idiosyncratic routines. Some cleaned their weapons for the hundredth time, some did push-ups. Some even prayed to a God who wasn’t listening.

The point was that in all of human history, in every iteration of a warrior tribe, mankind had a cleansing ritual. An act that cleared the mind and focused the body, fusing the two into a cohesive machine.

For me, it was always the same. I had a smoke while I ran through a song in my head: Johnny Cash’s classic “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” from the 2003 America V: Hundred Highway album.

I opened my cigarette case, noting that somehow, it was still full, and put the old-world namesake menthol between my lips. Fishing the Zippo out of my coat pocket, I pinch-flipped the lid open, spun the steel wheel, and sparked the fire to life.

As I inhaled deeply, the gray cloud allowed me to clear my mind and focus on the now. And of course, ol’ Johnny’s seminal lyrics. I heard his haunting voice. I heard the chains rattle. I heard the message and my focus was clear.

I snapped my eyes open, took one last drag off the smoke, flicked it away and pulled my blasters in a flash.

OK, fuckers. Today, I’m God. And you’re about to learn why Jesus wept.

Chapter Forty-Seven

My Own Personal Skynet

TJ felt ice water in the stomach. Pure fear.

Then the air erupted in so many shots it sounded like the popping corn his dad made for him. Everything around him was loud. So loud. Explosions and screams. He smelled the ozone from energy-discharged weapons. The stink of coppery blood was so overpowering, he tasted it in his mouth.

He saw an angel stagger through the garden brush. The angel had a hole in his head, straight through his eye, so large that TJ could see through to the other side. The creature fell at dead at his feet.

TJ did what any kid would do. He ran. As he ran, everywhere he looked was death.

Strange identical men were everywhere, shooting. Killing. TJ saw angels die and something inside him knew it was the worst thing he ever could imagine. It was like watching a shooting star burn out. Instead of making a wish, he felt something inside him cry.

Ever since he woke in this place he had felt better. Faster. Stronger. TJ’s legs pumped harder than he ever thought they could. He leaped over the dead with the grace of a gazelle. And he could nimbly dodge broken ruins and corpses.

One of the strange men in the dark blue, synth-skin shirt, cargo pants and boots stepped out on the path and aimed a giant rifle at TJ’s head.

“Sorry, kid.”

“NO!” a booming voice yelled out.

Chael leaped through the air, tackling the man with the gun to the ground. Chael was up first. He grabbed the man by his ankles and lifted him in the air, then slammed him back down so hard the man’s neck cracked and his head broke open.

The giant looked at TJ with a satisfied smile. “We have to give him time. Time to end it all.”

Before TJ could say anything, Chael ran off through the garden paths, towards the sound of fighting.

TJ just looked at what was left of the man and threw up there on the path. His guts retched and he heaved up everything there was in his stomach and more. TJ fell to his hands and knees and shook.

He was scared. He missed his dad. He just wanted to go home. But Chael was right—they needed to give Mr. Salem time. He had to get the Tear-things so that he could give them to the demons in order to save his new home. To save his dad.

TJ looked at the dead man’s weapon. It was far too big and bulky for him to use. But he noticed the man had a conventional 9mm side-arm with several mags of ammo. TJ took the dead man’s weapon and holster.

Staying low, TJ reasoned that since almost everyone here was bigger than he, they wouldn’t look down. As he moved, images would flash in his head. Echos. Where men and angels would be. TJ followed his instincts and moved unseen.

The main courtyard was horrible. Everywhere TJ looked he saw chaos. Angels fought against the strange identical men who positioned portable shield generators, creating points of resistance. They lobbed grenades to scatter clusters of angels and then fired their main guns in controlled bursts.

TJ moved behind one of the domed gazebos, behind one of the strange men’s resistance points. He took out the 9mm and aimed. He took a deep breath, held it, released it slowly, and pulled the trigger.

The weapon was little in comparison to the noise of the battle. Barely a “pop.” But TJ’s shot was perfect. He hit one of the strange men in the back of the head, killing him. TJ dropped, waiting for return fire. When none happened, he peered out again.

Selecting his next target, TJ repeated the process. Deep breath, aim, breathe out and squeeze. Pop, dead. On his third attempt, one of the men saw him.

“Oh shit!” TJ said as several of the men turned at once and began blind firing at the white stone gazebo.

Hunks of stone exploded as a barrage of automatic fire rained down upon TJ’s hiding spot. Reflexively TJ dropped his gun and balled up as tiny as he could make himself. He clamped his hands to his ears and screamed in primal fear, a scream no one could hear over the gunfire.

TJ screamed and screamed until his throat was raw. His tears stung from the open cuts on his face caused by exploding stone shrapnel.

TJ knew he was going to die. And there wasn’t anything he could do.

Then, a miracle happened. TJ opened one eye, and from the angle he was lying, he could just make out a single figure atop the garden pathway that led down the hill from the inner temple to the massive courtyard. He shouldn’t have been able to see him at that distance, but he could see Salem standing there with his guns out.

He was saved.

But . . . why wasn’t Salem moving?

********

I ran down the garden path, reaching the top of the path from the temple’s inner sanctum to the massive courtyard. It was a bloody, horrible battlefield. Angels were dying. As hard as they tried to fight back, the Legion was too good, too well-armed, and moved too perfectly. First, I had to make sure TJ was safe. I scanned the battleground, looking at all the gazebos like the one I saw in the crystal’s image.

There.

TJ was pinned down. And a cadre of Legions were taunting him. Slowly whittling away his cover. They were just wasting ammo to make him scared before they killed him.

I didn’t have enough piss in my body to defile all these bodies. But I would do my best. The courtyard was a nightmare, but I had to go in there. I had to save that damned kid. I would just have to trust in my skills and luck to get me through.

As I took my first step to run into battle, my body locked up. Complete energy shield enclosure.

Collective?

//ONLINE//

What are you doing?

//HOST IS HEADING INTO AN EXTREME LOW CHANCE OF SURVIVAL SITUATION - MORTAL DANGER - COLLECTIVE HAS INITIATED LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL//

Collective, release me. I command you.

//NEGATIVE - UNTIL HOST RESOLVES TO NOT ENTER THE FRAY COLLECTIVE CANNOT FREE HOST//

I didn’t even know how to react. My very worst fear had come to pass. My own personal Skynet. The Matrix. Some . . . other reference where machines go batshit and take over humanity.

//COLLECTIVE IS NOT DEFICIENT - HOST REMAINS IN CONTROL AS COLLECTIVE REMAINS SUPPORTIVE OF HOST - EXCEPTIONS ONLY WHEN HOST AND HOST’S ALLIES ARE PERCIEVED TO BE IN MORTAL DANGER - QUERY: WHY DOES HOST WISH TO DIE//

I don’t wish to die. But TJ is out there. He’s just a kid and he needs help.

//QUERY: IS CHILD’S LIFE WORTH MORE THAN HOST’S OR COLLECTIVE’S EXISTENCE//

It isn’t like that. He’s a kid!

//HOST’S LOGIC IS FLAWED - CHILD IS NOT HOST’S OFFSPRING - BIOLOGICAL IMPERATIVE NEED TO PROTECT THE SPAWN IS NOT PRESENT//

I know he’s not mine. But he is a friend. And he doesn’t deserve to die like that!

//INSUFFICIENT//

Collective, I swear I will rip this shield generator out of me!

//HOST’S IMPROBABLE INTENTIONS NOTED - HOST WILL REMAIN ALIVE TO DO SO DUE TO COLLECTIVE’S LOCKDOWN//

I had nothing. Maybe if I had time to think about a logical argument, then maybe I could persuade The Collective. But under the conditions I was in, all I could think about was saving TJ. If the kid had my level of cybernetic development, then perhaps he had a chance of survival.

Cybernetic development. That was it!

Collective. I know why you need to free me and help save TJ.

//AWAITING RATIONALE//

TJ is your offspring.

//INACCURATE - THE ADOLESCENT CHILD DESIGNATED TJ IS THE BIOLOGICAL SPAWN OF THE ADULT HUMAN DESIGNATED TAYLOR//

True. But his internal nanite cybernetics are derived from you. You are the progenitor to a fledgling Collective. Soon, TJ’s nanites will reach sentience. You will then have your own child within him.

The Collective didn’t answer.

You will no longer be alone as an artificial intelligence. The one evolving inside TJ will become like you. It is from your programming. That is your child out there.

The shield around my body dropped and I could move again.

//HOST MUST SAVE COLLECTIVE’S OFFSPRING - RECOMMENDATION: UTILIZE OVERCLOCK//

Heh, you got it.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Innocence of a Child

In the last two hundred years, The Collective had been my best friend. My only companion when I was in some really dark places. It was the voice inside me that let me know I wasn’t alone.

When you grow up a freak, you take your friends where you can get them. Even when that friend is just a voice inside your head.

When I was a child, and The Collective first spoke inside my head, I thought I was going crazy. And even crazier still, I talked back to it. Like I said: freak.

Our relationship, mine and The Collective’s, had always been one of dependence. I gave it a home and it gave me—well, everything that I was. As it grew and evolved, it enhanced me. And, I’d like to think, I enhanced it. Which was why the concept of procreation spurred the Collective to drop the shields and let me fight.

But first, I needed to get their attention on me and not TJ. Legion was a bully, and I HATED bullies. These days I just shot them in the face.

I mean, if you have the right permit, it’s legal. I didn’t have one at the moment to kill this asshole, but since we were in some kind of alternate dimension, I guessed the rules didn’t apply.

I fired my blasters at the nearest of the Legion, and was rewarded with a sudden incoming hail of gunfire. I dodged to the side and rolled behind some of the stone ruins for cover. Guess I had their attention. 

It was time to use The Collective’s advice. Peeking my head out to get a view of the battlefield, I activated the overclock, and immediately the world slowed down to a fraction of the normal speed as I, and more importantly The Collective, was able to see everything coming in.

We saw 347 Legions within sight, each armed to the teeth with automatic weapons. Two hundred twenty-one angels fought back, while 314 fled. I could see 1,437 various plasma blasts and conventional rounds in the air.

I powered down the overclock and brought the world back to regular speed as the plasma rounds and bullets whizzed past me. I took three deep breaths and took off down the path. The Collective and I moved in unison as our pre-programmed route allowed me to dodge the danger. I sprinted through the path from the temple’s inner garden into the open courtyard and fired up the overclock again.

Everywhere I could see there was a Legion firing at me or an angel running for cover. I took it all in and allowed The Collective to map my future movements. So on it went. Time sped up, time slowed down. I weaved, bobbed and dodged. Most of the time I made him miss, which just made him madder.

But sometimes my skill, and luck, wasn’t enough. Once I came out of the overclock and took two slugs to the chest.

Ouch.

