G.S Michaelson
Sentinel Book 1 - Masked (Author's Edition)
Copyright © 2019 by G.S Michaelson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Third edition
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Bestial
Chapter 2 - Splitting Up
Chapter 3 - Discovery in Rulo
Chapter 4 - The Real Monster
Chapter 5 - What James Lost
Chapter 6 - Takeover
Chapter 7 - Sloth
Chapter 8 - Reunion
Chapter 9 - Gunne
Chapter 10 - Defensive Battle
Chapter 11 - Swirling Inferno
Chapter 12 - Mission Complete
Chapter 13 - Enter: Caine
Chapter 14 - Dispatch
Chapter 15 - Draekeor
Chapter 16 - Encounter
Chapter 17 - Blood
Chapter 18 - Warning
Chapter 19 - Thread
Chapter 20 - Aiden’s Foresight
Chapter 21 - Lionel Cisse
Chapter 22 - Rocky
Chapter 23 - Pup
Chapter 24 - Wolf
Chapter 25 - Discipline of the Undisciplined
Chapter 26 - Bared Fangs
Chapter 27 - Breaking the Spell
Chapter 28 - Fangs
Chapter 29 - Their Bastion
Chapter 30 - Shattering, Slicing
Chapter 31 - Mother’s Love
Chapter 32 - Shade and Scale
Chapter 33 - Thundering Lion
Chapter 34 - King of the Jungle
Chapter 35 - The Ferocious Tiger
Chapter 36 - A Pyrrhic Victory
Chapter 37 - The Essence of the Matter
Chapter 38 - Aftermath
Chapter 39 - Purpose
Epilogue
Epilogue II
Also by Michael Allison
Prologue
He couldn’t get it off. His face burned with rage as his hands grabbed around, rummaging through…wetness.
It wouldn’t come off.
The red haze around his gaze burned off, and then, he saw it.
With horror, he recoiled as he saw the death around him. Everyone he had ever known had been violently murdered, with their bodies ripped to shreds and limbs torn apart.
He couldn’t get it off.
He tried to retch, but he couldn’t breathe. He was steadily becoming weaker. His face felt hot again.
Pain. Then darkness. The mask fell to the ground.
* * *
Quivering hands. Shaking legs. He couldn’t breathe.
My unspeakable cowardice.
James reached for his son — what was left of him. Ignoring the sticky mess that was his face, he cradled him in his arms.
Somebody. Help me.
Chapter 1 - Bestial
Jade was scared of heights. Today, she had chosen to overcome her fear. She would go out on the balcony of her new apartment and take in the sights of the city. Carelessness, however, would doom this effort. A contractor had cut corners here, there, everywhere. The balcony railing looked beautiful, the combination of colours and material beckoned to her, urging her to place a hand on it and lean against it. She had earned it.
Suddenly, it gave way under her grip, the last straw in a long line of stressors the frame had been exposed to. She was now airborne and falling fast toward the ground. A scream threatened to escape, but the air pressure snatched any sound from her lungs. With increasing confusion, Jade noticed that the wind was now strong enough to slow her fall. A pair of robust arms wrapped around her as strong feet pushed off the building walls, then leapt back, using the other buildings to slow their momentum ever so slightly until finally, they reached the ground. It was then that she noticed his uniform and put two and two together.
“Be careful,” Tyrone Sy smiled, “I’m not used to catching people on my way to work.”
“Oh my god. You’re one of them,” Jade said, hands trembling from the excitement and adrenaline rush. “You’re a Saber for the Legion.”
“That I am,” Tyrone replied. “You take care. Alright?”
With that said, he leapt into the air, casting a spell of concealment on himself as he travelled towards the Archion Tower, his wind esoterica propelling him along.
Jade would get a new railing installed in a matter of weeks. She would file and win a lawsuit, using the money for skydiving sessions. She would never forget the person that snatched her from the sky as she fell.
* * *
Tyrone decloaked himself just outside the Archion Tower. Like every other Legionnaire ranked Sabre or higher, he was stationed there.
He often stopped here just to gawk at the building; it never ceased to draw his eye to some intricate detail he had overlooked: how the sunlight hit this area of glass to produce this kaleidoscope, how this bit of metal intertwined with that to create this other effect, and so on. Five years of training, and he was still enthralled.
The noise of tourists drew his attention, and he opted to slip inside before they could reciprocate.
“Oh, come and see the beautiful Archion Tower, the safest place in the city.” One tour guide said.
“The home of the Legion! The pride of WestScarlet!” Another would cry, another would call it a marriage of WestScarlet’s artistic and military might. As Tyrone entered the building, he could still hear some of the most audacious tour guides regaling impressed tourists with tales of this battle or that.
“They’re so awestruck.” One Legionnaire muttered just under his breath.
“That’s right.” Tyrone said, “At least they have the peace of mind to feel awestruck.”
