Occult Assassin: The Complete Series (Books 1-6)

by William Massa

  With this thought in mind, Talon lunged, his machine gun spitting cruel fire while his crossblade cut through the air. Warding off two demon soldiers with a spray of lead, he whirled toward a third and drew the crossblade across his torso. The demon’s body shook and contorted, the cross’s power in full effect. His mouth foamed as a black scorpion emerged from his lips. Before the demon could skitter away, Talon lanced the scorpion with the blade. It evaporated into thin air, the relic’s magic sending it back to whatever dark void it had crawled from.

  Talon barely slowed down as he spun around, repeating the same attack with the next two devil soldiers. The knife slashed the cultists and speared their supernatural parasites, while fire from his machine gun drove them back. As soon as the entities evacuated their hosts, the soldiers succumbed to the mortal wounds Talon had inflicted upon them.

  A force of nature, he continued to demolish the horde, one after another, until he fought his way to Amon. The apocalypse soldier loomed over Doyle, ready to strike at the FBI agent.

  Each one of these soldiers had returned from the war with a demon inside of them—a demon born from the horrors they’d faced and the hard decisions they’d made. Failing to overcome their darkness, they’d embraced it and chosen to become demons themselves. Talon had a demon too. It had been infecting his life ever since the darkness had claimed his Michelle. But he wouldn’t let this darkness consume him. He’d been given a rare opportunity most men never receive.

  A chance to face and slay his demon.

  Michelle’s face flashing in his mind, he emptied a magazine into Amon. The bullets ripped through the massive muscles with ferocious force and punched the monster back. Then Talon was upon him, the crossblade zeroing in on the fiend’s heart. All he needed to do was drive the knife home and wait for the parasite to burst forth.

  Amon was expecting the attack.

  A massive paw snapped around the hand holding the incoming crossblade and stopped it inches before it would’ve pierced his flesh. Retaliating, Amon lunged forward, burying gleaming razor-sharp teeth into Talon’s bare shoulder.

  Talon cried out and backed away, blood streaming from the bite wound. Amon glared at him, his inhuman teeth rimmed red. He bellowed and grabbed Talon, lifted him into the air like a ragdoll, and tossed him across the length of the chapel. He crashed into the altar with devastating force, the impact knocking the wind out of him and sending the AK-47 flying.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Amon rushing toward him with thundering steps like a nightmarish offensive tackle. He was somewhat slowed by the exorcism prayers but still powerful enough to destroy him upon impact.

  Forty feet separated the apocalypse soldier from Talon.

  Spent, part of him wanted to just stay put and await the inevitable but the memory of what this beast had done to Michelle spurred him on.

  Thirty feet.

  Talon picked himself up, a man of blood.

  Twenty feet.

  He climbed onto the altar.

  Ten feet.

  Stumbled erect on the altar, now towering over the incoming demon.

  Five feet.

  He closed both hands around the crossblade. Ready to face his maker, Talon leaped at the incoming monster as if he was stage diving at some heavy metal concert.

  He crashed into Amon, and the impact sent man and demon flying. As they rolled over the church floor, Talon brought up the blade and drove it deep into Amon’s gut. Before the monster could dig its teeth into him again, he rolled away, bolted to his feet in one smooth motion, and whirled, crossblade up…

  Just in time for the black scorpion to dig itself out of the knife-wound in Amon’s stomach. As the scorpion shot across the floor, Talon rammed the blade into it with a satisfying splat. The demonic insect dispersed into thin air, emitting a keening wail.

  Amon stumbled backward, hands clawing his bleeding gut. His transformation was already reversing, details obscured by the tendrils of smoke. One moment he was a monster, another he was merely a man who dreamt of being one.

  Realizing what was happening to him, Amon retreated into the roiling smoke. Talon picked himself up, every part of his body aching. Finally the smoke had cleared enough and he was able to spot Nicole and Cabrera. She was crouched over the unconscious priest, keeping him close. Was the demon still inside of her? The answer would have to wait. Amon was getting away. Talon was about to run after him when the sound of a magazine being snapped into a machine gun gave him pause.

