Shadows of Humanity

by J. Armand

  Shadows of Humanity

  J. Armand

  Copyright © 2014 J. Armand

  All rights reserved

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely fictitious expressions of the author's imagination, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, is by pure coincidence.

  This book is for your personal use only. You may not print, post, or make this book publicly available in any way. You may not copy or reproduce any part of this book in any manner without written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 0996119132, 978-0-9961191-3-9

  Cover illustration by Greg Opalinski

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  “Those who cling to life die, and those who defy death live.”

  — Uesugi Kenshin

  Preface

  Two years have passed since Dorian began his training in Japan. Stronger and wiser than ever, he returns to New York where he is met with dire news. A dark storm is rolling in to blanket the Earth until all life is snuffed out.

  Dorian had heard prophecies of an ancient evil bent on resetting the world from immortal beings that were present the last time it rose. He must now decide between using his newfound strength to save himself, or fight against the tide for the humans that would never accept him.

  New and familiar faces join the fray as Dorian’s journey takes him across the globe, but not all of them are there for the same reasons. Dorian is quick to learn that the darkest corners do not compare to the bottomless depths of a corrupt mind as innocent lives begin to disappear, swallowed by the shadows themselves.

  What manner of demon or deity awaits Dorian and his allies once the lights go out?

  Prologue

  “I’ll be gone a couple days, so try not to wreck the city again. Think you can handle that?”

  “It wasn’t my fault a parasitic mutant horde nearly wiped out New York City.” I defended myself even though I was used to taking crap from him by now.

  “That’s not how I remember it,” he smirked.

  “Let me borrow your sunglasses.”

  “Not a chance. I don’t want your grubby hands touching my stuff.”

  “Come on! What if I need to use my powers around people?”

  “Wear a bag over your head if you’re worried about scaring people.”

  “You’re an asshole. What do you need sunglasses for, anyway? You haven’t even seen the sun in over a hundred years.”

  “They complete the look.” He smiled in approval at his own reflection, brushing his blond hair out of his face.

  “Trust me, you don’t need sunglasses to look like a complete tool.” Using my powers, I moved his sunglasses through the air and settled them on my face. “There, no hands.”

  “Now I can’t wear those anymore; you’ve tainted them.”

  “Bye, Noah.”

  “I hope you realize you owe me a new pair!”

  It had been awhile since I last walked the hectic streets of Manhattan. I had just returned from two years of isolation on a mountain in Japan, which made Times Square an even more jarring experience than I remembered. Throngs of tourists, glaring billboard lights, and the deafening sound of traffic filled the air. This was going to take some getting used to again. Despite suffering from extreme culture shock, it felt good to be back in civilization.

  Three years ago, I left my sheltered lifestyle in Boston to start a modeling career in New York. I hadn’t even gotten my foot in the door when everything went off the rails and I was hurled into a dark world I never knew existed. Mythical things that went bump in the night all turned out to be real. Demons, phantoms, and most of all the undead waged an endless war behind the veil of humanity’s ignorance.

  That war between three rival undead covens had claimed the lives of my adoptive parents when vying clans attempted to kidnap me. Why were those groups of all-powerful undead so interested in a shy twenty-year-old boy from the Boston suburbs?

  Power.

  Everybody wants it, few people have it, and those who don’t, fear it. It’s addictive, it’s seductive, and it’s volatile in any form it takes. I was born with a gift that first manifested itself when I was a teenager: telekinesis, the ability to move objects with my mind. I didn’t always consider it a gift. At first I was scared. I thought I was some kind of freak or a monster. I tried forgetting about it and living like a “normal” person. That wasn’t easy once I had attracted the attention of the covens who wanted me enslaved as a soldier in their war.

  And my power was how I met Noah.

  The pinnacle of masculinity, the apex of athleticism, the epitome of male physical perfection, Noah had the speed and power of a lightning bolt and was even more awe-inspiring to watch in action. He only had one major downfall: his personality. Noah’s narcissism was so suffocating you couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief every time he stopped talking. He had the muscles, skills, and swagger to make anyone weak in the knees and any man seriously doubt his self-confidence, and he never missed an opportunity to talk about it.

  Buried deep underneath that serious character flaw remained a heart still capable of remorse, deny it though he may. Noah is a member of the illustrious Archios, a coven of undead known for their beauty, allure, and the manipulative games they play with both mortals and undead. But Noah is the black sheep of his people. He has no interest in politics and mind games, and his roguish no-nonsense approach to handling situations often gets him scoffed at. Still, when the shit hits the fan, it’s him they all run to for protection. And whether he wants to or not, it is his duty to uphold that service even when it would mean his death.