The man nodded and quickly left, intimidated by the Sabre’s uniform. Tyrone didn’t mind. The simple uniform of a jacket, combat boots, and trousers was easy to move in. His t-shirt was a dark blue — his own preference. He wore his black hair short, yet not enough that it didn’t stand out against his brown skin, of course. At 5 foot 11 inches, he was one of the shortest Sabres. For a moment, Tyrone wondered whether that was another reason Sabres intimidated people. Dismissing the thought, he headed straight into the elevator, whisking himself to one of the highest floors of the tower, reserved for Sabres and higher. Most of Archion Tower looked like what one would expect an office building to look like. There were gyms on every other floor, and a library hosting every single spell crafted for Industria users at the very top — once again, restricted to Sabres and above. He got off at the forty-ninth floor where his team and the other Sabres were stationed. This was their space. They could fraternise, plan their missions, and file reports. Of course, his team hadn’t actually been on any missions yet, they had been limited to practice and shadowing other teams so far. That was to change today.
“Come over here,” Eva waved. She was standing next to Deidre, their friend, who was also at his desk waiting for him. Her long, brown hair overflowed to her jacket. Her uniform was the same as Tyrone’s, broadly speaking. She preferred to wear her jacket a little shorter, however, while using more pouches on her trousers. Deidre, in contrast, had much shorter hair and ditched the jacket entirely. Tyrone frowned, noticing she had her feet on his desk. She smiled apologetically, removing them.
Deidre was typically on another team, led by Tobi, a close friend of Avery’s.
“I read the brief this morning. Sorry, I overslep
t a little.”
“Nightmares again?” Eva asked.
“Again?” Deidre said, “This happens often, doesn’t it?” Tyrone could feel the sympathy in her tone, but he shrugged it off. She was right that it happened more than he’d like, but there was nothing to do but endure it.
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get back on track. Werewolves?”
“Yeah, not all the Centurions were really hyped about the idea. Apparently, Tom suggested it could be a helping experience for us. Avery agreed.”
Avery Carrington was their captain, given the rank of Centurion like all squad captains who were capable of leading Sabres were.
“I know it sounds absurd, but consider; I graduated five months before you, and our team still gets lazy-ass missions.”
“I’m sure Tobi being Avery’s friend from back in his Sabre days had nothing to do with it,” Eva said.
Deidre smiled. “Who knows how men think?”
“Speaking of men,” Tyrone said, “where’s Lionel?”
“He begged out.” Eva answered, “He’s a bit much on the best of times. Sparring with Bart provides him with actual experience. He already got Avery to sign off on it.”
“Hope you don’t mind me breaking up your boy’s club with Lionel today,” Deidre said.
“Well, your teammate has to deal with him,” Tyrone laughed, “No, its fine, Lionel’s testosterone poisoning is something we’ll be happy not to have to deal with for a few hours at least.”
“And I’ll be free of Bart’s,” Deidre checked her watch, “We should go, we’re already late. We were waiting for you.”
Tyrone replied with a playful jab, Deidre retorted, and Eva just laughed. While Deidre was more Eva’s friend than his, both their teams were great friends. He was sure Avery had taken that into account when allowing Deidre to substitute for Lionel in this mission.
* * *
The trio headed to the Shunt Ports located just underground the Archion Tower. A large room with nearly nothing in it, the walls were carved out of a particular crystal — slicanium — uniquely conducive to Industria.
Shunting was a simple technique used by Legion members. By propelling themselves with Industria, they could leap quickly between two points, almost like teleportation. With Shunt Ports, they were able to convert it directly to teleportation and jump directly through two different locations. The former was like sprinting and leaping at the same time, the latter like leaping — and then being snatched by a vacuum cleaner to be spat out elsewhere. By the time their training was complete, Sabres would be able to endure the stress of Shunt Ports, as it would dictate how they travelled around.
Tyrone stepped on the Shunt Panel and leapt into the mission that would define his career — and the rest of his life.
“What the hell?” Eva reacted first to the sight before her.
“Hell is right,” Tyrone agreed.
The trio had arrived in Kwere, the first of the four towns they had on their list. No one had come to meet them at the Shunt Port, which had been strange in itself. Then Eva had noticed that while her long-range communicator had stopped working, their peer to peer features still functioned. They listened for a bit, noting the eerie silence, then the trio walked outside the Shunt Port, bypassing the doors in Kwere’s Legion outpost.
The smell had hit them first. Putrid. Rancid. The smell of death. Deidre instantly straightened up, taking stock of their environment. Tyrone and Eva had frozen up for a moment, but no more than, their training took control here. There was likely no one left alive in this town, all that had there was dead. Limbs had been strewn asunder, and blood painted the streets. The Legionnaires that had been stationed there lay in full uniform outside, guts ripped out. The message would have been sent before their demise.
Eva put a hand over her mouth.
“Someone took an invitation to paint the town red a little literally,” Deidre observed. “Eva, you think you can scan to see if they’re still here.”
Eva’s eyes glowed, as she began to scan the area for signs of active Industria. Even if someone didn’t have enough Industria to be a member of the Legion, all living things possessed some distinct form of Industria. Eva’s esoterica enhanced her Industria manipulation and sensing skills, if there were anyone alive within a mile, she would find them. Like a drowning man searching for an air pocket in a dark, depressing ocean, she searched and searched, and searched. There was none. This place was dead.