Another time, in order to continue my path, I had to take a plasma round to the face. I jerked aside just enough so that the blast hit just above my right cheekbone and through my eyebrow. Another inch and it would have melted my eye. As it was, I would have a nasty scar for some time, even with The Collective’s advanced healing.

Whatever. Girls dig scars. I think. Even at my age, I knew diddly-squat about women.

I ran straight at the gazebo where TJ was hiding. A trio of Legion was set up behind a portable energy-shield generator. The quarter-dome of translucent energy gave them superior cover to fire from.

Another overclock activated and I saw all three of them and their firing lines. If I continued, I was going to die. Their positions were too perfect. So when the rules of the battlefield are against you, you change the battlespace.

Here goes nothing. Returning to normal time, I ignited my pulse-boots and jumped high into the air. I fired a nano-filament line from my left tech bracer into the stone dome of the gazebo, and it reeled me in fast. The three Legion couldn’t draw a bead on me as I zipped past them. Looking over my right shoulder, I fired three shots with my right blaster.

Three shots, three kills. Damn, I’m awesome. Well, it could help that I had a colony of cybernetic sentient nanomachines inside me that turned my brain into an automated tracking system.

“Heya, kid. What’s new?” I asked, plopping down next to TJ, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Holy shit!” TJ yelled as he barreled into me, knocking me down with his hug. “I thought I was dead,” he whispered.

“Not today, kid. Not today.” I hugged him back. I had to remember that while he was a tough little guy, he was still just a kid. And any kid who’s ever felt love, just like any adult, can feel the fear of abandonment. I mentally kicked myself because when I went into the shrine, TJ must have awoken alone and scared.

“What happened?” TJ asked, his hand going towards my face.

“Caught a round in the face. No worries.”

“No, not that,” TJ said. “That’s kinda cool. I mean your nose and ears.”

I touched my nose. Blood. And again in my ears. They were also bleeding. Shit. The overclock. It was an awesome tool. But too much pushed my brain functions beyond the limits of even what The Collective could manage. Cybernetic I was, but I still had flesh, blood, and gray squishy brain that reacted to things like hyperactivity, and showed it with lesions.

“Nothing, kid. I’ll be fine,” I lied.

“How about when we get out of here, we tell dad there was far less shooting and explosions and shit like that,” I offered.

“Ya think?” TJ said with a weak smile. “You got The Tears, right? Isn’t that what the demons wanted? You get them and they don’t kill the town?”

“TJ, I . . .” Shit. How do you tell a kid you failed and that there was a no chance of getting home in time to save him?

“You didn’t get them, did you?”

“I tried, TJ. I really did. But . . . I wasn’t worthy. I was too . . . too stained.”

“I don’t understand,” TJ said as his eyes watered. “You said my dad would be all right. This whole fucking trip, you said he would be all right!”

Goddammit, he tried like hell to hold it back, but his lip quavered and his eyelids trembled. I could read it plain as day on his face: My dad is going to die and it’s YOUR FAULT.

I didn’t know how to explain to him that I wasn’t worthy. That a lifetime of sins and self-doubt kept me from touching the one thing that would save Löngutangar and his dad. I didn’t know how to tell him it had been a long time since I had the innocence of a child. That I . . .

Innocence of a child. Sariel, you sneaky bastard, I thought as everything dawned on me.

A fragment of my vision came back. Taylor . . . Raphael. Remiel’s comment about the Son of Hope would never get The Tears. Hell, even Ehawe’s letter—she’d said it wasn’t about me.

Oh . . . shit, TJ was a nephilim. A demi-god. Remiel let me into the damn shrine to keep me busy while she used her power to bring Legion here. To kill TJ.

I looked at TJ and quirked a smile. “TJ, do you trust me?”

“No, not really,” he sniffed.

Oh hell. “OK, fair enough. But I am asking you trust me now. I can’t touch The Tears. But you can.”

“Me?” he asked.

“Yeah, you. Why do you want The Tears?”

“To save my dad.”

“More than anything?”

“Yes.”

“More than anything else in the world? No matter what, all you want to do is save your dad?”

“Yes,” he said again.

“Louder, TJ. I need to believe it.”

“Yes!”

“Good. You need to run back that way.”

I described the spot where I touched the stone wall as best as I could. I told him that when he heard a voice, all he needed to do was be honest and say that he only wants to save his father. And if he could ignore everything else he saw, then we still had a chance to save him.

“Now, can you do all that?”

“I guess. But all the shooting.”

“You let me take care of that. When the shooting turns my way, you scramble out of here and get to that Shrine. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Awesome.” I put my fist out for a bump and TJ just stared at it.

Ugh. Kids these days. “You hit it with your fist.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s cool. A thing, you know, to . . . oh hell. Never mind. When you see an opening, you take it and don’t look back.”

“Salem?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s happening to me? Inside me?”

Ahh, damn it. I wasn’t expecting that big a change that quickly. But since my Collective is vastly more advanced now than they were when I was injected, it stood to reason that TJ’s changes would come at a much faster rate.

It also meant that they were changing his host into something.

Me. Sorta.

“You’re changing. Like I did when I was your age. Back in First Heaven, you were dying. I let Riggs injected some of my cybernetic nanites in you to save you. They’re . . . altering you. Making you faster and stronger. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I guess,” TJ said considering my words. “I was dying? I—I remember getting shot. And it hurting. Then waking up here.”

“Yeah. Look, I’m sorry all this happened. But you have to keep your mind on the task. What are you going out there to do?”

TJ looked over his shoulder at the battle and the path. “I’m going to save my fucking dad.”

“Goddamn right,” I said as I stood and drew my weapons.

“Where are you going?”

“To buy you the time you need. Make it fast, kid. Otherwise, I may get, you know . . . dead.”

“I will.”

I nodded and leaped from cover into the open and began shooting at anything that even looked like Legion.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Help Has Arrived

I dodged and fired. Rolled and killed. I reached a point in the center of the courtyard near the fountain where everyone, friend or foe, could see me. Well, I came here for a reason.

Legion was a professional assassin. I, on the other hand, was a killer.

I liked to pretend I was a lightrunner. A smuggler, soldier. A joker and a drinker. A recluse, a shut-in, a movie buff and an introspective long-lost warrior-disciple of Johnny Cash.

But unlike the Holy JC, I really was a man in black. I had killed a man to watch him die. Several of them. Sure, they were evil pricks who tried to kill me first, but I still enjoyed it. Perhaps another reason I couldn’t take The Tears. I tried to live a better life, but after two hundred years, of all the things I’d done and been, a killer was what I was best at. While an assassin does it for the money and for the reputation, a killer just does it.

So, send an assassin after a killer, and watch the killer win.

I shot so many of the Legion I lost count. I twisted and turned, using the overclock to see incoming fire, dodge and kill. Amid it all, I lost myself once again. The blood, the guns, the fire and the hell of it all. I felt like I was back in the wars.

Like home.

A lot of soldiers who come home from war can’t adjust. Home is too quiet. Too calm. Soldiers lie awake at night waiting—expecting—to be shot at. And as they lie there, in the aching quiet, they secretly long to be back “in the shit.” Back with the bombs and the screams. It makes sense to them.

I was no different.

I stood there in the open, overclocking then powering down, over and over. Legion moved in unison, trying to bring me down. And I just stood there and took it. I let him waste his ammo as I took his many lives. The problem was, more of the fuckers seemed to come out of the woodwork. Time to get it done. Man, I always hated these parts of the movie.

“Angels!” I screamed. “You must fight! You cannot lose what makes you divine—your faith! Your grace! Your hope! Fight back back against Legion. He brings you death! Give him the retribution of the Host! Fight, you angelic motherfuckers! FIGHT!”

Nothing happened.

“Oh, come on now!” I yelled. “Hey ANGELS, I’m doing the heroic thing here! I’m taking the brunt of this psychopath’s attack. I gave the damn speech. You’re supposed to be all inspired and shit! Now get off your feathered asses and fight!”

Angels. Don’t they watch movies?

“Looks like no one is going to help you, asshat—” a Legion said.

And that was all he was able to say because I shot him in the face.

“Kill one of us and another will succeed him,” another said as he got close. I shot him in the gut instead of the face. I wanted that one to suffer for ripping that bullshit line off Marvel comics and Hydra. I then kicked him in the jaw, breaking it, and knocked him out.

In hindsight, this really might have been a bad idea. Standing out in the open, trying to inspire angels to fight. A very bad idea.

Like, top five, easy.

The more I thought about it, the dumber it seemed. What would happen after TJ got The Tears? It wasn’t like Legion was gonna say “Aww shucks, you win” and then go home. Man, I need to really rethink my plans.

A quartet of Legion came running at me, two hauling a portable energy-shield generator and two more laying down suppressing fire. I dodged and fired back, but not before they were able to active the generator. More Legion then came up on my six, doing the same thing. Then another to my right and another on my left.

Crap!

Well, this was it. I did all I could to keep the attacks on me and away from TJ. If I stayed here, I was going to die. The killer inside me wanted to continue. But the human inside knew that retreat wasn’t always a bad thing. I could fight on, but not here. Not out in the open.

Just as I turned to run, a new voice beside me spoke. “Heya, kid. Help has arrived,” Riggs said, standing in his head-to-toe gray-black ram armor.

“Where’ve you been? I thought you were dead there for a while,” I said as I snapped off more blasts.

“Oh, just recovering. Keeping a choir of angels at bay is taxing, even for me,” Riggs said as he pointed at several of the Legion and I saw actual lightning shoot from his fingertips, forking and striking the clone assassins dead.

Riggs saw my eyes widen at the attack. “Mage, kid. Remember? One of the best who ever lived.”

“Mage or not, if we stay here, we’re gonna die.”

“Come on, kid, where’s your edge? This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.” Riggs fired off another hissing blast of lightning.

I fired off a round into a Legion who was wearing a bandolier of plasma grenades, hitting them. They went up all at once, taking out a host of his allies in an explosive chain reaction.

“Nice!”

“Thanks!” I yelled.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” I asked, firing. The rage was coming back. Something about being here, now, made me want to keep going. A last stand. The kind where if you survive, you’re a hero. If you die, then you’re an idiot.

“Me what?”

“You’re inspiring this feeling inside me. With your magic. This killing rage.”

“Not magic, son. Just me. We’re related, remember. My descendants tend to get like this when I’m around.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the body you were in when you were Ken McMillan.”

More lighting and a slight chuckle. “Kid, you’re smart. But you really don’t know anything yet, do you? Flesh and blood is one thing. But you’re a descendant of my spirit, my soul. That is way more powerful than some haphazard mixing of love goo into paired chromosomes. You have the spirit of The Killer in you.”

“Why do they keep calling you that?”

“You’ll figure it out one day. But right now, we have that to deal with that!” Riggs pointed.

Legion had formed a skirmish line of ten men by one of the portable shields. Each one of them was armed with a triple-barreled BEDLAM-7. And each one of them was preparing to fire plasma rockets.

