Zero Rising: Soldier of Light Chronicles Book 3

by Ireland Gill

  I’d heard a light thud on the floor a few feet from my head, and immediately widened my eyes to see Beau hovering over the duffel bag he’d been guarding. The strap was still hanging from his neck as he looked me square in the eyes.

  I sat up. “What’s this?”

  My dog maneuvered out of the strap and let it drop to the floor. Then he took hold of it with his teeth, dragging it just a few feet until the tip of his nose touched my knee.

  I smiled at him and scratched the top of his head as I leaned over to check the contents of the bag. All four castors, including the banged up red one that held the object of my hatred, sat safely inside. I looked a little closer and, to my surprise, among those items in that bag was the picture of my mother I’d laid on the floor for Beau.

  I immediately locked eyes with my dog again, this time holding the gaze, reveling in wonder. Relishing that he’d understood. Proud he was mine.

  And then, the first tear escaped, slowly trickling down my cheek. Before it could drop to my lap, I’d already knelt on the floor and nuzzled my face into my dog’s fur, squeezing his thick neck.

  “Thank you, boy,” I cried quietly. “Thank you so much.”

  He wriggled free to move and lick my face again. He wasn’t a traitor after all. He just needed time to make the decision on his own.

  Luckily, after making my way down the hall, I was alone after dropping Beau back off in the bedroom with Hayden again. Thankfully, Hayden hadn’t stirred much at all. He’d been in the same position since I’d left the room almost an hour ago. He would know for sure that I'd broken my promise, but as long as he was asleep, I would have time to get Anton Carter right where I wanted him. And even after having had the time to think about the possible consequences, those still didn’t matter to me.

  I could already taste it. Taste the fear in him when I called him and he realized it was me. How ironic. Me, the one who had the most wrath for him, was the only one who could save him from this terrible, eternal fate that awaited him. I thirsted for this power I had over him and once he realized I was the only one to grant him any mercy and would never give it to him, he would crumble. I was counting on it.

  I grabbed my canvas bag to hold the workshop light, nylon rope I’d found in the shed out back, a flashlight, the castor, and of course, my knives. I collected my thoughts, remained calm as to not wake anyone in the house, and made my way to the garage to my Mustang. I tossed in my bag and put the pony in neutral. I was thankful that the driveway was at a slight incline toward the house so I was able to back out of the without turning on the engine. I made it to the street, flicked on my lights, turned the key and let the engine idle as I took my last deep breath before heading to the abandoned warehouse on Sinister Avenue. It would be the perfect venue. Abandoned. Dilapidated. Cold and dark. It was as if I were making my own horror film with a twist. I, the human, would haunt the ghost.

  After making it to the warehouse, I found the garage and pried open the metal sliding door. I checked above my head with the flashlight and saw that I could block the track after shutting it down again. It would have to be done. I knew my window of time was small. Anything to give me more time to keep Hayden out was crucial. He was bound to wake soon, feeling that I was gone.

  I found one of the metal shop chairs and placed it in the middle of the room. I'd been hoping for something to work with, and it was exactly what I needed. I then set up the shop lamp from my bag and let it hang from one of the pipes, dangling above the chair.

  Lastly, but definitely not least, I pulled out the dented castor. I examined it for a few moments, taking in the last moments I had alone in the quiet warehouse. I wondered how easily it would open without Hayden’s presence. I found that it worked the same way for me.

  I held my thumb print to the reader for it to scan, and then blew into the hole. My actions in doing so demanded Anton's presence. The mist slowly started to appear. There was no turning back.

  “Form,” I said. Anton’s body started to take shape after the vapor from the castor had exited. He took his form slowly, and I was finally able to read an expression on his face. His eyes shifted wildly around the room, and he looked confused, almost reluctant to complete his form.

  I held my anger back so he would trust that it was safe. He looked around the room once more, this time turning his head in all directions, then finally met my eyes and taking his true shape.

