The Men Who Killed God (Sinner of the Infinite Book 1)

by J Alex McCarthy

  He stood in the clouds. There were white clouds rampaging only a few feet above him and the stillest pure white clouds covering his feet. He wore a white long sleeve button-up shirt with gray slacks and a matching gray vest. His face was no older than twenty-five. But as a god, his life had spanned centuries.

  Once, when he was younger, he tried to see if there was actually a floor in this place. But as his hands dug through the clouds, only more clouds took their place.

  The room seemed to go on until infinity. An infinity of clouds and white. But some were able to see past the infinity, past the white and awe. Beyond the white, to where there was an infinity of colors, all swirling in unlimited possibilities. Not Svante.

  This place of white was where he got his power, where all the gods where born. The Wavering Radiant.

  And the place He rested. But it had been over five hundred years since He last spoke to him. Was He afraid of what was to come? Would they forsake him?

  Svante spoke, hoping that He would hear him once again. “Queen made me the head of the Inquisitors. And the god of war.” Svante laughed. “Me, the god of war. Just because I followed her rules, because I believed her lies.” Svante kicked up some of the clouds and immediately, more clouds filled their place.

  “Heh, god of war. Just like my brother. Ironic. What should I do?”

  There was no answer. The stillness of the Wavering Radiant was deafening. The clouds swirled and moved but there was never any sound. The sound of life itself.

  Svante lowered his head. “No answer…again. I know you must be afraid of what’s coming.” Svante’s voice lowered. “I know you haven’t forsaken us, I know you haven’t left us, even if everyone believes you have. It’s almost time for your return. Father, the Omega. He.”

  Svante turned and left. His footsteps echoing in the Radiant.

  Kevan stood in the corner of a boxing ring. The gym was empty except for him and his training partner. Eight months. Kevan and his partner tapped gloves in the middle and they sparred.

  Kevan’s muscles twisted and turned as his fists flew through the air. His partner was good and blocked and weaved past his swings. Eight months of hard work fired through his veins, twisting among the chiseled curves of his muscles. Eight months of training so that the next time he saw his brother, he could kill him.

  Afterwards, Kevan showered and got dressed. In his normal jeans and white Henley tee, he sat on a locker room bench and stared at the ground. After August left, his life had turned to shit. His whole life was coming apart.

  The only light in his eyes now was Luna.

  Kevan left the gym and drove to her apartment. It was in a better part of town and his rickety pickup truck looked out of place. He parked and went to her door and let himself in with his key.

  Luna jumped up from the couch, nearly tumbling over her swollen belly. She righted herself. “God, Kevan, I’ve been calling you all day.”

  “I was at the gym.”

  “Ignoring me? You can’t be going to the gym all day when I’m this far in my third trimester.”

  “It was only for a few hours.”

  “Yeah and who knows what could’ve happened when you were off playing with your gym buddies in the shower.”

  Kevan sighed.“Where is this crib you want me to build?”

  She pointed to an open box, the parts were all over the floor. She must have tried to build it herself and failed. He went to it and started to build the thing. It was a two-man job and Kevan doubted Luna was going to help. Not that she could. She was on the couch, holding an ice cream carton on her belly while she ate out of it.

  She could’ve at least read the instructions out for him.

  Luna said, “We also have to child-proof everything.”

  She always needed something done, something bought. He wished for a day she would just shut up. He had someone else to worry about at the moment.

  Luna continued as Kevan built, “You have to buy the child locks for the cabinets. I’ll give you my card so you can get them.”

  Kevan continued to build, stuck in his own thoughts.

  “Also, have you read the books I gave you yet?”

  Kevan didn’t answer. Why was building a damn crib so complex? He stared at the pieces. He had built cars from scratch that were less complicated. He had built his own tree house when he was a kid and he still couldn’t build a damn crib. He was getting angry, he didn’t have time for this. He needed to go home.

  “Then you have to take me to the workshop at 7 and—“

  She finally noticed that she was seemingly talking to herself.

  “Kevan!” she yelled.

  “What?” He continued to work on the crib.

  “You’re not listening to me!”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “No, you’re not. You ignoring me while you build that damn crib.”

  Kevan stood and grabbed Luna’s shoulders.

  In a calming tone, he said, “I’m building the thing you asked me to build. Okay, I am listening.”

  “Then what are you supposed to do today?”

  “Buy child locks, build the crib and take you to the pregnant couple’s workshop.”

  Luna looked down and hugged him, pushing her belly into his.

  “I’m sorry, it’s my hormones. I can’t wait to push this damned thing out of me.”

  “It’s alright. I love you.” He kissed her.

  Luna looked into his eyes. “Is it still on your mind?”

  “What?”

  “You know what. She needs help.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “It’s okay, you can build the crib later. Go to her.”

  …

  Kevan walked into the kitchen of his mother’s house. Barbara stood next to the microwave, where a Hot Pocket was cooking. Eight months and his mother hadn't changed a single thing in the place. A layer of dust was on everything. Maybe he should help clean up for once. She wasn’t going to do it.

  His mother‘s skin was pale. She had dark spots on her arms and deep bags under her eyes. Her skin was dry and cracking. She had a slight jitter as she rubbed her fingers together as her food cooked.

  Kevan didn’t say anything. He went into the cabinets and pulled out a box of mac and cheese and a pot. He started to boil the water for it.

  Barbara said, “I got mail for you.”

  Her voice was a wisp, it had lost all its luster in the last eight months.

  “Thanks,” he said, while he poured the macaroni into the boiling water.

  “Remember Margaret? She wanted to know if you can help her fix her fence again.”