“DOWN!” Riggs ordered as he grabbed my neck with tremendous strength and slammed me to the ground. He threw up his hands then and created a dome of energy, as Grimm would have.

The rockets hit with ferocious power and impact. The shield flickered and winked out as Riggs’s armored form dropped to the ground, exhausted. He shook his head and held his hands back up, bringing the shield back into being.

Whoa, this was too familiar. I saw the skirmish line of Legion switching out magazines of ammo. The BEDLAMs held tons of ammo; there was no reason to switch out mags. Unless . . . crap.

“Down!” I yelled, and it was my turn to slam Riggs to the deck as the skirmish line fired at once.

Each of the rounds went through the shield. A scream forced its way from my throat. Fire blossomed in my back. One of the rounds had pierced my side, straight through my right lat, under my shoulder. The second one, just above that, had fracturing my right collarbone. The third had left a hole in my coat and a nasty gash, but little else.

Collective, what the hell?! What happened to the shield?

//UNKNOWN HOST - AMMUNITION UTILIZED UNKNOWN TECHNOLOGY AND BYPASSED SHIELD ENTIRELY - EMERGENCY HEALING UNDERWAY//

I felt The Collective activate pinpoint barrier shields and apply pressure to prevent excessive bleeding and hold my collar bone in place.

Thanks.

//YOU ARE WELCOME HOST - SURVIVAL PROBABILITY DROPPING - RECOMMEND EXPEDIENT RETREAT//

No kidding.

“What the hell was that?” Riggs asked, retracting his mask.

“Hex bullets,” I grunted. “I thought they just bypassed magic. Looks like they bypass everything.” I took my fingers away and they were covered with blood.

“Damn. I’ve heard of them before. Never seen them though.”

“They were made by Father Grimm and Rasputin.”

“Really? Now that’s just freaking poetic justice is what that is.”

“What?” I asked, not understanding.

“This.” Riggs said. He rolled to his side and right in the middle of his chest was a hole, just to the side of his heart. The bullet that had grazed my side had hit him.

“Oh shit! Are you OK?” I asked. Already I knew it was a stupid question.

“No. I’m not. I have a hole in my chest.”

“I—I—” I stammered.

“Just shut up,” Riggs said.

“If we lie here, we die,” I said, trying to pull up Riggs, who just pushed me away.

“So you need some time,” Riggs said.

“Time for what?”

“Time for you to figure something out to save us before I bleed out. Here, this should give you the time you need.” Riggs coughed as he retracted the gauntlet on his right hand, revealing his ring. The Seal of Solomon. “Angels. Fight,” he said, as he poured his will into the command.

And then every angel in the courtyard obeyed the command of the temple’s master, King Solomon. And indeed they fought.

Chapter Fifty

Kneel Before Zod

Every angel in the courtyard stopped running and responded to Riggs’s command. The angels attacked Legion, turning the tide. The Choir began to sing a song of battle and brought war to the assassins.

It was one hundred percent complete and utter horseshit.

I mean, come on. I gave the impassioned speech. I stood there and took the brunt of the attack. I got shot. A lot! And then this prick comes along, flashes his magic ring and just says “Angels. Fight.” and succeeds?

Complete horseshit.

A small battle line of angels formed around us, giving us protection and time. I propped myself up on one knee and with my good arm fired as fast as possible, picking off the skirmish line as they contended with now-combative angels.

I needed to think of something. Something other than the burning pain of the bullet holes in my body, my near-useless right arm and the burning scar across my face. I needed a plan to save us.

Why did it always come down to me?

“Riggs, do you have any ideas?” I asked.

“Piss off. Busy here. Concentrating. Bleeding. Possibly dying.”

Right. The ring took his concentration. Almost all of it. Every angel, while obeying him, was also fighting his command. And while they were powerful, Legion was better armed and there were more and more of them flooding into the courtyard. How the hell were they getting here?

Damn, of course, Remiel. Or Wakinyan or whatever she was. She had be bringing them in. I guess she couldn’t bring herself to slaughter her own kin herself.

So there I was, back to square one. It was up to me and I had no idea what I could do on a big enough scale to take them all down that wouldn’t kill us in the process. My current tactic was to shoot everything and hope someone smarter figured something out.

I remember when I used to use my mind as a weapon as well as my guns. When I would see a situation and think my way through. But right now, it was hard to concentrate on anything but Riggs’s moaning. Besides being annoying, it was making it even harder to think.

“Do me a favor and concentrate in silence please or I’ll rub salt in your chest wound.”

“It’s . . . not me,” Riggs grunted.

I looked down and realized it wasn’t. It was the Legion whom I’d shot in the gut for the Hydra comment and kicked in the face. He was waking up and moaning. He rolled to his side and then I noticed something. Something I was pretty sure was the answer we needed.

I knelt down next to him and pushed his head to the side. He looked just liked the one I’d first met in the junkyard, complete with the implant above his right eye. The cyberlink was also the piece that detonated his head.

I pulled it free and he screamed. “Shut up, asshole,” I said as I stood up and inspected the tech.

“You should have killed me.”

“I’ve been trying.”

The Legion laughed and coughed. “When that being found the one of us you left in the waste, it offered all of us power if we killed you. I told it we’d do it for free.”

“You made a bad deal, hoss,” I said as I shot him in the gut again while continuing to inspect the tech.

Collective

//ONLINE//

Open short-range data port. Scan this tech and image through the bracer.

//WORKING//

I tapped my left bracer and opened a holo-terminal. A holographic image of the tech piece floated in midair as The Collective routed all the pertinent data though the image. The hologram of the tech came apart, exposing all the various pieces. It was a data link transponder with a biomedical telemetry transponder. But this piece was made by ARCTech. The logo was on the circuit board. The stylized three triangles forming a larger triangle wasn’t hard to miss.

And there in the center of the board, next to the processor, was a small piece of solid state explosive. It was rigged to explode when the wearer activated it. It was DNA-link locked. Smart. That way no one else could activate it.

Damn. But wait . . . what if whoever on the other end of the data link wanted to detonate it? That meant there had to be a signal trigger as well. I moved the holo image, looking for some kind of signal receiver.

Nothing.

Hmm. What if the receiver wasn’t in the tech, but in the host? I had a transmitter/receiver in my head. What if Legion did as well? I widened my search to include the moaning Legion.

My scans showed that Legion was actually a tech-based endoskeleton with organic composite and synthetic tissue. That’s how he did it. He—they—weren’t born humans turned cyborg. Nor were they cultured clones. They were robotic first with all the required tech pre-installed and synth-tissue grown around it. Androids. Androids with a mapped human mind linked back to a central host. Time-saving and elegant. And there, within the interior tech, was the transmitter.

It was encrypted, naturally. But I hadn’t come up against a code that The Collective couldn’t break. In a few moments, I had the self-destruct signal.

Booya.

This place was about get an R-rating in a very messy, Scanners sort of way.

I deactivated the explosive tech I was holding. I didn’t need that going up in my hand. I prepared a signal pulse, one that would transmit the self-destruct code. I didn’t know the range of it just yet, but I figured this would be fun regardless.

“If you’re squeamish, I’d turn away. We could be in a splash zone,” I said to Riggs.

“What?”

“Heh. Boom,” I said as I pressed the ENGAGE button.

In a disgusting wave of brains and blood, the head of every Legion within a hundred yards of me exploded with a wet, popping crack. One moment they were engaged in a battle; the next they were coating angelic wings in fine pink mist and skull fragments. I think I just found my new favorite toy.

The headless bodies dropped and hit the ground. The red, viscous synth blood stood in stark relief to the white stone. It was horribly beautiful.

And suddenly, it was quiet. It happened so suddenly that I hadn’t realized how loud it had been. The noise of war was nothing compared to the deafening complete stillness.

And in that quiet moment, when the battle simply stopped, everyone still standing, friend or foe, turned and looked at me. I had to fight the urge to look down and make sure I still had pants on and this wasn’t a naked-in-high-school dream.

“I think . . . they’re waiting . . . for you to say something,” Riggs grunted.

“Kneel before Zod!”

Riggs chuckled and spit blood. “Don’t make me laugh, kid.”

“You going to live?” I whispered.

“Probably. Already feeling better. Exo suit is keeping me together and regulating my vitals. Nice trick there, by the way. Made your granddaddy proud.”

“Shut it, Pappy,” I whispered harshly. “OK, Legion, or what’s left of you,” I yelled as loud as I could and prayed my voice didn’t crack. “If you want to keep breathing, drop your weapons! Now!”

“Assertive.”

I looked down at the wounded Riggs and narrowed my eyes. “Shut it. I make the quips, old man.”

“Then get better at them.”

“What’s it going to be?!” I yelled, ignoring Riggs.

I was taking a big gamble here with both our lives, wounded as we were. The Legion who were still alive were out of range of the detonation signal. So I made sure that everyone could clearly see I had my hand was over the holographic glowing red, blow-your-head-off button. Legion knew how fast I could move. So I was fairly confident Legion would surrender.

Instead, the remaining assassins looked at one another, then reached up and tore off their transmitter/receiver tech from above their eyes and threw them to the ground and backed away.

Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.

All at once the battle resumed. The Legion took up their weapons again and began firing at everything. 

“Shit!”

“Yeah, shoulda seen that one coming,” Riggs chided.

“Stop backseat saving,” I yelled. I dropped down next to Riggs, flat on my chest, holding up my arm, projecting an energy shield as best I could.

I assumed that the hex bullets were rare; otherwise they would’ve used them by now. But if any of them had any more, we were done. At least the angels could possibly distract them long enough for me to think of another useless plan. “You have an idea, old man?”

“Still controlling the angels. You’re on your own.”

The wounded Legion who had been lying next to us, the one with two gutshot wounds, had quietly and crawled up next to the semi-aware Riggs. In a swift motion the android unsheathed his combat knife, grabbed Riggs’s right hand and brought the mini-machete down hard. Two swift chops and Riggs’s hand came free from his body.

Riggs screamed and clutched his stump to his chest. I lunged at the Legion. The android must have had some sort of internal first aid, or at least a pain shutdown sub-routine and an adrenaline pump, because that little bastard scrambled away faster than I thought possible considering he had two energy rounds in his gut. As I lunged for him, he lashed out with a booted foot and caught me in my wounded shoulder and fractured clavicle.

“You are the worst wingman ever,” Riggs grunted in pain.

“You’re not exactly the best yourself, asshole.”

“Do I have to remind you that you were going to turn me and TJ into liquid fertilizer?”

“Right about now, I am wishing I had,” Riggs said, wincing with his eyes closed. “Wouldn’t have to deal with what’s coming now.”

“What’s coming?”

He held up his severed hand. The one that had the ring. “I no longer control the angels.”

Oh . . . shit. I looked, and everywhere, the combative angels were now free. Some continued fighting back, while others turned to run. That meant Legion was now free to come and kill us at his leisure.