  It was at that moment that I wanted to puke my guts out. Not because he was dead. Not because he was a ghost. Not because he looked disgusting. Seeing him before me made me sick because it brought back every memory I’d had from that one, terrible day. The most horrid day of my life; the day I’d watched my mother die – and it was because he had killed her. I hadn't expected that reaction out of my body, the nausea. Nonetheless, I kept my composure.

  I stepped around him, keeping my gaze on his face, looking into his confused eyes. “You're probably wondering why you're here, aren’t you?” I asked with acid in my tone.

  He said nothing. He just blinked. I heard no thoughts yet.

  “Well, frankly, I have not a clue what is going on up there in that mind of yours, but I can tell you that you probably won't be too happy that you're here when you find out why.”

  Wh-where am I? They told me that I would be saved. His voice was deep and rugged, but so small in my mind, as he spoke in such fear.

  I just shook my head. “Of course, that is what normally happens, but you're special, Carter. It's a whole different ball game for you when it comes to my mercy.”

  He looked around frantically. We then both heard a loud banging on the metal door. I knew it wasn't Hayden. Not yet anyway. So it could have only been one thing.

  What is that?! His eyes widened.

  “Hm. Sounds like your Watcher is somewhat pissed, huh? It's probably been trying to catch up with you for quite some time now, hasn’t it?” I circled around him with my pacing as he stood in place. A snarling came from outside followed by more banging. I enjoyed the audience.

  I couldn't stand it. I had to get the show on the road. I lost my temper all in that moment and shoved my knee in his gut. He hunched over breathing heavily with a groan. God, it felt so great. He took the opportunity to sit in the chair I'd provided, hanging his head between his legs and coughing heavily. I was glad that I didn't have to force him to get him where I wanted him. I stood over him, awaiting the moment my sympathy may arise, but it just didn't. And I wasn't surprised.

  I grabbed the pile of nylon rope from the floor and started binding him to the chair. I worked quickly, whipping his arms behind him and tying his wrists together tightly, burning his skin with the rope. Then I bound each of his ankles to a metal leg on each side. He was one with the chair.

  Wh-what are you doing? He thrashed violently, and I was surprised at my own strength to keep him at bay. I knew anger would give me more power, more strength, but he was much larger than me. It felt so incredible to have such power over the man I hated so much.

  “Stop moving!” I heard myself blurt with contempt.

  Anton Carter was shaking uncontrollably, breathing erratically. His chest movements were dramatic, and I relished watching it happen. I relished that I’d been the one to scare him shitless.

  He was finally secure, tightly tied down with nowhere to go. Grabbing one of his ears and pulling, I leaned into him. “Do you even know who I am, Carter?”

  He shook his head rapidly, almost going into convulsions, sweat beading at his forehead now.

  “Aside from being your worst nightmare, I'm also the daughter of the woman you used as target practice about four years ago.” I whipped a picture of my mother and me in front of his face. “Do you remember her, you piece of shit?!” My hand raised without warning, forming a fist, then threw its punch right into his face. My right hook sent Anton’s face to the left directly after my knuckles connected with his lower jaw.

  As I hit him, I could feel a sting zap its way to my elbow, then my shoulder. I
’m sure it was pain, had I been able to feel it right then. All I felt was satisfaction once I sensed the shift in his bones under the force of my hand. I was breaking him, and it was so easy.

  He hunched over and spit toward the dusty floor, saliva mixing with dirt and broken concrete. I believe I saw a bit of red in his spit, too. I’d imagined punching someone in the face would bring pain to my hand, but I felt none. I’d also imagined my hitting someone in their jaw wouldn’t really cause much damage. But I guess I’d underestimated myself prior to that day. I’d underestimated how strong I really was, and how invincible I was now that I’d Crossed.

  I looked down at my knuckles, seeing broken skin and blood starting to rise to the surface of where they’d scraped across his cheek, perhaps his teeth. I’d wondered where the feeling of pain was. I wondered if I’d get to see blood come from Anton’s skin. I hadn’t thought about their physiology, these Seekers. I hadn’t thought about how real they were in my world after forming themselves.

