by Nathan Parks
He got up and checked to ensure that he had no coffee splatter on his clothes. He looked first at Hecate and then to Denora. “Denora, you have fun with her. Soon you will see that she loves only herself; and in the end, you will be left holding drifting sand that has no foundation.”
He shook his head and walked away leaving Hecate furious and Denora sneering.
Chapter Seventeen
Hecate sat pondering. She had to stay in front. It was going to take something big, something drastic to keep ahead of her husband. She wasn’t sure exactly what he would do, but she did know he was not stupid. He would start seeking out what she was doing; and if she wasn’t careful, he would have roadblocks in place before she could even travel down this road.
“Denora, I need you to do something for me . . . actually two things.”
“Sure, what are they?”
“I need you to follow and keep tabs on Mantus. I want to know what he is doing and whom he is talking to.”
“Ok, and second?”
“Send out a message to all the Clan Houses, old and new. No, send a message out to all hierarchy. Let them know that we will be holding a gathering. I want it as soon as possible. It will be here. Apologize for the short notice. I want to make sure that we don’t give Mantus a chance to find out anything. If I can flip the switch and align the Houses, then we ensure that he will not stop anything I decide to do moving forward.”
“The last time we had a gathering, it didn’t go very well; but I will get on that right away,” Denora responded.
◆◆◆
“Twirl amongst the bile of denial and wash yourself with the filth of the human excrement. Madness is heaven and death, denied in the never-quenching flames,” a voice dripping with intestinal echoes of degradation laughed out. It came in and out from all directions in a circle of insanity. “Oh, Great One, you still are held as nothing. Look about you; see the waste of mortal lust and burned tendons tied to the copper stones of your Abyss! Is this your throne?”
The Malebranche’s long tongue dripped with acidic, inky ooze as he scoffed at a figure that looked to have once been a mighty warrior; however, now serpentine creatures with mouths of razor-sharp teeth ate holes into his being, creating festering cavities that would burn with black flames, never healing. His face was hollow with bulging eyes. If there ever had been eyelids, they had long been peeled away. His lips had become drawn and cracked from lack of moisture, exposing teeth that seemed dull and without any threat–all except a set of pointed canines.
The Malebranches were his tormentors, and these creatures that dipped below the horrors of imagination were enthralled with their duties. They were created with no intellect but simply for the purpose of torment and lining the bottom of darkness.
A Malebranche never had a true definition—to define one was contrary to its very existence. Eyes, large and without symmetry, were set within a scaly and leathery face. A head covered in tumors and tufts of course hair all sat upon a body of bony protrusions and grotesque disfigurement. Even with all of this, they had come forth out of evil for one purpose: torment. They did it well.
This particular one was half of a team who had been given control over the figure that now was captive before him . . . a pile of what looked to be waste. “Oh, Great One, tell me how you roused the majestic Jah!” A strain of wheezing and spewing came forth as if the creatures were attempting to laugh. “Or please tell us how within you flows the source of the Clans: their Great Hope, their Dracon!”
The captive had long stopped showing any signs of life or fight. Ages had passed; but deep in the inner conscience, a crimson light flickered, waiting for the kindling that would reignite the rage . . . a rage that would rip the jaw from the Malebranche and make it his weapon. His time was coming. A new body he would gain—maybe even a young one—and there could always be the chance for more than one.
His tormentors looked up with shrieks and hisses as they felt a presence begin to take form within the confines of the rocky cell of their prisoner’s existence. “General Mantus! He comes!”
Mantus stood looking at the being who had almost become one with the rock walls that held him. “Son, how I despise your mother and all she has done.”
An utterance, hardly even able to be called a groan, sounded from Legion’s chest. His ability to look at his father or even speak had left so long ago. Mantus wasn’t even sure if there was full comprehension anywhere within his son anymore.
He remembered the day that his son had been cornered by the Watchers. Legion was complete then, all his multi-levels of existence embodied within one mortal shell; but it was his defiant stubbornness that had been his downfall. Legion could have fled. He could have existed to rise up and lead the Clans; but instead, his obstinance kept him where he was: facing down the Watcher embodied with the power of Jah.
Legion was banished. Only segments of him had been able to escape the banishment. The day that his son had appeared within the Abyss and bound by an Eternal was the day that Mantus started questioning everything they had done.
There was no real account of how Legion had come about. It was known that he had appeared, as it seemed, from nowhere sometime after the War of the Serpents. He was the epitome of darkness and horror. He was the protégé of the Morning Star and the signature of the seven Overlords of the Clans. He was of no Clan, yet of all the Clans. It was as if he was a combination of the essence of the Fallen embodied into one manifestation. Hecate had made Mantus believe that he was the sole father of their son, but later it was discovered that the seed of each of the Clan leaders had been a part of his creation. It was Hecate’s way of looking to be the mother of the Fallen and use Legion as the son she could control.