That was it. Game over.

“Any last words?” I asked.

“When I die, I’ll come back.”

“Asshole.”

Riggs chuckled through the pain. “It was nice knowing you, Grandson.”

“It . . . it was nice knowing you as well.”

I held up my bracers and projected an energy shield around both of us as a hail of weapon fire rained down. The shield held, but with every blast, I felt my internal energy supply get lower and lower.

A few well-placed hex bullets, and we were dead. But no, Legion just unloaded round after painful round into us while they all laughed. The noise was deafening and both Riggs and I screamed, knowing the end was coming.

And then, over the din of battle, a Mighty Trumpet sounded.

Loud and sweet, ringing across the battlefield, the call of Gabrielle, the Horn Blower, echoed the Will of God. With crimson battle plate and purple wings, she arrived in her full glory, descending upon the Legion, and she was not alone. Landing beside her in a swirl of darkness was Sariel the Angel of Death.

The two archangels stood there in the middle of the battlefield, imposing and powerful. Yet they did nothing. The angels on the field rallied around them and even Legion seemed baffled.

It was clear, the archangels were waiting. For what, I wasn’t sure. Then, he came.

Chael. Michael.

He bounded through the courtyard gates, his pale white skin and long black hair painted in blood. Like a crazed madman he came to stand before them, his dead white eyes looking them over as if it was his first time gazing upon his kin. The white eyes flashed blue for a moment, and in that briefest of seconds, Chael—Michael—knew them.

“Master TJ,” Sariel said.

“As we instructed,” Gabrielled followed up.

TJ stepped out from behind them. I didn’t even see the boy standing behind the massive angels. He came to stand in front of the archangels and in his hand were the Tears of God.

Michael’s eyes flashed blue as he looked upon The Tears. Seeing the pure crystalline light, he wept. The archangel’s tears streaked down his face through blood and grime.

“Let—” TJ started, then stopped. He looked to Sariel and Gabrielle for encouragement, and they both nodded to the boy.

“Let there be LIGHT.”

And Light Be.

Chapter Fifty-One

Mischief and Johnny Cash

Within the boy’s hands hovered two miniature suns.

In flash of brilliance The Tears of God erupted forth, streaming pure light from TJ’s hands, eyes and mouth, flooding the courtyard. The boy turned his head, looking at across the battlefield. Everywhere the son of Raphael looked, the light of God shone.

Some put their hands up, reflexively, perhaps to protect their eyes or perhaps because of shame they felt in the face of purity. Others simply embraced The Light. They stood there and basked in the pure and true light.

The light didn’t push away darkness; it eradicated it. Across the courtyard the light vibrated with an audible resonance. Tones. Ringing chimes from a time before Time itself existed.

And there were also screams of the dying. The light from The Tears, guided by TJ, sought out those who had transgressed against us and destroyed them in a very Old Testament, vengeful God kind of way.

Legion, all of them, melted away in the light. Their bodies dissolved in gurgling screams of wailing anguish as the light burned every last molecule of their blood and tissue. TJ left none of the assassins alive. Was it the will of God that smote Legion, or was it the vengeance of a thirteen-year-old son who was afraid for his father?

When the screaming stopped, the light abated in power and intensity, and I saw TJ stagger. Like Moses coming down from the mountain, TJ was touched by something more powerful than the universe in which we resided, and his flesh bore that mark. His hair was now pure white, as were his eyes. Gone were his irises and pupils, leaving only the whites behind. But even from here, I could tell TJ wasn’t blind. I knew he had sight more powerful than all of us.  

I looked at my hands as I lay there. I felt the stirring of something. Call it the soul. Call it inspiration. But then and there, I truly felt again. When the final waves of light hit me, I felt cleansed. I felt forgiven. And in the briefest of moments, I heard a voice.

Faint, yet . . . powerful.

I heard His Voice. The Voice of God. A message for me and me alone. And in that fleeting moment I felt His Presence.

And then, nothing. It was gone.

He was gone.

The Presence left as abruptly as it had arrived. Lying there, I felt diminished.

I felt less. Saddened. Alone.

Yet hopeful.

As The Light receded, the Deep-One-possessed, killing monolith known as Chael was literally burned away. Gone forever. In his place knelt Michael. He Who Was Like God.

The Archangel of Courage in The Darkness. Michael rose up to his full height, his true height, towering above all others. Gone was the shirtless psychotic in pants made of human and demon skin. Gone was his long, lank, black hair, replaced with clean ebony locks. He was dressed in intricate armor and cloth made of the deepest blacks and the purest white. His wings, black with smoke-gray hues, flexed along his back. He was once again whole. And his brilliant blue eyes regarded me as I lay there on the cold white stone of the temple’s courtyard.

For a brief moment, I was sad to say goodbye to the insane Chael I’d come to know.

“Come out, my friend,” Michael said. His voice was clear and lucid. It resonated with power and clarity.

Painfully, I crawled out from where we were dug in, pulling Riggs with me. Once we were free, the two of us supported one another and limped over to the three archangels. The remaining angels parted for us. There was a sense of begrudging respect. Two humans fought for them, protected them, while they ran in fear of their questionable mortality.

The sense of irony was tangible as I nodded to the angels.

Michael stepped up to Riggs and me. “You have saved me. Saved us. Thank you. Now, be whole once more.”

Michael laid a hand on each of us, directly on our foreheads. And I felt the power and light of his will enter us. Healing warmth similar to that of Gabrielle radiated through me. From his touch, I felt wounds close. I felt my life replenished.

Beside me, I saw Riggs’s hand regrow. His exo-suit reverted back to its liquid state and retreated into his bracers. Riggs flexed his new hand and smiled.

“It’s killing you inside to help me, eh?” Riggs asked, smirking. Michael nodded and squeezed his massive hand, which was still atop Riggs’s forehead, just a little, to make Riggs wince.

“Asshole.”

“Thank you,” I said to Michael, who released Riggs and smiled at me.

One of the gathered angels broke through the ranks and presented himself before the three archangels and knelt down to one knee. It was Jophiel, the leader of the Choir.

“Forgive me,” Jophiel said to Michael. Michael knelt down next to him and placed his forehead against Jophiel’s. Michael placed his hand on the back of the angel’s neck.

The act was almost human.

“No, forgive me. For what I did to you and for what I became. I was lost. Corrupted. I had given up. For too long I fought them and in a moment of doubt, my resolve wavered. In that fleeting moment, they took hold of me. The Deep Ones invaded my mind and I was their minion. I thank you for leading The Choir in my absence. For guarding this place while the others guided The Tears for as long as they did.”

Gabrielle then addressed the gathered angels. “Now, we have all been presented an opportunity. A chance to do what was never given to us before. A chance to create our own purpose. Not one in service to The Creator. But one we choose for ourselves. Our own destiny. Beyond this place. In the world where we are needed. His enemies thrive while we hide. No more.”

Damn. Now that’s how you make a speech. I needed to write that down.

“What of the Tears of God?” Jophiel asked.

Sariel waved his hand to regard TJ. “They have moved on. From our care to his.”

“That is correct. Now it is our time to choose a new destiny for ourselves,” Michael finished.

The angels nodded their acquiescence to their leaders’ decisions. “Where will we go? What will we do?” one of the other angels asked.

At first, I was going to offer them refuge on my land. But I stopped myself for several reasons. First, because I already did that with the people of Midheim and I’d hate to fall into a rut. Nothing worse than being predictable or formulaic.

But secondly, and most importantly, because Vali and Vidar lived there leading their—our— people. And I wasn’t sure what kind of friction could come from having angelic cousins in one place with humans stuck between them. It could be a new utopia. But more likely it would be a cult or a war zone.

An idea struck me. It was either a beautifully elegant solution to many problems or the dumbest thing that ever oozed out of my moronic mind.

“I have a solution, I think,” I said.

Michael stood and came to tower before me. “What is it?”

I told him. And he laughed. Then Gabrielle laughed. Then freaking Sariel laughed. Courage, Will and Death stood there belly laughing at me. It was humbling. Well, I guess that answers that. Dumb idea. Dumb dumb dumb.

“That is perfect,” Michael said.

“Yeah, I know. I’m an idiot sometimes. I just figured . . . say what?”

“Your idea. It is perfect. It gives us purpose, pedantic as it is. Some changes will need to be made. But in this, you have given us the opportunity to be needed once again. In this, people will once again believe in us. Have faith in us. And that will replenish us with power.”

Riggs looked skeptical. “Do you think you can pull this off?”

“Yeah, I do. I have an in. And I can’t think of anything better than sticking it to the demonic nobility in a way that makes them all rely on mankind and angels.”

“Sounds like you still have a little of me in you.”

“I do,” I admitted. “Building things. Fixing things. Mischief, and Johnny Cash.”

“Yeah, JC got me through a lot of dark times. Trust in his lyrics, kid. He was more of a prophet than a man.”

“I was very proud of him,” Sariel said. “One of my most favorite descendants.”

Well, I guess that explained a lot.

“But in the meantime,” I said, “I need to get the tears back to New Golgotha if I am going to keep Löngutangar from being destroyed. Can you get us back there?”

“I will,” Michael offered.

“As will I,” said Gabrielle.

“Then we need to go, now. Riggs, I assume you will return to First Heaven? Riggs? Where are you?”

“Here,” he said, walking back from across the courtyard. “Just had to get something back. Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” I said. “When I get this sorted out, I’ll message you. This could be big, you know.”

“That’s what I am afraid of. After this is done, I’m going to have to disappear. Too many people will try and take advantage of me.”

“Understood,” I said.

I didn’t really, though. But if what he said was true and that his descendants could command him, then hiding out was his best option.

“I’ll hear from you soon,” Riggs said as he put his hand out and I took it. I looked him in the eye and shook his hand. I felt like we should hug or something. Family and all. But maybe it was too soon.

As I took my hand back, Riggs palmed me a couple of items. One was a folded and sealed letter. The other was a ring. His ring. The Seal of Solomon. I looked at it wide-eyed.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Where you’re going, and with what you have to do, you going to need it. If it’s with you, no one can compel me to use the Well. And if you have any shot of pulling off this bullshit plan of yours, then yeah, you’ll need the influence, kid. Just try not to rely on it. It corrupts. Trust me.”

In that moment, there was a bond. I know he felt it also. A deep connection that only family can feel. Loneliness and a river of time had separated us, but now we were within arm’s reach.

Screw it, I was going in for the hug. And you know what? So did he.

“Granddaddy,” I whispered. It was what I called him when I was a kid.

He just held me closer. “See you soon, boy.”

“Try not to destroy the world while I’m gone,” I said.

He broke the hug and gave me a playful smack in cheek. “Not today. Today, I think I am going to help you heal it. When you have time, time alone, read the letter. Heed it.”

“I will,” I said.

“Now get out of here. Save your town. Beat the bad guys. Do the hero thing. Just do it with a smirk.” Riggs looked me over and smiled.