  I stared in a dazed as the blood spilled over the broken skin of my knuckle, then wiped it on my thigh along my pants. Still, no pain. Why was there no pain?

  Anton coughed again, shaking me out of my trance. I'm so sorry! I would take it all back! I could hear him screaming inside my head.

  “Sorry?” I scathed. “You think sorry is going to bring her back to me now, you fucking asshole!?” I yelled my words at him, then cracked his jaw as I pummeled my elbow into his face, coming in sideways from the opposite side I’d hit with my fist. The strength I had within me was untamed.

  This tie, he spat up the smallest amount of blood. I narrowed my eyes at him, thinking. Blood? He was bleeding. This Seeker could bleed! My mind ran wildly, reveling that I’d cause this. Because I had the most amazing plan.

  I'd never felt so powerful in my entire life. Anton Carter whaled out another yell, almost matching the pitch of the Watcher that still waited impatiently outside of the door. He slumped over again, spitting more into a new puddle at his feet.

  “You know, Carter, that's the thing about you bad seeds. You want to take it all back once you find out the kind of fate you're in for. What a shame that you can't figure that out before you're dead!”

  I then sauntered over to my duffel bag, searching through it without looking down so I could keep my eyes on Anton. I pulled out one of my throwing knives, and started wiping it along the cloth of my jacket. I stood in front of him holding the knife up in front of his face in admiration. My weapon was shiny, sharp, and ready to be thrown into a target.

  “Then again,” I continued, “I get the best part of you, don’t I? I get you after you've suffered in this hell for a while, until you've somehow come to this realization that you lived your life so wrongly and you want the evil to stop chasing you.” I breathed a sardonic laugh. “How ironic though, Carter, that I'm your salvation. I'm your only ticket into getting out of this hell of yours.”

  The metal doors were now becoming dented on the inside from the enraged Watcher. It thought I was saving Anton and was trying to stop me, to take him back. I knew it couldn't do a damned thing to me though. It really wanted Anton...to recapture his soul since I'd taken him to the wrong place of death. The creature felt death near again.

  Please! I beg you. Set me free. Please just set me free. I'm not even worth it! His thoughts had shocked me for a moment.

  I breathed a laugh. “You're not worth it? Honestly Anton, you are so worth it for me. My list of things I'd give up would go on and on just to see you die a thousand deaths over and over again. You took away the best part of me!” I yelled.

  Tears welled up in this man’s eyes now. I stopped short before moving near him again with the knife and tried hard to let myself feel something other than hatred. It was disconcerting that I couldn’t find mercy. I couldn’t find sympathy. I couldn’t find pity. I wasn’t myself anymore. Full of abhorrence, I’d transformed. I was nothing but brewing chaos trapped in skin.

  What was I becoming in this world? What was to become of the people I loved, the people I knew in any way at all? What was to become of the rest of my own life while my own self seemed to be losing its way? Would this revenge make things better for me? If I sought out this Seeker, as I had, and then tormented him the way I saw fit, would I feel better about my mother’s death?

  I knew the answer to that last one. I’d never feel better about it. The truth was, I knew I’d never get over her death because I never understood it to begin with. She never deserved death, not that early, and not that way. And she was all I had. Anton Carter took her away from me, and he was going to suffer for it. Even if I had no idea of what the outcome would be. I didn’t care about rules, I just cared about avenging my mother.

  Please forgive me! I’m sorry. I never knew!

  His voice infuriated me. I felt an urge to kick his face and imprinted the sole of my combat boot into his cheek. I'd drawn blood and felt proud.

  He spit blood to the ground before speaking to me again. They made me do it! They made me!!!

  “What the hell are you talking about, Carter!?” I whaled at him in disgust.

  His voice came out cracked in fragmented words. That woman. Your mother.... They sought me out and made me kill her. He was sobbing, almost to a point at which I thought I heard him wrong. But I knew I hadn’t.

