Earth Sentinels Collection

by Elizabeth M Herrera

  Tom continued his line of questioning, “But would we need to install the stone if the Dracos and UN leaders are killed? Perhaps we could do this on our own without offering the fallen angels our protection.”

  “I wish it were possible, but after the Dracos are killed, their spirits will still have access to the hive mind. They would simply instruct the next hybrids in line to take the dead UN leaders’ places. The Destiny Stone is needed to shut down the hive mind. By killing and replacing the UN leaders, we will hopefully interrupt their communications long enough for the earth’s vibrations to rise. We will only have a small window of time before they realize what we have done. We must work quickly.”

  Geet added, “Kill those at the top and hope the rest scatter.”

  Cecile offered her opinion, “Killing the Dracos and UN leaders sounds like a fine plan until it’s actually time to plunge the sword.”

  “To attack anyone is to attack one’s self,” Guru said to no one in particular.

  “To me, it’s unacceptable,” Haruto uttered.

  Tom shook his head, displeased, saying to the council, “So the only plan you have is to trade with the flying bastards, and have us transport your warriors to kill the Dracos and their UN hybrids, and then replace them?”

  Gladise added, “And install the stones.”

  Synege pointed out, “War makes for strange bedfellows. And don’t forget, you are now Alterian citizens. These are your warriors as well.” She then directed a question at the fallen angel in their midst, “Bechard, would you be willing to handle the negotiations?”

  “I would be honored,” he replied, “but you know it is unlikely Abaddon will agree to all of this proposal, even with Hagsmar’s safety at stake.”

  She replied, “You are a great negotiator, Bechard. If anyone can get him to agree to this, it is you.”

  “Bechard?” Zachary called to him.

  “Yes?”

  “This is even worse than the first time we got together.”

  Bechard remained silent, knowing that despite their best efforts, everything was, once again, going straight to hell.

  Cecile complained, “And when we’re done, what will change? Will mankind continue to fight wars that don’t benefit them—all for forces they don’t even know exist?”

  “When this is finished,” Synege said, “we will petition the senate to hand the reins over to us instead of the fallen angels. We will teach the humans how to live peacefully. Some things have to be learned. Then hopefully, one day, they can rule themselves. Without the Dracos’ hive mind instigating wars and conflict, it might work. It should have never been otherwise.”

  Zachary asked, “But what if the senate decides to let the fallen angels rule?”

  “We will deal with that when the time comes.” Feeling all the questions had been answered, Synege asked the Earth Sentinels, “Will you help us save mankind and inner earth?”

  None of them were pleased with the plan, but Tom, Cecile, Zachary and Billy agreed to help.

  Lord God Abaddon

  FLAMES FLICKERED FROM the urns on each side of the stone throne where an imposing figure sat wearing a black robe. His ebony-iridescent wings were pressed against the high back. He gripped a scepter whose tip was adorned with a silver crescent cradling an obsidian disc. His dull gold crown was encrusted with precious jewels that no longer sparkled. From out of his ashen face, his gray eyes warily studied the uninvited visitor, who stood in the center of the great hall. The ruler’s discolored teeth showed through his cracked lips as he asked, “What brings you here, Bechard?”

  Bechard was shocked by his cousin’s appearance, but he politely concealed his dismay. “Abaddon, I’ve come—”

  The ruler slammed his fist on the throne arm, shouting, “In my house, call me, Lord God!” Spittle seeped from the corners of his mouth.

  Bechard raised his eyebrows at the egoistical outburst.

  The ruler regained his composure, fiercely glaring at the defector.

  Bechard knew Abaddon had no love for him, but the Galactic Council had given him this assignment and he planned to finish it. “I’ve come because of the situation with the Dracos, which I’m sure you’re well aware of…”

  Thunder rumbled from deep within the ruler’s chest, precipitating a black mist filled with demons, which heaved out of his cadaverous mouth. Hisses, screams and shrieks echoed throughout the sanctuary. Abaddon’s ashen skin grew ghastlier. Fine lines etched across his face and hands. Dust fell from his body as if he was crumbling. His inhalation sucked the ominous cloud back into his bowels, then he venomously spewed, “Of course, I know! Why have you come here!?”