  He turned.

  Doyle raised his weapon and aimed it at Talon. For a moment he faced the FBI agent. Doyle was barely able to stay on his feet and his hand shook, but even a wounded shooter could do damage with a spray of lead. To Talon’s surprise, Doyle lowered the weapon and said, “Go and send that fucker to hell where he belongs.”

  Talon nodded, picked up an AK-47, and raced after Amon.

  ***

  A hawk circled above the monastery as Talon emerged from the chapel. The white-hot sun greeted him, and for a moment he stumbled on the sandy terrain. Between his chewed-up shoulder and the holes in his hands, he’d lost a lot of blood. But his feet kept taking one step after another, driven forward by the thought of vengeance. There was no sign of Amon, almost as if the desert had swallowed him whole, but the trail of blood told a different story. It led him down the dirt road toward the cultists’ vehicles. Up ahead, an engine revved and the Hummer jumped into motion.

  It didn’t get far. After less than a hundred feet, the Hummer veered off the road and slammed into a rocky outcropping. Smoke belched from the hood.

  Looks like I’m not the only one who’s messed up.

  Talon advanced carefully, not sure if Amon had a back-up firearm in the vehicle. As he drew closer, a hand reached out of the driver’s window and, sure enough, squeezed off a couple of rounds. The attack felt perfunctory and desperate. Each bullet missed him by a wide margin, kicking up the hard-packed ground. Amon’s aim was way off, which Talon hoped meant he must be succumbing to his wounds. He counted the shots, and once the magazine was empty, he continued his approach, AK-47 raised.

  As he drew closer, his enemy became visible. Amon was slumped behind the wheel, covered with blood that had turned his shirt the color of his dyed skin. He breathed shallowly, his black eyes peering out at the desert landscape. What did the man who dreamt of being a demon see during his hour of defeat? Between the boiling heat and the barren wasteland, maybe he could pretend to already be gazing out at the searing plains of hell.

  Hearing his approach, Amon tilted his head toward him. Compared to the monster he’d turned into briefly in the chapel, his old appearance felt pathetic and ridiculous in the bright sunlight, a cheap Halloween mask that failed to terrify. Above, a police helicopter circled, but Talon hoped Doyle had told them to not take a shot at him.

  “I know you don’t fear hell,” Talon said, ”but I wonder what awaits someone who has failed his dark masters.”

  Amon spat blood and said venomously, “I’ll say hello to your bitch when I get there.”

  Talon raised the AK-47.

  A heartbeat before he depressed the trigger, he recalled a quote from the Bible that he’d first heard when he was an altar boy, something that had always stuck with him: If anyone kills Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold.”

  He took no little pleasure in pumping seven rounds into Amon.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Talon faced Michelle’s grave as sheets of rain poured from dark clouds. She’d been buried just south of San Francisco in Colam, a town famous for its many cemeteries, and the distinction of having more dead residents than living souls.

  Talon lowered the wreath next to the tombstone and turned away. Today marked five months since his fiancée’s murder. He hoped that the death of one of her killers would bring her peace the way it had for him.

  Rain pelted his face as he walked toward the waiting Tesla Model X parked near the gates of the cemetery. He got in and took a seat next
to Casca, who was keeping himself busy with his iPad. The billionaire looked up from whatever text he’d been perusing. “It’s raining something fierce out here.”

  “After Arizona, it’s a nice change of pace. So what are you reading?” Talon asked.

  “Actually some fascinating research on RVPs.”

  “RVPs?”

  “Radio voice phenomena. Research into receiving the voices of the deceased over the air.”

  “Sounds like perfect reading material while visiting a cemetery.”

  Casca grinned. The Tesla began to move, the rain-soaked landscape of tombstones flashing past their windows.

  “I just spoke with Father Cabrera, and it appears he’s doing better with each day. I’m surprised. Don’t Delta guys shoot to kill?”