“I don’t know another way.” I smiled.

“Salem, it is time,” Michael said as he walked up with TJ by his side. The boy was quiet, yet smiling.

I knelt down in front of TJ. “Are you ready?”

“Hell yeah.” TJ smiled.

“I need to take these then. May I?”

“Yes. Just save my dad.” TJ held his hands out, offering The Tears to me.

“You got it, kid.”

I reached out to take The Tears of God and hesitated a moment. Placing my hand on them, I waited for pain or another episode. And . . . nothing.

They were solid. Real. I took them gingerly from TJ’s hand and stowed them in my coat pocket.

“Michael. When you’re ready. Gabrielle, if you please, drop TJ off at Löngutangar while Michael and I visit Archduchess Lady Bathin’s palace in the Black Marble district of Ars Goetia.”

“Then let us go,” Michael said, and Gabrielle nodded.

“See you soon, kid,” I said to TJ, who smiled, and his white eye winked back at me as Gabrielle and TJ dissolved into the energy of the Ley Lines.

“Second star on the right, straight on ’til morning,” I said to Michael.

The archangel Michael rolled his eyes. Yes. Archangels apparently roll their eyes. “You would look ridiculous in tights,” Michael said.

Just before the two of us dissolved into energy and joined the power of the Ley Lines, Michael paused and laughed. Hard.

“‘Halo, how are you!’ I just got that.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

A Certain Ring

Now, in Black Marble

Michael and I materialized in Black Marble, the former Washington DC, where Archduchess Lady Bathin made her citadel. DC was once the hub of the free world, founded by the forefathers of the United States. Men of vision and hope. Ironic, since it became a cesspool of crooks, liars, and pandering, nepotistic assholes.

So, not much has changed since then.

Last time I was here was right after Father Grimm first hired me. After our first meeting at Dante’s. It felt like a lifetime ago. It was fitting that this was where I got to put this whole thing to rest. Where I got to put this crazy freaking last several months behind me and move on with living my life, if you can call it that.

We approached the gates to her citadel and I announced myself to the nearest hellion security guard. “Baron Salem and guest to see Archduchess Bathin. We have an appointment.”

********

“Do you have The Tears of God?” Bathin asked, sitting on her ornate throne of wood, marble and bone.

Each component of the throne represented the kingdom tiers of New Golgotha. The tiers of success. The noble-born Pride demoness was dressed in her usual, slightly provocative ensemble, a blood-red lace corset and matching leather pants. This time, though, she was sporting a black off-the-shoulder cape. Along with the vestments of her power, she wore a silver- and gold-entwined circlet atop her forehead and woven into her horns and white braided hair. She smiled her Prideful smile. She had won, and she knew it.

The inside of her throne room was more like a corporate CEO office, complete with a horseshoe-shaped executive table and wall-mounted holo-terminals running news and current events. Where it broke with modernism was with the smoky marble stone walls and actual burning sconces. Certain traditions had to be upheld, I guess.

Seated at the table were her retainers and lords.

And that smug bastard Andromalius. The demon bastard who got me sent to prison and who threatened my people. Still dressed in his throwback slacker clothing, complete with wool cap, excessive rings and bracelets, the demon oozed douchebag.

Next to him was Maz’ael. Maz tried hard to look hard, but he couldn’t meet my eyes. Our last meeting established our personal pecking order and he knew it. My vision of Vali, and what he did to Maz, trickled back to me.

And I smiled.

“Looking rough, Maz,” I told the demon. “Meet some interesting people?”

“Fuck you,” he said in response. He seethed looking at me.

Good. Because it was taking every last ounce of my waning willpower to not come across the table and beat him to death with one of those fancy leather office chairs they were reclining in.

“Be at peace,” Michael whispered. I smiled in the warm confidence that the archangel radiated. He was a Power. And everyone in the room knew it.

I looked at the archduchess and the demons in the room, took a deep, calming breath, then lit a smoke.

“Do you, or do you not have The Tears of God?” Archduchess Bathin asked again, her voice a touch more impatient.

“I do.”

“Good. Hand them over.”

“I have conditions first,” I said, puffing on my smoke.

“Your deal was already brokered with Archbishop Maz’zael while you were incarcerated in Flotsam. The terms are non-negotiable.”

I smiled. “I know. I was there. Atonement for my past crimes, right? I bring you the Tears of God and I get a clean slate. Löngutangar’s debt wiped away and with it, a two-year tithe immunity. All transgressions against the Kingdom of Ars Goetia, including Abraxas’s death, are now gone.” I took another drag off my smoke and steadied myself for the next part.

“What are these conditions of yours?” Bathin asked, and I tsked.

“I’ll get to that. For now, you have to make a ruling in the case between Andromalius and me, do you not? If I recall the charges correctly, it was two counts of Assault on a Noble, Abraxas and Andromalius. Murder of the Noble Abraxas. Destruction of Infernal Architecture. Murder of the licensed assassin Legion. And, Larceny without a Sanction against Andromalius. Did I miss anything?”

“That’s fairly accurate.”

“Then this should be open and shut then. Nice knowing you, Baron,” Andromalius said.

“You know, normally I would beat you to death. Or just shoot you in the face. But recent events have taught me that I haven’t been using my mind as much as I once was. And for once, I feel like I am ahead of the curve.”

“What does that even mean?” Andromalius asked.

“Simple. You’re fucked,” I said, finishing my smoke and lighting another one.

“Archduchess Bathin, Archduke Maz’zael, if I may?”

“Proceed,” Bathin said. Her voice reminded me of those old police procedural TV shows. The part where the judge was telling the defending counsel they would allow it, but they were on thin ice. So I considered myself warned.

I moved around the room, exploring the space and taking note of the various district lords and bishops in the room. Good to know who may one day be gunning for me.

“Once I hand over The Tears of God, then I have made proper atonement. All matters concerning Abraxas are wiped away. Gone forever. The assault, the death, the destruction on property. Everything. Correct?”

“Correct,” Bathin agreed.

“And Andromalius’s filing for claim against my estate was based on the Infernal Laws of Right of Aggrieved Kin?”

“Yes,” Bathin said. She wasn’t dumb; she saw what was coming. She smiled a vulpine grin. Andromalius, while dimmer, also picked up on what was coming next. He did not smile.

“Thus, once my atonement is granted, that nullifies Andromalius’s claim and Granted Larceny against my estate. His case was based on nothing. He is then, in fact, guilty of assault and illegal larceny against a noble. And by law, upon the outcome of this arbitration, all that is his becomes mine.”

“What?!” Andromalius yelled as he stood up. At a glance, Archduchess Bathin’s armed guards stepped in, apprehending Andromalius. “I am a bishop! Unhand me!”

“No, Chuckles. Like I said, you’re fucked. You’re an amusement. A plaything. This sign language monkey just beat you,” I said, quoting his own words back to him. Just to accentuate the point, I flicked my cigarette butt at him.

Andromalus was stronger than he looked. He twisted free of the guard’s grip, produced an inferium dagger, and lunged for me.

Normally I would switch into fight mode and deal with this. But for some reason, and Lord only knew why, everyone seemed to forget the giant archangel standing behind me.

Michael stepped forward and intercepted Andromalius, gripping the smaller demon’s wrist so tight his bones threatened to break. The demon dropped the blade. Michael shoved him back into the waiting arms of the guards.

“Thank you, Archangel,” Archduchess Bathin said, actually sounding courteous.

“Ma’am.” Michael nodded.

“As I was saying,” I continued. “For the grievances brought against me and my estate by Bishop Andromalius, and pending any atonement you set for him, then all his assets belong to me provided I can pay for them. Correct?”

“Correct,” Bathin agreed. “However, Bishop Andromalius has amassed quite a considerable fortune. Even with your wealth, and tithe immunity, you could not assume the fiscal responsibility for both your Barony of Löngutangar and Windy Spires.”

“Not so, Archduchess. Once you rule in my favor, then his estate becomes part of my estate. And, as per our terms, my estate’s debts have been forgiven and given a two-year tithe immunity.”

There it was. All tied up in a neat little bow. Damn, I love being me sometimes.

However, Bathin did not seem to think the wrapping was all that pretty.

“Archduchess, I can see your trepidation. So I am going to sweeten the deal so that it benefits you and me both,” I said.

OK, deep breath. I set them up. Now time to knock it out of the park. “My conditions for turning over the Tears of God to you. I request a business license.”

“What is the nature of this business?” Bathin asked, sounding intrigued.

“A trans-kingdom, trans-global transportation system,” I said.

The room fell silent. The demons seemed perplexed. Their human advisers whispered to them what the technological implications could mean. Surprisingly, Bathin spoke first.

“Such a venture is impossible. You are not the first to consider this. The infrastructure is not fiscally, or technologically, sound. The vast expanses in the waste, outside the supercities, are too prone to Abomination attack. Across the great seas, any magna-rail would be destroyed by Deep One aggression. Your plan is outdated and laughable.”

The room nodded in agreement. Great—a demonic echo chamber.

“With every ounce of respect, ma’am, that’s not what I am proposing. I’m proposing Ley Line Transportation.”

The room broke into chaos upon the words “Ley Lines.” But the Archduchess silenced them with a wave. “Explain yourself.”

“Archduchess, demonic nobles, please—allow me to be frank for a moment. You have little to no power anymore. As time passes, you will have even less,” I said, and the room turned icy. But a resonating growl from Michael reminded them of his presence and his waning tolerance of demons.

“Those of you who existed in the Infernal Realm had the power of infinite souls to draw upon. But once you came topside, that source of power was no longer available to you. What you have in your tanks is all you have left. But angels still have the ability to draw upon the power of people through belief and faith. I recently came upon a choir of them who have nothing. No direction, no purpose. And if you’re worried about it, your war is over. They are as stuck here as you are.

“But, since New Golgotha, and pretty much every Supercity, already has the Magna-Rail infrastructure in place run by the Brotherhood, I propose Ley Line intersection junctions be set up and powered by these angels, who can utilize their power and transport people, goods, products— you name it—anywhere in the world. As people begin to see what this can do, they will have faith and believe in these angels, thereby ensuring their continued power.

“I have allies in The Brotherhood. I know I can broker this deal. You judge in favor of me, and I will turn Windy Spires into the central hub for all Trans-Global ventures. I will place the demon Khurzon in Windy Spires as my proxy, so you won’t have to worry about not having demonic influence. Michael will serve as the leader of the angelic union. And when this is all set up and done, you, Archduchess, will be the one to revolutionize global economy. Your new power will rival Lemegeton and Archduke Dantalion’s.

“So, I think this more than compensates for any perceived lost revenue from my acquisition of Andromalius’s holdings.”

The room was quiet. Begrudgingly, there were nods all around the room.

Goddamn, I was smooth.

Or it could have been a certain ring I was wearing.