She turned to Deidre and shook her head; the trio went silent. Tyrone swallowed, wondering what had happened here. Then he heard it, a scratching sound. The ground cracked, then split open a man crawled out of it. His fingers were misshapen, more resembling those of a mole than a human. The rest of his body was in a sorry state, pieces of flesh had been gouged out, his leg was twisted backwards, and blood dripped from his chin. The rest of his face was covered by a mask, one that appeared carved in the shape of a mole.
He snarled at them, screeching and spitting blood as he did so.
“What the hell?!” Tyrone said this time, in shock.
The bestial man leapt at him, claws extended, only to meet Tyrone’s foot in his face, the kick stopping him in mid-air. Tyrone flipped in the same quick motion, and a second kick struck the man in the chest, sending him spinning into a building. He leapt out again, covered in dust, blood, and grime.
“You’re a persistent little guy, aren’t you?” Tyrone shifted into combat mode, the air around him raged. The mole man crouched on the ground, then sprung once more towards the rookie Sabre.
Wind Slicer!
The air roared and twisted, forming into an invisible blade as Tyrone made a knife handed gesture towards him. The mole man’s chest was torn open by the blast, forcing him backwards. He teetered as if on edge, yet he didn’t fall. Tyrone suspected that whatever had caused him to turn into a monster had killed his self-preservation instinct as well.
Eva broke from her reverie and moved into action. Placing her arms in front of her, she cast one of the combat spells Sabres were often equipped with.
Art of Restraint: Crucifix!
A flash of light and a bolt of Industria crashed into the body of the man, pulsing through his body and holding him fast. He struggled and writhed, but his arms and legs splayed out into the air, making him look like he was suspended on some invisible cross.
Deidre leapt into the air, reaching her hand out. Glass formed from her industria, taking the shape of a sword. Glistening like glass, but hardened like steel, a swing of her blade separated the mole man’s head from his body, ending the threat. The masked head rolled on the ground, then convulsed once more as the mask appeared to consume its host’s head before coming to a stop.
“What was that thing?” Tyrone said. He became aware of his heartbeat, which had been pounding as soon as the man had first appeared. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“This is a beast mask,” Deidre explained, “An old tool developed by Aslog years ago, an artificial esoterica that took advantage of animal industria.”
“I remember that,” Eva added, “They were outlawed and destroyed though. The test subjects went crazy after a while.”
“I know about those, but this is different,” Tyrone replied, “No one ever disintegrated from a beast mask, and while they were savage, they were human savage…not…like insane growling animal savage dude over there…”
“Agreed.” Deidre said as she looked around them “It’s worse than that.”
Indeed, the team now noticed something they had not before. There had been many masks strewn around, within the carnage. Presumably, the wearers had disintegrated after going on a rampage. A town of about 600 people had been reduced to this. Eva put a hand over her mouth as the other two stared stoically.
“What if…” Tyrone said as the grim possibility occurred to him, “The werewolf report was correct? What if someone simply sicced the beast masks on the people as a test run…”
“…and then they unleashed th
e real thing today.” Eva finished.
As they stood among the pile of corpses, it occurred to all of them that this ‘brief’ mission was more significant than they had assumed at first.
* * *
WestScarlet.
Aslog.
Outside the Archion Tower, space twisted as it was distorted and bent. A rectangular portal forced the air aside as it opened, connecting two disparate locations.
A masked figure stepped out, clad in a black cloak.
Caine took off his mask, inhaling in the Aslog air.
For the first time in several years, he was on the Archion tower. A sadistic grin spread across his face, the arrogant fools within could not imagine what had been planned for them.
Chapter 2 - Splitting Up
Aslog.
Archion Tower.
Training Center.
Lionel Cisse was soaked in sweat. His brown eyes automatically darted around the large blue room as he moved around, looking for anything he could use to give himself an advantage. The smirk on his face never left, countering the savage grin on his opponent’s face.
He was deeply engrossed in his sparring session with Bart. The two had been given the time off to hone their hand to hand fighting skills, and both relished the opportunity to test their skills against each other. Bart, for one, had a competitive streak. In the past, he would challenge Lionel to see who could lift the most tons, punch the steel bags the hardest, and sprint the fastest. Lionel had been irritated at first but had eventually begun to be drawn into it, enjoying the chance to improve himself using someone else as a measuring stick.
As far as measuring sticks went, he couldn’t ask for a better one. Bart had an aggressive style, his blows full of force, and power matching his muscular physique. Lionel for his part was subtler. He would parry blows and look for the ideal time to strike. Going for the soft parts, and body blows when possible. He was almost as strong as Bart, but the latter’s personal training regimen lent itself to brute force more than others.
Bart suddenly ducked down to the ground, sweeping Lionel off his feet with a kick. As he fell, Lionel manoeuvred into an elbow drop — even he had to admit it was clumsy. Bart countered it with ease, rolling them both over and slamming Lionel into the ground, knocking the air out of him.
Masked Page 1