  “We do.”

  With a shrug, Casca said, “Maybe it’s a miracle.”

  Talon had never believed in miracles, but neither had he put much credence in monsters and demons. In a world where the forces of darkness could walk among us, why couldn’t a miracle or two be possible?

  Casca extricated a familiar item from his suit jacket. The Sumerian pentagram amulet. “Oh, before I forget. Cabrera was nice enough to have the brotherhood return the amulet.” He handed it to Talon.

  After killing Amon, Talon had not returned to the chapel. He’d felt confident that Nicole was in control of her situation and knew that medical help was on the way. If he hung around, he’d risk being arrested. He didn’t plan on spending his remaining days in a jail cell while the forces of darkness waged their shadow war. He was needed in the field.

  As he took off on the Ducati, the police helicopter hovering above the chapel didn’t follow him. Doyle’s gratitude for having saved his life twice in the same day must’ve outweighed his professional curiosity. Perhaps their paths would cross again in the future, maybe this time as allies.

  “You got to be better about not leaving these items behind, Sergeant. Magical weapons don’t grow on trees.”

  “You’re never going to let me forget about the demon slayer blade, are you now? You try fighting a demonic cyborg with explosives going off all around you and see if you remember to pull the knife out of the bad guy.”

  Casca smiled. “My spies, who include a certain Detective Serrone, assure me it’s safe in some SFPD evidence locker. I’m working on getting it back.”

  “Good to hear. How is Nicole doing?” Talon asked.

  “She has decided to remain at the monastery for now,” Casca said. “To continue to learn about the darkness inside her. To become better at controlling it.”

  “Did Cabrera try to exorcise her demon?’

  “They did, but it isn’t working. When Nicole tapped into the entity’s power, it permanently fused with her. Every day she faces a new battle with the creature, a never-ending struggle over who will be in control. But she is also able to harness the demon’s abilities.”

  Talon considered this.

  “For now she’s found a way to conquer her darkness. I’ll be monitoring her progress.”

  “Keep me updated.”

  Casca arched an eyebrow. “How about you? How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit. I might have to take you up on that offer for some R&R days.”

  Casca was both surprised and pleased by his request.

  “I think they’re well deserved and long overdue. I still have Autumn’s number if you feel like spending some time in LA.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of visiting an old military buddy in New York City.”

  Talon smiled. A trip to Queens would be a good way to reconnect with his former life even if it was only for a short period.

  The ghostly cemetery receded and for a moment, death seemed far away. Talon knew all too well that the moment of peace wouldn’t last, but he’d enjoy the momentary lull until the fight began again.

  They’d won another battle, but the war against the darkness would go on.

  Maybe the apocalypse was coming.

  But it wasn’t going to be today.

  THE END

  3: Ice Shadows

  The Story So Far

  After a decade spent fighting the enemy abroad and keeping his country safe, Delta Force Operator Mark Talon is ready to settle down with the love of his life. But Talon’s world crumbles when his fiancée becomes the victim of a murderous cult.

  In the wake of his terrible loss, Talon dedicates himself to a new mission – hunting down twisted occultists around the globe and stopping them before they can unleash the forces of darkness upon an unsuspecting world...

  In Ice Shadows, his quest for vengeance will take him to the icy plains of Norway…

  Chapter One

  WHIRLING SNOWFLAKES LANDED on Kristin’s face like icy kisses as her athletic frame hurtled down the steep mountain at fifty-plus miles per hour. Sending sprays of powder into the air, she skied with the skill and carefree abandon of someone in their mid-twenties. All around her, a state-of-the art lighting system turned the tree-lined slopes into an azure, phantasmagorical winter wonderland.

  Kristin had arrived in Bergen, Norway, less than 48 hours earlier. Originally from Oslo, she worked as an account executive for a large advertising firm in London but tried to visit as often as her hectic schedule permitted. After the failure of her most recent romantic relationship, a doomed coupling with a French commercial director, the mountains of her homeland had been calling her.