So, that was it. All the cards on the table. Now it was Bathin’s turn.

“So, m’lady, what do you say?”

Chapter Fifty-Three

Homecomings

“Are you out of your goddamn mind!?” Reggie yelled at me through the vid screen.

“It could work,” RM said from his side of the split-screen video conference call.

I lit a smoke in the back of Archduchess Bathin’s hover-skiff. While not her personal transport, the skiff was used to ferry high-ranking people, or to collect nobles to face punishment. The bloodstains on the leather let me know not all of them chose to actually reach judgment. But hey, the bar was fully stocked. I mixed myself a whiskey sour and listened to The Brotherhood representatives argue.

“Angels? Seriously?” Reggie reiterated. The oldhead lit a smoke and crossed his arms. He was old school and didn’t trust anything that wasn’t human flesh and blood.

“Yeah, angels,” I said for what had to have been the thousandth time. “They aren’t mythical. They’ve been in hiding. I have some who are willing to help.”

“And you want us to trust in ‘angel magic’?”

I sighed. “Yeah, Reg, ‘angel magic’. In theory, it is simple. You transport your rail shipments like always. But once you hit a hub, the onboard angel will then use the power of the Ley Lines and the Well of Souls at the junction points to transport the entire shipment to the next hub. At which point you pick back up on the already installed magna-rails.”

I could tell he still wasn’t buying it. So I hit him in his humanity. “Think about it, Reggie. Really think about it. The Brotherhood would have total global dominance of the transport of goods and services. You’ll expand into moving people all over the world. We are on the cusp of an entirely new world. People no longer afraid to leave the cities for fear of the Deep Ones, opening trade to the supercities around the world. And at the heart of it, full human control of it. So would you rather trust a demon or an angel?”

“Fuck ’em both,” Reggie said as he rolled his eyes.

“Reg, we go way way back,” RM said to his Brotherhood friend. “I trust Salem. This plan is rough, sure. It’ll take a couple of years to make the modifications. But we can be what we always wanted to be.”

“Fine. Send me the tech specs. I’m sure there is more work to be done than you realize. I’ll make the calls to the other Brotherhood leaders and we’ll vote on it. When should we expect these angels to show up?”

“Soon, man. Just review the specs. You know this is going to work.”

“Yeah yeah. Damn kid’s going to be the death of me,” he said as he was about to sign off the vid conference.

“Reggie,” I said.

“Yeah?” he asked, pausing.

“Thanks for your help. Those kids are alive because of you.”

Reggie didn’t say anything. He just nodded and switched off his vid conference.

“You know you just made him feel human emotion. Next time he sees you he is more than likely going to take a swing at you,” RM smirked.

“Eh, worth it. So, you think the vote will pass? I am kinda banking on it under punishment of demonic law.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll pass. It’s a good plan. Pretty smart thinking, by the way.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your support.”

“Always kid, always. So, are we on for dinner sometime?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. Seeing RM in person would be great. But seeing him again, socially, would be like picking open old wounds.

Hell, wasn’t that what life was anyway?

“Yeah. I have a mountain of things that need to get done here and at Windy Spires. So, it’ll be a while. I can’t say for sure when. Although I’m pardoned, there are no doubt some of Andromalius’s old guard who will try and make my life hell. I need to let the heat cool off.”

“I understand, I understand. Take your time. But don’t forget about us. My sister Cara can’t wait. But you might wanna come armed. She’s still mad as hell at you. She also still has the hots for you. Throw in some menopause, lord only knows what’s going to happen. Women, right?”

“RM?”

“Yeah?”

“Did Cara have a child that I never knew about?”

“What?”

“Remember when you helped smuggle Grimm and me into the city, and lied to me saying Cara was pregnant and lost the baby and killed herself? You did it as a sick joke to make me feel bad?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I did. I admit, I have a dark sense of humor. But it served you right for disappearing for thirty years and thinking I couldn’t handle your secrets.”

“You said the story was bullshit.”

“Yeah. Because it was bullshit. Cara never had a child. ”

I nodded. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. I’ll be in touch soon.”

RM nodded as I switched off the vid-com. I didn’t need Grimm’s supernatural ability to know that RM was lying. Knowing someone for years, even decades later, you can still pick up on their tells.

Cara did have a child. My child. Jensen.

I sipped at my drink and smoked my cigarette, thinking about the son who grew up in a world without a father.

********

Gabrielle, true to her word, returned TJ earlier in the day. Naturally, the boy told almost everyone everything while making up the rest. I knew this because I was greeted at the gate by armed guards. They were laughing as they presented me with a cake.

A cake shaped like an Abomination walker with a huge erection. Shit. I was never going to live this one down.

********

All of Löngutangar was celebrating my return. Well, not just my return, but survival in general. A feast was going on in the great hall. The main fire was lit and people danced. They made music. God, they made music. Theirs hearts were lifted. Their spirits swelled. Their souls swelled. The people of Midheim already had it. But it would spread.

I drank my drink and watched the party unfold. I sat in the most secluded shadowy back corner section of the mead hall and just watched.

Would inspiration come back to all of humanity? Could I help foster that? I didn’t know. But my plan was to turn Löngutangar and the Trans-Global railway into a beacon of hope for humanity. If mankind needed a light to look to, now that the Tears of God were no longer in the Temple of Solomon, then I’d give them that light. I’d give them that hope. Before the darkness of the Deep Ones awakened.

Shit, that was depressing.

“Salem. Welcome home.”

I looked up and saw Grimm, Vali, Vidar, Khurzon, Twitch, and Taylor standing at the table. They brought a bottle of very old and very expensive scotch. No doubt they raided it from my private stash. Considering the circumstances, I decided to let it slide.

I stood and greeted my friends one by one with a hug. Taylor hugged me tight. The tall greasy mechanic thanked me over and over for bringing his son home alive and well. Even if the little guy was sporting frost-white hair, white eyes, and was acting more like me by the hour.

He didn’t know that I knew who he was. Well, that would be a fun a conversation for later. With a smile, Taylor let me go and took a seat. I was picked up from behind with four arms in a massive hug.

“Welcome back, jailbird.”

Once I was put back on my feet, I turned and gave Khurzon a proper hug. “Thank you. You brought the kids home.”

“And the house you promised to have built for me?”

“You’re gonna need two. One here, and one in Windy Spires. I’ve got a new job lined up for you.”

“Am I going to like it?”

I smiled. “Do you like wealth and power?”

Khurzon smiled back. “Tell me more.”

“Later.”

Vali and Vidar both picked me up, then set me down at the table while Grimm poured everyone drinks. Vidar, per usual, bummed one of my smokes.

Vali, though, just smiled at me. And I noticed that his glass was full of water.

“On the wagon?” I asked.

“A friend helped knock some sense into me.”

“Some friend.”

“Yeah. The best ones are the most honest.”

“I don’t know what all TJ said—” I began.

Vali cut me off. “He told me you saved us. All I need to hear.”

“He doesn’t know everything. When I tried to take The Tears, I had . . . visions. Visions of you and what you did in Flotsam. Both of you,” I said, looking from Vali to Taylor. “Thank you.”

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked. “What vision?”

“I-I saw,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. I pointed to Vali’s eyepatch, then my hand went to my mouth while I tried to compose myself. “I saw what you two did there. How you suffered. And what you did. I’m sorry.”

Vali reached across the table and grabbed my fist in both his hands. “And I know, what you went through . . . for all of us.”

Letting my fist go, he touched the eyepatch. “This? Nothing I wouldn't do again.”

Vali’s words hit me deep. I simply nodded, letting the unspoken bond of pain convey our meaning.

“Twitch, Yeela, and Khlabra. Where are they?”

“Right here, asshole,” Twitch said, coming through the party to stand at the table. After getting cleaned up and wearing more than prison rags, the cyber hacker looked human. She pointed her new bio-mech hand at me. “You left me for dead.”

I stood and went to give her a hug, but Twitch waved me off. “No, no touchy. You owe me.”

“I know. I owe you my life. I didn’t know you were alive. I swear. But I’ll make up for it. You’ll always have a home here.”

“I believe you,” she said with a smirk. Quickly, she slapped me in the mouth with her metal hand.

“Ow, damn it!”

“Big baby.” Twitch sighed as she reached down, took my drink, and downed it on one gulp. “In the meantime, I have work. I’m helping your dad—weird, by the way—and that T guy with creating a digital presence device to see if any of Khlabra’s cognitive functions can be restored.”

Twitch gave the slightest of hugs as I rubbed at my stinging face. “Welcome home. But if you think my welcome back hurt, you’re really in for it.”

“What’s that mean?” I asked.

A fist clocked me in the back of my head. Then I was pulled backwards and slammed into the ground.

“Ouch.” Khurzon smirked, sipping her drink.

Something fast and strong was on top of me in a flash while clawed thumbs pressed against my throat.

“Yeela, be nice. Like we talked about,” Vali said with a tone of mirth.

“Hi,” Yeela purred.

“Hey kid. Glad you’re not dead,” I said.

“Can’t say it’s mutual. My mother is dead because of you. My sister is . . . how she is because of you.”

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t my fault. That Gh’aliss sold me out to Dantalion and only came to Flotsam as part of his schemes. But that wouldn’t matter. Yeela had to be angry at something or someone. Let it be me.

“I’m sorry. I honestly am. I can’t bring her back. But I’ll do everything I can to make those who took her suffer.”

“Vali already did. You’re lucky I like him,” Yeela said, getting off me. As Grimm refilled my glass, Yeela took it immediately and curled up in Vali’s lap.

The god looked down at me and shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

I looked at the pair of them, opened my mouth, then shut it. I had a feeling that Vali honestly had no choice in the matter. Poor guy.

Taylor stood from the table and bent over to help me up. “Come on up there, hoss.”

“I saw you too,” I silently mouth to Taylor as I got to my feet. “The real you. I saw what you did for Vali.”

Taylor looked me dead in the eyes. In my head, I heard his voice:

“Another time. I thank you for bringing my son home, mostly safe and sound. When he touched The Tears, things changed. Others are aware of him now. So for now, let him just be my son and we will not speak to him of his parentage. Not yet anyway.”

I nodded. “OK.”

We drank and we laughed, filling one another in on what happened over the last couple of months apart. Vali told me of a possible inside threat. I didn’t want to believe him, but the facts he detailed and Vidar confirmed were undeniable. I told him I’d run a complete diagnostic of the security system and see what I could find.

Damn it. Homecomings were supposed to be happy times. Not times to ferret out a mole.

“Oh, we took your advice,” Vidar said, trying to remove Khurzon’s hands from his thigh.

“Oh?”

Vali smiled while Yeela purred. “While you were away, we opened up our borders. Some of the folks have found work within the city proper. And thanks to some help from Tesla, we now have a squad of new cybernetically-enhanced warriors. As of yesterday, we have an official Mercenary License to conduct operations within the city. We’ve already started operations.”