Centuries would see the fingers of Legion, the Dracon, torment mortals and become intertwined into legend. The Order of the Dracon would give birth to the rise of one Dracul or Drăculea.
Probably the most highly recognized Fallen—or at least Vampire (the manifestation of the human mythology dealing with the Fallen),—Drăculea, embodied the largest collection of segments of Legion at one time since his banishment into Malebolge. It was at that time the Fallen believed they were the closest to Legion’s return; in fact, they were not far off on their assumptions. A prophecy by the Watcher John stated that Legion, in his full power, would return; and mortals would struggle to survive . . . even to the point of extinction.
Mantus was torn. He longed for his son to be free, yet had become tormented with the thought of what it could mean for both mortal and immortal if he was fully brought together again. He reached up and placed his palm upon the disfigured forehead of his son. His mind was racing back to his conversation with Hecate. He knew not to trust her, but what if the things she suggested could free his son? What if he would not have to rule this realm knowing that his son was one of those being tormented within the nine circles of his domain?
“Brother?” Dumah had come up behind the general. “She got to you, didn’t she?”
“No, not like she had hoped.” Mantus turned to look at his brother. “She tried, and she was able to hit me a few times; but her influence over me has waned through the years. I know her all too well.”
“What do we do?”
Mantus motioned for his brother to follow as they left Legion to be handled by the Malebranche once again. “I do believe she is right when she states something is starting to take place. She knows something . . . or thinks she knows something.”
“And Michael’s role in it all?”
“I’m not sure. Hecate sounds really confident that there is a way she can break Legion free. If there is, then it is something I am not aware of.”
“And if she does?”
“I don’t know, Dumah. I really don’t know. I am torn.”
“We have been separated for so long from the fight, Mantus. Yes, we both know that being given this area to control was, in essence, the same as being banished to here. We both have had long conversations regarding our
role within the War of the Serpents and what we would do if we could do it all over again.”
“I know. I also am aware that we really have no recourse. Who can we trust . . . and better yet, who would trust us?”
“Then do we just sit back and watch it all play out, hoping that in the end we have an alliance with the winner?”
Mantus could feel the heat rising from the pits around him. Most days it was like a second skin; then others, like today, it was a constant reminder of where he was now. He had served for so long as the head of the protective forces for Scintillantes . . . that was until the day that he had been swept into the current of Hecate’s enticing spell. The scars of her grip were not only within his mind but also physical. He looked down at the burn marks upon his right forearm. He ran his fingers along the scar, a constant reminder of what it meant to believe in love built upon deception.
They both entered into a large, polished black stone room and sat down at a conference table. “I think we need to look at this from a few different angles, Brother. We need to keep tabs on Hecate’s new toy, and then . . .”
“Toy?”
“Yes, she seems to be using and grooming Denora now for something; and I would imagine if we can keep track of her, then it will give us insight into more of what Hecate is up to. Also, I think I need to speak to Michael directly. He needs to be reminded of his status in everything.”
Dumah laughed, “That will be interesting to see how that goes down. Who do you want me to attach to Denora?”
Mantus sat quietly for a moment pondering that question. He knew that if anyone from his ranks was assigned, then it would become obvious. He wasn’t scared of Hecate finding out, but he knew it would make it more complicated if she did. “Hmm . . . what if we hire someone?”
Dumah knew exactly to what his brother was referencing, and he really didn’t like the idea. “So, you are suggesting taking one power-hungry individual, who is known to not be trustworthy, to keep tabs on another one, who is just the same?”
“Kadar and his kind may not be trustworthy, but they also do not pretend to be trustworthy. At least when it comes to his small group of misfits, we know what we are getting; and he will flat out tell you to your face what he is up to if you ask.”
“True. Let me see if he is willing to make a deal.”
“Oh, he will . . . if the price is right.”
◆◆◆
Tori was not sure what would come next amid all that had taken place, but she knew that her body felt like it was floating on a cloud as she lay down upon the bed that was in her new room. She felt—dare she say it—completely peaceful. She wasn’t sure the last time she had felt this way . . . or even if she had ever felt this way. It was nice.
After her meeting with Gene, she had been shown a room and had been told that she needed to feel free to make herself at home and encouraged to rest. Chad and Serenity were somewhere on the property, and they had assured her they were not leaving.
She wanted to sleep, but she was also very anxious and worried about what would be on the other side of her eyelids. Would the creatures be back? Would they take over again, and maybe she would never wake up? What if they took over and not let her go? Would she ever even know?