  Ahead the trail forked and Kristin opted for the steeper, more challenging backcountry chute. Twilight deepened and the woods grew dark. With fewer light poles available, she’d have to rely on her other senses. She tightened her body, further increasing her speed.

  For a moment her problems ceased to matter and she felt in complete control. How she wished some of that confidence extended to her love life. She had tried to convince herself that Pierre was just a fling, but she was heartbroken. Their relationship had lasted for less than a month before the flowers and fancy dinners gave way to unanswered calls and unreturned texts. After three days of radio silence, she’d gotten the hint – the Frenchman had moved on. Why had she thought she could tame a well-known Lothario and heartbreaker?

  She was pulled out of her thoughts when her eyes landed on an unexpected obstacle directly ahead. A six-foot high wall of ice blocked the narrow trail. The blockade flexed and rippled in the starlight. She’d seen videos of ice heaves, tsunami-style waves of frozen water rippling over shorelines and damaging homes. She had forgotten the science behind the phenomenon, but she did know it occurred near lakes and required strong winds. So what had triggered such a strange anomaly at this high altitude? And why did it only seem to be affecting the ski trail?

  All these thoughts slashed through her mind within a handful of seconds. The time for speculation had run out – the ice barrier was upon her. She had to act fast. A direct impact at this speed would kill her.

  Kristin dug the edges of her skis into the powder. The maneuver sent her flying. Airborne, she twisted her body in midair and landed butt-first, as she’d been trained to do. Her derriere absorbed the brunt of the fall as she slid down the trail on her back. The powdery snow cushioned the impact and Kristin counted her blessings. An icy surface would have been far less pleasant.

  For a moment she just lay there, the cold seeping through her ski jacket. Her breath misted in the chilly darkness. She predicted some ugly bruises in the morning, but her training and quick reflexes had spared her any broken bones. With a determined grunt Kristin performed a press up while holding the base of her poles with an uphill hand. Her upper body strength was well developed from regular gym visits and she quickly got back on her feet.

  She dusted thick clumps of snow off her ski-suit and bindings before taking a closer look at the surreal sight in front of her. A row of frozen stalagmites jabbed into the air like the teeth of some buried ice giant.

  Kristin shivered as she gained a stronger sense of her situation. She was alone on the deserted chute and no
sound broke the unnerving silence. Making matters worse, one of the nearby light poles began to flicker and grow dark.

  Shit! Other lights followed suit and winked off, drenching the mountain in darkness. The sole illumination now emanated from the dim stars overhead. What was going on? She decided to round the barrier and continue down the mountain as quickly as possible. She instinctively sensed that she was in danger.

  To suppress her fear, she concentrated on the task at hand. She trudged along the frozen barricade, moving toward the tree-line on the left side of the trail. How she wished some other skier would materialize, but the odds were slim considering the late hour.

  The sound of her skis crunching over the snow echoed eerily on the forlorn trail and her pulse quickened. The wind had picked up and now cut through her clothes. Her teeth chattered and each breath was like inhaling ice. So much for being inured to the cold. She always teased her British colleagues when they complained about their comparatively mild winters. But this was different. The temperature must have dropped over twenty degrees since she took her tumble in the snow. How was this possible?

  She reached the trees and began to round the strange ice wall. Behind her the branches stirred, wooden fingers brushing against her back. She stifled a scream.

  Get a grip on yourself!

  Just a few more seconds and she’d be on her way, blasting down the trail and headed for the safety of the base about 800 feet below.

  She suddenly noticed strange carvings etched into the trees. Her eyes narrowed and she had to lean forward to catch a better look. As a native Norwegian, she recognized the symbols as runes, the characters of the alphabet used by the ancient people of Northern Europe. She didn’t know the meaning of these symbols, but it deepened her sense of dread. Heart hammering in her chest, she turned away from the trees and wove around the icy obstacle. Fear fueled her movements. Reality had narrowed to one simple objective — she had to get back on the trail.