  Noah was sent by his progenitor and coven leader, Aurelia de Saint-Pierre, to stop the other two covens from kidnapping me for their own use. I didn’t know it then, but behind her angelic face and charming words, Aurelia’s intentions were just as sinister as the rest.

  As a human, Noah had fallen for the same facade, so much so that over a hundred years ago he left his family and everything he loved behind in the Wild West to be with her. Seduced by her beauty, he swore his eternal loyalty, and so she granted him the gift of immortality and the curse of vampirism along with it. His love was unrequited. Aurelia never intended him as anything more than a slave to be thrown in the face of danger and deal with her enemies so she didn’t have to. Over the years Noah became bitter, but was helpless to take control of his own fate. Aurelia was many times more powerful than even he could ever hope to be and her will was undeniable.

  He took pity on me as he watched me become tangled in the same web Aurelia had trapped him in over a hundred years ago. Together we fought back the hordes of mutants created by the hideous Carpathian coven and a demon summoned by the diabolical Strigoi. Not only were my parents a needless casualty of the war, but Noah lost the one person in the world he trusted.

  Her name was Vivian. Beautiful, kind, and also Aurelia’s progeny, Vivian loved Noah as he did her, but neither of them spoke of it until it was too late
for fear of their emotions being used as leverage against them. The final battle to save Manhattan from the Carpathians claimed her, but her death motivated Noah to break his shackles before he was lost, too.

  Noah never spoke of his triumph over his former master or just how she met her downfall, and he never discussed Vivian either, choosing to honor her memory in silence. He traveled with me to Japan, where he had once trained to become the killing machine he is today. Before Vivian perished she let me know that Noah respected me after I’d spared him from the Carpathians, even though I knew he had orders to kill me. That was the only definitive clue I had to what Noah really thought of me and why he was going out of his way to teach me survival in the supernatural world. Many times he was harsher than the enemies we had encountered together and his trials often crossed the line of suicidal, even for someone who was as difficult to kill as I was. Whatever his reasoning was for taking me under his wing, I was grateful to be on his good side, no matter how small that side might be. My life would never be like it had once been; I would never go back to college or pursue a modeling career. Even having human friends was a risk, with one supernatural or the next always interfering in my affairs. If I was to have any chance of survival on my own, I would need to learn how to use my powers to their full potential.

  After the loss of my parents, who meant the world to me, it was impossible to focus on simple tasks, let alone vigorous training. Surprisingly, for someone who led such a violent existence, Noah was quite balanced and centered. His Zen-like philosophies, several of which he had tattooed on his body in kanji, helped teach me ways of coping with the loss of loved ones and the stress of the new life I was thrust into. They seemed almost cliché at times, and the message behind them frustratingly obvious; but it is often what is right under our noses that is hardest, and most important, to see. He constantly emphasized the importance of trust, and although we had a past checkered with deceit, I felt he had redeemed himself in his own way.

  Now, after we’d spent two years at an abandoned Buddhist monk encampment, Noah decided it was time to return to civilization. He said he had business to take care of and that was fine by me. It gave me a chance to reconnect with an old friend.

  Chapter One

  “Lyle!” I pounded on the door of the apartment where I had stayed before leaving for Japan. “Open up! Search warrant!”

  “What’s all the noise? Do you have any idea what hour it is? People are trying to sleep here!”

  “Yeah, it’s 7 PM…” I responded to the voice coming from the apartment door across the hall before remembering our elderly neighbors. “Oh. Hi, Estelle.”

  “Dorian? Is that Dorian? What are you doing back here?” Estelle was everything I thought she would be within the first minute of talking to her: whimsical, just senile enough to be cute, and just nosy enough to be helpful. I never knew my grandparents – they passed away before I was adopted – but I would have wanted them to be just like Estelle and Jacob.

  “It’s me, Estelle.”

  “What are you making so much noise for? And why are you wearing sunglasses? You’re too young to be getting the cataracts.”

  “I’m here to visit Lyle. Do you know if he left for work?”

  Estelle and her husband, Jacob, were huge fans of Lyle due to his being a police officer. They thought living across from a cop was prime real estate and acted like he ran the city.

  Their admiration for him was deserved, but it wasn’t just his badge that made him a hero. I met Lyle when he was still a rookie on the force, which unfortunately for him was also the same time a mutant plague swept across Manhattan. To make matters worse, most of Lyle’s co-workers were under the hypnotic control of those responsible for the plague. With only a handgun and an unwavering sense of courage, Lyle survived the apocalyptic event and helped save millions of lives, including my own.

  “Why, he moved last year, dear.”

  “Moved?” Lyle loved New York City and the NYPD as much as he loved women. I couldn’t see him going far. I didn’t have a cell phone or any way to contact Lyle. We had also parted ways on a bad note.