  “What?!” My heart sped. My mind raced. My mother’s death was set up? “What the fuck do you mean, Carter?” I asked through gritted teeth, tightening my jaw and trying to make the tears relent.

  They.....He...He promised it would be my last...and that I’d be protected. But...I never saw him again. And then he returned one night. In my cell, after I was captured. He gave me a way out...the night I took my life. Said after I died I’d be set free. I-I-I would get to move on. He threw his head back and cried up to the ceiling.

  My head was spinning with this overload of information. My vision became blurry, but my anger didn’t recede. “For God’s sake, Carter!” Who!?”

  His eyes met mine. They were full of fear. The tall, dark-winged man.

  “What?” I snapped. It could have been anyone, angel or dark creature.

  With-with long hair. Long, dark hair. Carter offered this extra bit of information.

  I narrowed my eyes. That one detail he gave to me was all I needed to know without even having to question more to find out who it was... because it didn’t matter. I knew it was Jericho. And the reason Alysto knew he could get to me this way was because of that rogue angel. They were both beings that wronged me, wronged the Council.

  I hated the man who sat before me. I hated every part of him. After he’d killed my mother, I’d never wanted anything more in my life than to seek him out and make him suffer for what he’d done.

  Please. His voice begged me.

  I was still staring at my mother’s murderer as I attempted once more to search for any mercy within myself. It just wasn’t there. I felt joy in watching him cry, watching him spit up blood. The blood I’d beckoned out of him with my own two hands. I looked down at my knife once again, as if it were the last time I’d ever see it so clean.

  I knelt down to meet his eyes, holding my instrument between us and taunting him. “How ironic, Seeker, that I am your only hope, your one-way ticket to getting out of this dark world you’re in.”

  I shook my head at him and leaned in to whisper into his ear. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Carter.” I could hear his breath hitch and his body freeze. “There is no way in hell that I'm saving you.”

  He let out a frantic scream and shook violently in the chair, trying to break free from the ropes.

  I took the blade and pressed it hard into the skin by his temple, dragging it down the side of his cheek to his jawline. It was difficult to pierce the skin at first, and the cut wasn’t easy to make. The knife was for throwing, after all.

  The noises in that garage revved up the Watcher's shrieking outside. It banged furiously against the metal doors, setting me off and pushin
g me over the edge. I no longer heard Anton's thoughts of his pleas to me.

  I stood tall, towering over him and raising the blade with both of my hands above my head. He looked up pleadingly, knowing exactly what was in store. Imminent pain. Imminent torture.

  I plunged the knife down with all my strength straight into his left thigh, and that was when everything turned quiet. A peaceful, soundless room in which my vision was the only working sense I had. Blood immediately pooled up to the surface through his pants and around the knife. I watched his eyes bug out as he looked down at the horror, his face turning ashen, mouth agape and wide enough to swallow a whole fist.

  I repeated the same action with another blade to his other leg. It seemed easier the second time for me. For Anton, not so much. After what I assumed was more screaming, his head went back as if he’d partially fainted. I’d wondered if he’d tried saying anything to me again, because I still couldn’t hear anything. None of his thoughts. None of the sounds around me.

  I sliced his shirt open with my next knife. While grabbing another knife from the bag, I held the other up to his throat.

  “You make one wrong move, and I’ll glide this thing right into your neck, Carter.”

  His response was the quick rise and fall movement of his chest as he panted, staring wide-eyed at my face.

  I took a look at his bare chest and, as if it called to me, my idle hand raised the blade to his bare skin, carving in my birthmark symbol. I dug deep, feeling intrigued by the blood that dripped from his chest with every bit of pressure I inflicted into his body. It was slightly difficult when he made his shallow breaths, writhing in what I assumed was intolerable pain. He then took the deep ones in, letting them out as if he were trying to scream. I was grateful that I didn't even hear it. I was too far gone by then, it wouldn't have mattered how loud he tried to speak to me, scream at me.

  Once my negative zero was completed, I admired my work as he dripped all over the cement floor.