  Bechard recited, “I’ve come to propose an alliance on behalf of the Galactic Council. We would…”

  Abaddon turned away from Bechard, focusing his attention toward the back of the room where one of the massive gilded doors, dusty from neglect, swung open. A human slave entered. The emaciated man wore only a loincloth. With both hands, he held a silver tray bearing a pitcher and goblet. He nervously walked the length of the sanctuary, bypassing Bechard to approach the throne where he knelt, bowing his head.

  The ruler ordered, “Give it to me.”

  The slave rose, standing to the side so he would not block his master’s view, holding out the tray with his trembling hands. Abaddon snatched the goblet, drinking all its contents in one greedy gulp, holding it out to be filled again. The slave picked up the pitcher, concentrating so he would not spill a precious drop of the blood being poured into the cup.

  Bechard looked away, disgusted.

  Abaddon drank once more, and as the blood flowed down his throat, a major transformation took place. His stone-like body became flesh again. His gray eyes turned blue. The lines on his face and hands became smooth. The color of his wings flashed from black to indigo, for just a moment before losing their brilliance. With his thirst quenched, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a crimson smear. He set the goblet on the tray, motioning for the slave to leave.

  The bodily fluids infiltrated Abaddon’s system. The rush of human hormones caused his eyes to dilate. His hands clenched. He suppressed a moan, experiencing intense, almost orgasmic, pleasure, breathing heavily.

  Bechard averted his eyes, saying to his cousin, “Blood is a pale substitute.”

  Abaddon didn’t hear the comment, remaining a willful prisoner in his cage of euphoria.

  “Do you remember when you were a thing of beauty?” Bechard inquired. “With a light so bright, you mesmerized everyone.”

  The words cut through Abaddon’s ecstasy. He became enraged by the interruption, bellowing with a legion of voices, “Don’t speak to me of light! What has the light brought you? You small useless creature. No armies of your own. No empires. You are weak. The only reason you are alive today is because of our kinship. But the next time I see you, I will kill you, then cast your soul into hell for all of eternity! You have been warned. Now leave.”

  A multitude of fallen angels with raven-black wings marched into the sanctuary carrying swords—a procession of black hooded robes. They split into two groups, forming a line on each side of the great hall. They stood erect, menacingly facing Bechard.

  “I don’t believe I need to introduce our friends,” Abaddon stated dryly.

  Indeed, the ruler was right. Bechard knew all the fallen angels by name, but he persevered with the conversation despite the threat, talking in a diplomatic manner, “You might be aware that some of the Earth Sentinels have mutated, and now possess a power that could be of service to you.”

  Abaddon smoldered, but he listened to what Bechard had to say.

  “The Earth Sentinels are able to transport our Alterian soldiers directly into the Dracos’ dens and UN leaders headquarters. Instantly. No barriers to fight through. No fort that can’t be entered. And after the soldiers kill them, the Dracos’ will be gone forever. And Hagsmar will be safe.”

  Abaddon stroked his broad chin, asking, “What are yo
ur demands?”

  “The council wants the Destiny Stone.”

  Abaddon didn’t answer.

  Bechard wasn’t surprised by his cousin’s hesitation and tried to persuade him. “The Dracos have millions of human soldiers at their disposal. Their assaults will be relentless. The stone’s powers won’t be enough to protect you against those armies.” Bechard pressured him. “Give it to us. You know we won’t use it for ill intent.”

  Without committing, Abaddon inquired, “Is there anything else?”

  “After the Dracos and UN hybrids are killed, we will fill their vacancies—”

  “You forget yourself, Bechard. The humans are my domain, as is earth’s surface. I will fill the UN positions.”

  “The positions must be filled immediately upon the UN hybrids’ deaths, otherwise, the vacancies will be noticed—”

  “I have millions to choose from!”

  The two of them stared at each other. Bechard was not pleased with Abaddon’s demand to fill the UN positions himself, but it was not entirely unexpected.