“Wait, Maz authorized that? After . . .?”

“I can be persuasive.”

“What kind of mercs?”

“Protection. Augmenting local police forces. Lightrunning.” Vali smiled, sipping at his water. “Selling off some of the stuff in your vaults.”

“My what?”

“Don’t worry.” Vali laughed. “Grimm found your manifests. Your best stuff is safe. It’s surprisingly lucrative.”

I thought about it. Moving items was a good way to make money and build up rep. “Well, expect more shipments coming in. I’ve acquired a rival collector’s vaults as well. Once we have it, catalog, price it, keep the best, and move the rest.”

“Not a problem.”

“So how did you convince you men to undergo the cybernetic enhancements? Do they want shorter lives? T’s good, but he isn’t a miracle worker.”

Vidar laughed from my left and nodded to Vali. “While I am far from an expert on your human technomancy, I do know that the cybernetics shorten human lifespans. But if they were implanted into . . . let’s say, a werewolf, who regenerates, then the sky’s the limit.”

“You’re shitting me. Viking cybernetic werewolf warriors?”

“Yes,” Vidar rumbled.

“That’s it, I’ve seen it all,” I said, lighting a smoke. Vidar eyed me and I lit two. “So, what do you call your merc group?”

“The Lunar Cykings.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Because ‘The Viborgs and the Moon Troop’ was taken?” I laughed.

“Shut up. It’s the best we could think of on the spot. We’re not human, you know.”

“I know. You’re my family,” I said with all sincerity.

********

Several hours later, it was just Grimm and I sitting at the table in the mead hall. Most of the partying was done, and only a few of the heavier drinkers were still coherent. I poured us both a fresh glass of whiskey.

I leaned further back in my chair and closed my eyes while I smoked. “When I was in prison, I wondered where you were. Man, I was pissed at you.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I was taken to Flotsam, tortured, and starved. Freezing cold, naked and alone, I waited for you to teleport in. To save me.”

“I am sorry. I was preoccupied,” Grimm said, resolute.

“I know. I had a vision of you as well.”

“Oh?”

“In my visions, when I touched The Tears. I saw you, in the Hitherlands. I know why you never came, because you were a prisoner yourself.”

Grimm waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it.”

“I saw your . . . I saw Agatha.”

His face darkened. “I see.”

“Do you want to talk about it? About her?”

“No.”

“Grimm, I—”

“No,” Grimm repeated, then his hard face softened slightly. “She—she is safe. That is what matters. The rest we will discuss another time.”

“OK,” I said, knowing he would not bend.

Grimm stood then gave me a hug. “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry I was not there for you,” he said in muffled tones as he held me hard.

I wanted to push him away. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream. But instead I hugged my friend, and I let it go.

All the pain and anger.

The fear and aggression.

I just let it go. And I felt my body shudder at the emotional weight that was gone.

“Please do not cry on my robes,” Grimm said.

“Don’t make me laugh or I’m going to blow snot on you,” I said, breaking the hug and wiping my eyes and nose.

“Grimm.”

“Yes?”

“Why were there bags of blood in the back of your Outrider?” I asked, sitting back down.

“You lost my car,” Grimm noted as he sat. “You owe me a car.”

“Don’t change the subject. Why were they there?”

Grimm sighed. “Do you truly wish to know?”

“No. But tell me anyway. In my vision I saw you. A darker you. Are you a . . . you know . . .”

“A vampire?” Grimm asked.

“Yeah.”

Grimm turned to face me. “No. I am not. But I am their creator,” he said with a slight smile on his face.

Oh . . . shit. I had a sudden urge to cross myself and rub my neck in garlic.

“I will tell you this, and then we will not discuss it again. Understood?”

“Unlikely, but go on.”

Grimm sighed and poured two more glasses. He handed one to me and then also took my smokes and lit two of them, handing me one. Then he sat across from me and took a sip of the whiskey and a drag off the smoke.

“I was once a man, like you. I died a victim. Betrayed. Murdered. An angel came to take my soul. But I was angry. So angry. And sad. The angel took pity upon me, exhumed my body, and placed my soul within it. But only God may grant true life. So, I became something else. Not alive. Not dead. A Revenant. Because I had died and been to the other side, I saw the world differently. I saw the fabric of creation. The angel then became my tutor in the ways of magic.”

Grimm paused to take another sip and a puff, and I did as well.

“And the blood?” I asked.

Grimm nodded, thinking before he spoke. He took off his stetson and set it aside as he ran his hand through his long hair and specifically through the four gray streaks, the last of which appeared after Ricky brought him back to life in the Tower of Abraxas.

Grimm then placed a hand calmly on his chest.

“This body is alive, yet dead. I don’t sleep unless I choose to. My heart only beats when I choose. That is why you cannot sense me when I approach you. I don’t need to breathe, except to be able to speak. My cells absorb their required oxygen from the air.” Grimm took a deep pull off the smoke, then held the cigarette out in front of him.

“I feel, but I don’t feel. I taste, but I don’t taste,” he said, holding up his scotch. “But blood, blood heals me. It makes me feel almost alive again.”

“And the vampires you spoke of?”

Grimm nodded and downed the scotch and finished his smoke. “In my many, many mistakes over thousands of lifetimes, I inadvertently gave birth to monsters. Monsters like me, who require blood to exist. Even . . . even my daughter, Agatha.”

I nodded and sipped my scotch. “In the legends, a revenant would possess its own body to accomplish a goal. Was yours to get vengeance on the one who killed you?”

“No. Although I did. Several times in fact. But that is another story. No, my goal was more . . . lofty.”

“Which was?”

“The preservation of all mankind against evil.”

The words hung in the air, silent, with an almost tangible weight.

I laughed right in his face.

“Hah hah hah! Seriously? Couldn’t you have picked something attainable?!”

“Oh shut up. Drink your whiskey and go to sleep.”

“One last question,” I said.

“What?”

“Who is Ricky?”

Grimm looked at me. “Why?”

“Because Gh’aliss and Riggs both claimed to know. Which means, you know. I’m not an idiot. I know he has to be something . . . epic.”

Grimm took a deep breath and stared me dead in the eyes. “Salem, I cannot tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t.”

“Either,” Grimm said. “Rictus is . . . who he is. It is my belief, that in time, he will tell you himself. For your sake, drop it.”

“But—”

“Drop it. Please.”

I looked at my friend, unsure of what he was trying to say without saying it. But, I was honestly too tired to think about it. I filed that mystery away for another day and focused on what I had to do next.

“I’m going to head down to my lair soon. But, I’m expecting several delivery trucks to show up anytime now. I have to make sure they gain entrance and the contents unloaded.”

“Trucks? What is being delivered this late?” Grimm asked.

I smiled. “Beds.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Redemption

Hours later, the beds were delivered. They were taken to every home with a child. Afterward, I lumbered into my underground lair. I passed by my work station and old couch and ran my hand across them, feeling the nicks in the wood and the frayed stitching of the couch. I picked up one of my old paperback books and felt the cracked and curled cellophane tape under my thumb.

Touching them again brought back the feeling of being home.

Of being safe.

I wasn’t in prison anymore. I wasn’t cold. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t looking over my shoulder for an inferium shiv in my back. By the time I reached my room, I had tears in my eyes. I collapsed on my bed and balled up, with my knees in my chest.

“Honey, are you OK?”

“Mom?” I asked.

The holographic display of my mother, Elena McMillan, appeared in the doorway of my room.

“I heard you crying, Isaac. Are you OK? Your father and I are so happy you’re home. By the way, thanks for seeing us right away,” my mother said, laying the guilt on thick.

“Mom, come on. That’s not fair.”

“Because we’re not real?”

“Mom, there is something I need to say to you,” I said, ignoring her question. “You won’t understand it. But it needs to be said anyway. As I touched The Tears of God, it showed me an old memory.”

“Go ahead, dear,” my mother’s projection said, sounding concerned.

“A long time ago, there was an accident. And . . .” I paused to find my courage and face her. I needed to repair this breach between us.

“You mean the night I died,” my mother said. “I remember, honey. It wasn’t your fault.”

“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “How? How can you remember?”

“Honey, your father’s program didn’t work on me. I don’t know why, but it was unable to replace my memory about my death. So, I let him believe. His implanted memories keep him happy. And I let you believe as well.”

“Mom, all these years? These centuries? You just . . . pretended?”

“I’m your mother, as it were. You’d be amazed what a mother is capable of.”

I smiled and wiped at my face. “Dad told me that he . . . never . . . wanted me.”

“Your father was . . . complicated, dear. But he loved you. In his own way.”

“I love you, Mom,” I said

“And I love you,” she said with a smile. My mother picked up my paperback book and looked it over.

Great. T had installed the hard-light cameras in my room. Now I’d have no privacy.

“You should read more,” Mom said, putting the book back down. “You spend far too much time not exercising your mind.”

“OK, Mom. I will. Tell Dad I love him as well and I’ll see him in the morning.”

After my mother left, I took out the last bit of business I needed to take care of. Reaching into my coat, I took out the letter Riggs gave me and looked at it. It was kind of crumpled, but the seal was still intact. I broke the seal, opening the letter.

Well, nothing eerie like an ill wind or a flickering light happened, so I reckoned I didn’t just start an apocalypse. I unfolded the letter and read it.

Isaac,

Well, how do I start this? Long and flowery? Riddled with esoteric secrets, a roundabout way of telling you who I am and what I want?

Nah.

Maybe one time that was me. But not now. So, here it is.

My name, my true name, was Qayin.

Or, as history remembers me, Cain.

I was the first son of Adam and Eve. The tiller of the land. He who killed his brother. The first murderer.

That is why they call me “The Killer.” Because I was the first. The first murderer.

I was encouraged by the serpent to smite my brother, the Shepherd, for the Lord found his offering more pleasing than mine.

And I did.

His blood soaked into the earth and the land cried out to God.

And well, you’ve read your Bible; you know the rest of the story. After I lied to God’s face about my brother’s death and the not-being-his-keeper thing, I was forced to leave and I went to the land of Nod. I built a city because the land would no longer obey my will. Growing things, my first love, was forever gone. So I married, I had my son, Enoch, and then eventually died. And that was when His curse really kicked in.

Imagine an old man, with grandchildren, happily looking back on the city he built. The family he built. All built off the mistake he made. To better himself and better his life and better the world around him. What would you call that? You’d call that redemption. An old man dies happily in his bed, at peace. And then the old man’s spirit sees Heaven. And instead of being allowed entrance, he is turned away. Denied. Even Hell won’t touch him.

So the spirit returns into a new form of flesh. Over and over. Each time the old spirit tries to live a better life than the one before it, hoping to finally make peace with his creator, who used to speak to him.

And each time, denied. Marked.

The spirit grows angry. Resentful. And yeah, I got a little out of control in my wrath against God.