  “Yes. Are you feeling all right?” Estelle stepped out from her apartment to whisper to me in the hall. “You aren’t involved with drugs, are you? Is that why you left? Is that why you’re wearing those glasses? Are you high right now?”

  “Estelle, no! I was studying abroad. We just lost touch. I’m going to check the precinct to see if he’s on duty. It was good seeing you.” I kept backing away as I got myself out of the conversation and headed back down to the street.

  It was the last week in November and already dark outside. This was always my favorite time of the year: I loved breathing in the crisp air, dry leaves crunching under my feet, and the mounting anticipation for the holidays. But fall hasn’t been that way in some time. I haven’t celebrated a holiday in two years, and the last time I did was with Lyle’s family in Ohio. He refused to leave me behind to spend my first holiday alone since my parents’ death. At the time I hated him for dragging me into an awkward situation, but I was grateful for all the effort his family put into making me feel welcomed.

  I walked briskly up Lexington Avenue toward Lyle’s precinct on East 102nd Street. It was getting colder out as the moon came into view and all I had on were a T-shirt and jogging pants acquired at the airport in Osaka. I debated hopping on the 6 train, but the only money I had was a twenty-dollar bill.

  It’s funny how much something matters just because the people around you have it. When Noah brought me to the Ōmine mountain range in Nara, Japan, I didn’t know quite what to expect. He wasn’t big on easing me into anything, and since we first met his methods had always been a tad unorthodox.

  The moment we arrived, Noah stripped me of my cell phone and wallet, leaving me with only the clothes on my back. He told me not to leave the area under any circumstances and not to be noticeable or disruptive. The concept of respect was a gray area with him, but I could tell he held this place and its inhabitants in the high regard.

  The mountains there are well-known for their rich culture and ties to the occult. Ascetic hermits known as the Yamabushi have lived there for many generations and are believed to have supernatural powers and spiritual clarity. Noah had trained with them over a century ago, but he had something different in mind for my pilgrimage.

  He left me in the middle of nowhere overnight without a clue of what I should be doing. My first thought was to try and find him, but after another day passed I realized he didn’t want to be found. It was my stomach that put me on the right track. I was getting delirious with hunger by the end of the second day and I had no idea if I could die of starvation.

  A ritual was cast to save me when I became infected by the same parasite that was mutating the citizens of Manhattan. As an unexpected side effect I was thought to have achieved some level of immortality, but the limits of that theory were never fully tested. I had recovered from fatal wounds in seconds and my hair and nails stopped growing unless I cut them, but wasn’t sure if I still needed to breathe or eat.

  Days turned into weeks waiting for Noah on that mountain. After one sad attempt at making a meal out of a rabbit, I decided to stick to berries and fish I found in a stream. I didn’t want to kill. The bloodlust and apathy toward life that had built up inside me when facing the disaster in New York had begun to recede. I started to like being alone on the mountain; it was serene and I had no worries other than finding food. I actually started feeling human again, even if I was living like an animal.

  I lost track of time after the first two weeks and came to appreciate the simplicity of having nothing. Now, after two years, things like money felt unnecessary. Sure, I wanted it, but I didn’t need it. Money and material goods were supposed to make life easier, more comfortable. Looking back at my life before Japan, it seems like those things are less of a luxury and more the result of social anxiety. You won’t die if you don’t have the highest-paying job on the block. The world won’t end
if you don’t get that flat-screen TV.

  I felt the crumpled bill in my pocket as I passed another subway stop. Is coveting this piece of paper worth all the stress it brings? Probably not. Still, I’m not against trading it for some coffee.

  A few more blocks through Spanish Harlem and I’d be at the precinct. Everything here had such a different vibe from the rest of Manhattan. The buildings were all drab grays and browns; the only real color anywhere was the graffiti. Manhattan was so lively and full of lights, with unique storefronts and skyscrapers, yet this part of the city somehow felt tired. Lyle loved working here, though. According to him, this area had come a long way since he was a kid, and I think he liked feeling that he was helping make a difference.

  A group of guys standing around in front of a bodega got my attention. One of them looked at me as I walked by and I could tell right away there was something different about him. Unspoken words hung between us in the brief seconds that our eyes met. I wondered if the people he was with knew about him – if he even knew about himself. He looked just like the rest of them on the outside; baggy clothes, skull cap, tattoos on his face. But what he was on the inside would drastically change people’s opinion about him.

  He was supernatural, like me. I didn’t know what kind exactly, but I could see it in his eyes. The eyes are always a dead giveaway when you know what you’re looking for – when you’re one of them. Other supernaturals I’d met had told me that in the past, supernaturals lived among humans openly; it’s where most fairytales and legends came from. They were even worshipped as gods by some. Now, humanity greatly outnumbers supernatural beings and technology outclasses most of our powers.