  Without warning, the self-proclaimed god unfurled his large black wings, leaning forward, staring directly at Bechard. His alarming posture prompted his soldiers to straighten their backs. Abaddon tersely stated, “It will be me and my soldiers who kill the lizards and their minions. Not one, single Alterian soldier is to step foot on earth’s surface. Is that understood? The only useful thing you have offered me is the Earth Sentinels’ powers.”

  Bechard said, “The Earth Sentinels can take you wherever you want to go.” Knowing the fallen angels’ dwindling numbers made every casualty a severe blow, he added, “And they have other powers—powers that can protect you during battle.” He waited for Abaddon to answer.

  “Summon your friends. I will need proof of their powers before I relinquish the stone.”

  “Of course.”

  Display of Powers

  TOM, CECILE, ZACHARY and Bechard arrived inside the fallen angels’ castle, standing on the mosaic pentagram in the center of the floor, their airy bodies barely perceivable. The nearby throne sat vacant. The nightly mist, which had not yet lifted, created a foggy veil between the land and sky—gray and dark like a rainy afternoon, making the sanctuary especially gloomy.

  There was a creaking sound as two human servants pushed open the sanctuary doors, holding them wide. A small army of black-robed fallen angels, wearing protective armor and holding double-edged swords, marched into the room, their footsteps echoing throughout the great hall, their faces hidden beneath their hoods, stomping as they advanced in unison. They lined the walls, snapping to attention, facing the Earth Sentinels.

  Zachary couldn’t dispel the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished he had found a different way to be of service—like Haruto who had volunteered to retrieve the Destiny Stone. She, like him, disapproved of the Earth Sentinels’ participation in this aggressive foray. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure any of them approved.

  A slave appeared on the rounded balcony that jutted out near the throne. The man wore a blue velvet cape lined with white ermine fur dotted with the black tail tips of unfortunate weasels over his loincloth. The slave put a trumpet to his mouth. His cheeks puffed as the sound bellowed throughout the great room. He lowered the instrument, shouting, “All bow to our Lord God!”

  The soldiers knelt on one knee, bowing their heads. The trumpeter and slaves prostrated themselves.

  Wearing a chest plate over his robe, Abaddon arrogantly strode out of a hidden chamber and crossed the raised platform to stand beside his throne, glaring at the Earth Sentinels who refused to submit. He wanted to smite them, but, alas, he could not. Not today. So he acted as if nothing was wrong, resting his arm on the chair’s high back. His other hand lingered over his sword. The ruler looked strong and refreshed, despite the tinges of gray in the creases of his face. Abaddon commanded his soldiers, “Rise, my faithful ones!”

  The fallen angels rose from their knees, standing erect once more.

  The slaves took their cue and scuttled out of the room, shutting the doors behind them.

  Abaddon turned toward the Earth Sentinels. “It is time to demonstrate your powers.”

  The ruler motioned for one of the soldiers to step away from the lineup to act as the test subject. The black-hooded figure’s wings remained folded as he dutifully marched across the floor, stopping a body’s length away from Zachary, Tom and Cecile. Bechard stepped away to give his friends room to work.

  “Please show us what you can do, Earth Sentinels.” Abaddon’s cordial request was overshadowed by his dark heart.

  Tom took a deep breath, stepping beside the soldier, repulsed and somewhat scared at being so close to this ancient creature, who he forewarned, “I will need to touch you to demonstrate. Do you agree to this?”

  The soldier nodded, his hood lifting up and down.

  As soon as Tom made contact with him, they both became semi-transparent. The man instructed the soldier to hold up his spectral sword, then he focused on the shadowy weapon, transforming it into gleaming metal. Abaddon was amazed his soldier’s phantom arm was capable of holding up such a heavy blade.

  “While in this state,” Tom explained, “nothing I know of can hurt us.”

  The ruler stroked his chin examining the ethereal soldier and deadly sword, pleased by what he saw. He asked, “And how do you know where to find these reptilian filth and their weak-minded fools?”

  “You will tell us who it is you seek, then we will take you there. How it works? I’m not sure. It just does.”

  “What else can you do?”