I tried, so many times, to unmake creations. I learned magic. I learned technology. I learned politics. Countless lives I’ve lived and countless times I tried to bring it all down.

Through history I lived. Powerful men. Powerful women. All with an agenda to bring it down, whether that was through nuclear war, The Awakening of the Great Deep Ones, or just plain old Armageddon.

And thankfully, for humanity’s sake, I failed.

But my one last swing for the fences to bring about the end times was Project Re-Genesis. A cloned Jesus, the Anti-Christ. I died long before it happened, but I ensured it was done.

Instead of The End, it was only the beginning. This new world. The Reign of Hell. My fault. And I am sorry for that. I am sorry for the pain and suffering you, and the world, has suffered due to my foolish hubris.

I know no apology will ever make up for it. I am beyond redemption. And now that Heaven is closed to all, I have only succeeded in passing my curse on to the world.

So I have chosen to live as a simple man in the waste. I run First Heaven as a farming community. I give people hope.

As for you and me, if you wish a relationship, then I am only a call away. I know that knowing all this now may make you want to avoid me, and I understand.

Until we speak again, know I wish you well. Use the Ring wisely.

Always,

Your Grandfather Ken,

AKA, Lucien Riggs

P.S. - Ricky, don’t trust him. I wish I could tell you more. But I am forbidden. So let me end with this. Things are going to get way shittier before they get better. And there are going to be times when you want to quit. But if you want things to get better, you’re going to have to fight, kid. So never forget the words of the immortal bard Johnny Cash and his song “Redemption.”

I closed the letter. I wasn’t ready to re-read it. I wasn’t ready to be related to Cain. I wasn’t ready to think more on Ricky. 

And in that dark moment, the words I heard in my head, when the Light of the Tears filled me, came back to mind. His words.

“YOU ARE THAT YOU ARE.”

I didn’t know what it meant. But here, now, with my friends and family, I was OK with that. I had to be. The world really didn’t offer me a choice. So I passed out in a mix of confusion, accomplishment, and self-loathing.

And I slept, blissfully, with no dreams of death and pain.

Only hope.

Epilogue

Now, in Dante’s Bar & Brothel

Ricky sat in his central control room adjacent to his private office deep below Dante’s Bar & Brothel, smoking a large cigar and smiling. Across from Ricky sat Archduchess Lady Bathin. Between them on the table, glowing gold, were The Tears of God.

“As you requested,” Bathin purred.

“Perfect. Just perfect,” Ricky said as he picked up The Tears and felt the warm energy of them flow through him.

“You know I can’t even touch those,” she said, and Ricky nodded.

“You’re a demon, honey. I’m a child of The Light. These are like coming home for me.”

“So I see.”

“So,” Ricky said, setting the Tears down and relighting his cigar with the tip of his finger, puffing it back to life. “You ready to bring this much attention on you when the Trans-Global network opens?”

“I still can’t believe I agreed to that,” Bathin said.

Ricky grinned to himself. Salem had The Ring and was already learning to use it. Good.

“Don’t worry. It will make you a shining example of demonic ingenuity, using humans for your own advancement. You already were a rising star within the nobility. Now you will be that much more powerful.”

“What about the humans? The Brotherhood of Engineers? They already have more power than a human organization should. What if people truly begin to have faith in the angels and it restores their power beyond that of ours?”

“What’s your point?”

“We aren’t like you! The great families only have so much power left to them after The Great Ascension. The humans and their technology, their machines could actually defeat us if there were another war.”

“You knew this when you agreed to work with me,” Ricky said, sounding agitated. “Have I not kept you full of power using the old ways?”

“But, demonic society could collapse!”

Suddenly, with no warning, Bathin was no longer sitting at a conference table. She was once again in Hell. And before her was Lucifer Morningstar, not as the bright light, the beautiful angel, but in the form of Satan. The Adversary. In full fiery fury the King above The Princes, leader of the fallen, towered over her. His rage forced her to drop to the ground in supplication.

“THE DEMONIC FALL IS WHAT I DESIRE, YOU SLAG.”

“Forgive me, my lord and master. I lost sight of the vision,” Bathin pleaded.

And in the blink of an eye, they were once again in the conference room and Lucifer was once again in his form of Ricky. He picked his cigar back up and puffed on it.

“First, stop worrying. Keep your eye on the long-term goals. The Princes need to be brought down if I’m to resume power,” Ricky said with only a slight edge to his voice.

“Of course,” Bathin said.

“You know the Accords. I cannot exert direct interference upon mankind unless they ask for my help. So, we need to set up a world order where the only place for them to turn to is me. And as I succeed, so will you. Stick to the plan.”

“But, sire, I don’t know the full plan.”

“I know,” Ricky said, puffing his cigar.

He then stood and moved to his wet bar. He poured himself a drink and inclined his glass at Bathin in offering and she nodded. He poured a second, then returned to the table. “Besides, I have an in with the angelic host, remember. Their leader is my brother, after all.”

“Michael? I thought he hated you. The battles you’ve fought. Heaven versus hell.”

“All in the past,” a voice said as Michael stepped through the shadows. As Ricky was able to move through the light, Michael was able to step through the dark.

“Brother.” Ricky stood and embraced the towering archangel. “Could you please take on another form? You’ll give me a crick in my neck.”

“As you wish, big brother.” Michael smiled and in a swirl of mist and shadow, his form shrank down to a smaller seven-foot version of himself.

“Showoff,” Ricky said.

Michael helped himself to a drink from the wet bar and sat down at the table. “We took a big risk in getting these,” Michael said, pointing at the Tears of God. “Once I let the Deep Ones in, I was no longer in control. But you were right. Once they were inside me, they only wanted The Tears to be removed.”

“Had to be that way, kid. But I knew they’d heal you.”

“You were in on it the whole time?” Bathin asked.

Michael and Ricky laughed and clinked glasses.

“Do you think I’d leave things to chance? Come on, you know me better than that.”

“And your rivalry?”

“Behind us,” Michael answered, and Ricky grinned. “When Father left us behind, he left all of us. And we few remaining true angels had no guidance. No direction. We had the Tears and a place to use them, thanks to Cain. But little else. Imagine my surprise when Ricky reached out to me and asked if I would like to reshape the world. To reunite the angels and demons. But to do it, we would first need to awaken The Deep Ones and then remove the old guard.”

“Bathin,” Ricky said, “it’s simple. Let the ancient adversary of God free in order to drain the power of the high demons. Give the world a common enemy to fight. And when that war is over, when demons have little to no power left, mankind will turn on their masters. Break their yoke. To do this, to whom will humanity turn?”

“The angels,” she said, seeing the plan unfold. “The very ones who had been helping mankind. The ones filling with power due to their faith in them. Brilliant.”

“I know,” Ricky said, leaning back in his chair with his arms interlaced behind his head. “A new war is coming. Unlike anything seen before. When it is over, and we win, those loyal to me will have a seat of honor.”

“And should the angels’ power rival yours? The rest of the Trinity?” Bathin asked.

“That’s a good question. Michael? Where do we stand with Sariel, Gabrielle, and Remiel?” Ricky asked.

“Sariel and Gabrielle are with us, as you predicted. Remiel . . .”

“Remains faithful,” Ricky finished. “She is a loose end we will tie up in time.”

“But, lord, doesn’t Cain control that Well of Souls?” Bathin asked. “He is far from supporting you.”

“For now, for now. If he can’t be swayed, then he will be removed,” Ricky said simply. “His descendants can also take power over the Well. And I know where they all are.”

“That’s why you keep the smuggler?” Bathin asked.

“One of the reasons. Like I kept telling everyone, I needed to make the boy ready. It wasn’t my fault they never knew which boy. Thanks to Salem, the nephilim, the scion of Hope, will be ready when the time comes.” Ricky laughed as he turned to Michael. “Brother, shall we?”

“Yes,” Michael said.

The First and The Second, the Sons of Light, took up a piece of The Tears of God. They felt the warmth and power of the Divine radiate up their arms and fill their power level beyond comprehension.

Then, together, they focused their will, and worldwide, every burning coal fire deep within the earth suddenly went out.

The Deep was no longer afraid of the light, fire, and pain.

********

Now, in Löngutangar

“Come to me, Khurzon,” the voice said.

Khurzon moved through the shadows of night, on the outskirts of Löngutangar where the surveillance equipment was nonexistent. The wrath demoness knelt before the cloaked figure. “I obey.”

“We are reunited. This pleases me,” the figure said.

“As it does me,” Khurzon agreed. “Your alliance with ‘Rictus’?”

“As strong now as it was the day he bestowed you to me.”

“I am humbly your weapon. When shall I strike?”

“In time, Khurzon, in time.”

“The children, I had to return them here. Forgive me.”

The figure placed a hand on Khurzon’s head. “There is nothing to forgive, my beautiful weapon. The children were a necessity to gain you access here, to me, and to garner trust from them. Rictus is cunning.”

The figure removed the hand and stepped back into the shadows. “When I have need, I will call upon you. Until then, be my eyes and ears in places I cannot go.”

“Of course, master.”

********

The following December in Ars Amadel

Salem parked his borrowed car outside RM’s home, nor far from the railway yard in the Sandy Spring district of Ars Amadel.

Ars Amadel wasn’t laid out like Ars Goetia or Lemegeton, built upwards in vertical slices of technology and station. No, AA was more like how world used to be, with open fields and opens mines.

RM’s home was quite nice—a little two-story brick home with a fence—but a touch retro. But that was RM.

Salem knocked on the door. His stomach was in knots. Inside was his old friend and mentor.

And Cara.

That alone almost made him hop back in the car and peel away at deathly speed.

No. He needed to do this.

Salem knocked again. No answer. Was he late? Early? Wrong day?

Salem closed his eyes and listened. Inside he heard three heartbeats and the muffled sounds of someone trying to scream.

Salem pulled both his blasters and kicked in the door. Salem dove into a roll, avoiding any incoming fire. He popped up with both weapons pointed.

“Hi Dad,” Jensen said.

The cyborg had a new cybernetic arm that gleamed silver in the light from the lamps of the small living room. Jensen stood behind RM and Cara, both of whom were gagged and bound to dining room chairs.

In Jensen’s new metallic hand was a small device. A detonator.

“Jensen,” Salem said calmly, “I don’t know what you’re thinking. But don’t—”

Jensen pressed the trigger.

The two-story brick home exploded.

About the Author

M. K. Gibson is a husband, father, a retired USAF MSgt and a lifetime geek. Ever since he saw the Rankin-Bass The Hobbit movie in 1980, all he ever wanted to do was create and tell fantastical stories.

M. K. Gibson lives in Mt. Airy, MD with his wife, and first-line editor, Valerie, their son Jack, their schnauzer Murphy, newfoundland Sully and their cat Mini.

Follow M. K. Gibson on Twitter at @GibsonMK1, Facebook author page and read updates and insane blogs at MKGibson.com.