There were giggles coming from outside her door; and as she rolled over, she could see children’s fingers sticking through the crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. They wiggled with glee and then vanished, but she could still hear the whispering of children on the other side. She quietly got out of bed, tiptoed to the door, and then quickly pulled it open. The twins, whom she had seen before, almost fell at her feet.
They both jumped up quickly and stepped back. Both had playful but shocked looks on their faces and acted as if they didn’t know if they should run away again or stay.
“Hi,” she greeted them both.
The twins were a boy and a girl about four or five years of age. The little girl had pigtails, but her brother’s hair was shaggy. The little girl waved, and her brother slapped her hand down.
“Hey now! That isn’t nice!” Tori chided playfully.
“Lado! Lada!” A female voice rang from down the hall, followed by quick footsteps.
Both of the children squealed and ran in the opposite direction. Tori poked her head out and looked down the hall in the direction of the lady’s voice. She saw a slim-figured lady with long, black hair pulled back into a ponytail, walking her way with a very motherly and stern look on her face. The lady spotted Tori, and her expression turned to a carefree and loving smile. “Hi! You by chance didn’t see two little fugitives come this way?”
Tori laughed and pointed in the direction of where the twins had disappeared. “I believe you are getting hot. They ran that way.”
The lady rolled her eyes and sighed a playful sigh as if the world was so heavy. “They better be glad that I love them!” She held out her hand and introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Ann.”
“I’m, Tori,” she stated as she shook the lady’s hand.
“Welcome, Tori. If my children bother you too much, let me know. They love to see new faces here, and sometimes they have more energy than they know what to do with.”
“They are cute! I’m an only child, but I love being around kids . . . well, little kids,” she laughed.
“Well, feel free to wear their energy levels down as much as you can. Sure will help me!”
“Deal,” she stated. “So, you three live here?”
Ann took a quick look down the hall to see if she could spot her children and then leaned against the wall. “We do. Home, sweet home.”
“It is a beautiful place to live! Is Gene your dad?”
Ann laughed at this. “Oh, no, Dear. I am just another former lost soul you can put on the tree of those Gene and Eden have set on a different course within their life. I actually don’t remember my father too much, and my mother . . . she was what horror stories could be written about.”
Tori shook her head in understanding. “I can so relate . . . except more my dad than my mother.”
“Well, let me know if you would like a tour of the place. It is quite big; and I still swear after five years here, that this place actually grows on the inside, no matter how it may look on the outside. I still can find myself lost in here.”
“Thanks. I think for now I’m going to lie down. I’m pretty beat.”
“And I should find my little hellions.”
Tori watched her leave, heard a few more squeals from the twins somewhere down the hall, and closed the door. Sleep was going to come even if she didn’t want it to; she needed it. She could feel her body’s energy levels depleted.
She lay back down and soon felt her eyelids begin to close. She wanted to fight it; however, she knew that it would be hopeless, so she allowed the warmth of the room, the comfortable bed, and peace wash over her as her body gave way to exhaustion.
◆◆◆
Both riders placed their feet down as the motorcycle engine was shut off. They were parked right where Zarias had been just hours before. Leah swung her leg over and stood up. Her body was sore, and she still felt heavy. Her back ached from carrying her two bags during the ride. She extended her arms over her head and felt muscles stretch that she was pretty sure she hadn’t used in a long while. Her mind was still swirling from everything that had taken place within the last several hours.
“So, anytime you would like to share with me where you came from, what is going on, and how you know about me would be perfectly amazing for me!” she stated as she used her fingers to make an ill attempt at fixing her windblown hair.
“Well, who hasn’t heard of you? You tend to leave a lot for discussion, Leah.”
“You know what I mean!” she stated, frustrated. “Let’s not start with how is it that a traitor from the past, thought long-dead, shows up outside my residence—sorry . . . former residence!”
“Traitor is pretty harsh coming from someone who, hours ago, was standing before the Arch
Council, basically being accused of similar.”
“Really? Nothing . . . I repeat . . . NOTHING that I have done within my existence comes close to what you did to turn your back on everything good, betray those who believed in you, and help set in motion a catastrophic set of events that would cause and still to this day is causing destruction to all that is! I served others! You served yourself . . . not to mention, again, that you are supposed to be DEAD!”
“Oh, you served others? Let’s look at that! So, everything you have done as a Guardian and an Alliance leader was for others? You didn’t do any of it out of seeking glory for yourself?”
She was angry! She felt a flood of anger that she had never felt before . . . before . . . well, before becoming a Vapor. Before there had been a wall against what her anger would dash, but now it seemed as if there was nothing holding it back. She swung her fist, and it connected with the side of Zarius’ jaw. He stepped back, more out of attempting to avoid it than anything.