  Tom accepted the challenge, causing himself and the soldier to become invisible—even the sword disappeared. Zachary and Cecile could see the two souls suspended in their translucent bodies, but the others in attendance could not.

  “Very nice…” Abaddon smiled sinisterly as he considered the possibilities.

  Tom let go of the soldier, who became physical again, but he neglected to transform himself and remained hidden from the fallen angels’ sight.

  Abaddon grew apprehensive, paranoid the supernatural being might sneak up on him, so he demanded, “Show yourself, Earth Sentinel!”

  Tom appeared as a gossamer body, standing in the same spot.

  With Abaddon’s immediate fear averted, he focused on the mission at hand, saying to his soldiers, “It is time for me to choose who will fight beside the Earth Sentinels.” He scanned the lineup. “Luxus. Bebue. Please step forward. You will go this day and give honor to our people.”

  The ruler turned his chiseled face toward Zachary, stating, “You and I will fight together. Come to me.”

  The demand caused an immediate resistance in the young man. Of all those before him, Abaddon was the least palatable. Zachary’s feet refused to budge and his spirit refused to comply with this evil creature’s order. He looked the ruler in the eyes, and said, “I will meet you halfway,” even though he wanted to say, “Go to hell!” failing to remember the fallen angels were master mind readers.

  No one had ever refused Abaddon during his entire reign. The ruler’s anger welled up like an alpha wolf being confronted by an omega male. Blood rushed to his face even as his skin grew ashen, creating a fine layer of dust. The soldiers averted their eyes, expecting the worst.

  Instead of expressing his rage, the ruler clapped his hands twice. The doors at the end of the sanctuary were pushed open. Slaves appeared. They bowed, then waited for instructions. Abaddon’s booming voice rang out, “Bring us our nourishment!”

  The humans scampered away to retrieve the requested sustenance, which sat ready in the outside hall.

  Meanwhile, Abaddon issued instructions to his soldiers, “Those who have been chosen, drink up. You have an arduous task before you—”

  “Pardon me,” Bechard said, “but, before we begin, we will need the Destiny Stone.”

  Abaddon glared at his dissident cousin, hating him and hating giving up the stone, but the matter at ha
nd was urgent, so he looked up and down the rows of soldiers, calling out, “Oxair. Monatec.” The two soldiers stepped forward. “Take Bechard to the stone.”

  The pair simultaneously replied, “Yes, my Lord—”

  Bechard clarified, “It will be Haruto and I. She will carry the stone.”

  Abaddon waved his hand to indicate he didn’t care about the details.

  With the approval given, Bechard said to the chosen escorts, “I will return with the Earth Sentinel. Meet me in the grand foyer,” then he disappeared.

  The Destiny Stone

  INSIDE THE CASTLE’S grand foyer, tarnished suits of armor—remnants of enemies killed in past battles—were displayed for morbid curiosity. Spider webs were knitted among the metal plates and strewn across the moldy walls.

  Bechard appeared here. The semi-transparent Haruto arrived right after him. Bechard had warned her to never become physical in the presence of the fallen angels—despite everyone’s belief that she, Tom, Cecile and Zachary had become immortal, but it was a belief that had yet to be proven.

  “Wonder where they are?” Haruto asked, uneasy at being inside the enemy’s fortress.

  “Be patient,” replied Bechard.

  Just then, the two fallen angels strode into the chambers.

  Bechard greeted them, “Oxair. Monatec.”

  The soldiers ignored him as they strode toward the entrance. They would have preferred to kill Bechard, but instead obeyed their orders.

  Monatec opened one of the massive doors, which had been built for strength, not aesthetics, then, with disdain, he said to the visitors, “Follow us.”

  The soldiers went outside, stepping down the stairs, walking toward a silver disc-shaped hovercraft, which emitted a humming sound as it hovered over the rocky ground. Haruto and Bechard trailed behind them. Outside, the air was crisp and cool from the rising mist, a refreshing contrast to the musty castle. The hatch door on the saucer lifted and a set of stairs extended out. The two soldiers climbed aboard, one after the other. Haruto’s spectral body glided through the shell, moving inside, while Bechard lost a few feathers squeezing through the hatch.