  “Is she paying this time?” He never turned away from his food.

  “A little good favor never hurt anybody.”

  “I’m tired of her damn kids fucking around with the fence and then her asking me to fix it when they mess it up. I got too much shit to do.” Like what? Building crap for Luna and making sure his mother didn’t OD again.

  The microwave beeped. Barbara pulled out her food and just stood there.

  Kevan continued to cook. He glanced back at her as she stared at her food. She was fidgeting, vigorously rubbing her arm.

  “Kev—”

  She stopped. Kevan placed his hands on the counter and sighed aggressively. Here it comes.

  “Hey Kevan—I need a little—“

  Kevan hated when she got like this.

  “I need a little extra money.”

  “No.”

  “But I need it for—I need it for Shena. I haven’t had my hair done in some time.” She rubbed her hands through her frail thinning hair. Kevan was surprised how long her excuses worked on him before he found out.

  “Get a job.”

  “Come on, Kevan! I just need—“

  “No!”

  Barbara staggered back.

  “I’m not going to help you get your fix. Especially when you can’t come up with a better bullshit excuse.”

  Barbara stopped rubbing her arms.
“You think— you think this is easy for me?”

  “No, but you should get help.”

  “I can’t afford help, Kevan.” She started rubbing her arms again. “I just need a little something to help the shakes. Please, son.”

  “I’ll pay.”

  Barbara stiffened.

  “I’ll pay for your rehab. Would that be okay?”

  “You can’t. You—you have a kid on the way.”

  “I want to.”

  “But…“

  She paused and rubbed her fingers together. Kevan was getting annoyed. Just accept the damn offer.

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “I’m going to do it.”

  “Just give me a little money—for a hair appointment and everything will be fine.”

  “This is bullshit!” Kevan threw his pot into the wall and food splattered onto the floor. “Always with your god-damn excuses. I’m offering to fucking pay for you to get better and you won’t fucking take it. I’m done with you.”

  He stormed into the hallway.

  “Kevan, wait!”

  Barbara chased after him.

  “Kevan, stop!”

  He stopped. He was a fool, to actually listen to her anymore.

  “I’ll…”

  She breathed in heavily. “I’ll do it.”

  He turned to her. Tears fell from her eyes.

  “Just—Just don’t leave me. You’re the only thing I have left.”

  Kevan went up to her and they hugged. When his father died, his mother lost it. Her husband gone, one of her children a murderer. She had always been a fragile woman, but it was too much. She started to use, only a month after his father’s death.

  August drove her to this. He killed their father and now he was slowly killing their mother. August was the reason Kevan’s world was falling apart.

  …

  August sat on a couch in an apartment. The apartment was extremely average, the walls white. The furniture understated. August was a part of the couch, his tired eyes staring at the TV screen while soap operas played. He wore a white stained t-shirt and no pants. His beard was bristly and unkempt.

  On the coffee table where his feet lay, there was a stack of job applications, most of them half filled out. They were being used as coasters for the empty beer bottles on the table.

  There was a click at the front door.

  “Shit.”

  August jumped up and brushed the potato chip crumbs off his shirt and started to fill out the applications.

  “God-dammit, August!” Sara yelled. She walked in with her hands full of groceries. August ignored her and continued to fill out the paperwork.

  “What?”

  “You haven’t done crap all day.”

  “Yes, I have!”

  She dropped her bags and ran to him and ripped the application from his hands.

  “These are the job applications from a week ago, August!”

  August sighed and leaned back on the couch. Great, another argument.

  “You haven’t done a single thing since we got here.”

  “I’m grieving.”

  “You don’t think I haven’t grieved? I have, August, but we didn’t leave our home for nothing.” She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “Definitely not to sit on the couch all day watching soap operas!”

  August didn’t look at her. What was wrong with soap operas?

  “I have kept up the fight, August. This isn’t a game. If it wasn’t for a favor from a friend, we would’ve never gotten our new identities. You’re squandering that favor. I can’t do this alone and at this point, I’m not even sure if you want to take down the gods or not.”

  August stared at the beer bottles on the table. Take down the gods. How stupid of a goal was that?

  “I do. It’s just…”

  “Come on.”

  He looked up at her. She smiled.

  “I got something to show you.”

  He followed her into their office. August had never gone into the office before. He never needed to.

  There was a single desk with a roller chair in the small room filled with clutter. Folders, papers, boxes, littered the floor. Whiteboards hung on the walls. One of them was filled with pictures of Queen. The greatest god after He.

  Sara sat in the chair and logged into the computer. August stared at the screen as Sara quickly closed an open window. But August saw the last message before she closed it. It said “Love you.”

  The fuck.

  “When you were at home messing around, I was doing some research.”

  She clicked on a program with the icon of an onion and opened a message board and then logged into the chat.

  “I found them.”

  “Found what?”

  She typed into the chat and asked “Is the meeting still on?”

  After only a few seconds, someone by the name of godkiller replied “yes.”

  “A group of people just like us, people the gods have spited. People who want to take down the gods and have the means to.”

  “And you just found them online? Doesn’t Ifor monitor everything?”

  “They do, but there are ways around it. There’s a meeting near us tonight. I want you to come with me.”

  “What? How did you find them?”

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She laughed and tapped her finger on his nose.

  “You ever think it was a trap? Maybe this is a set-up.”

  “No. It isn’t, trust me on this.”

  August stared at the screen. It seemed too easy. Or maybe he had always underestimated the woman he loved. He could trust her to make good on her judgement. She chose him after all. But what about the message he saw? Maybe it was all those soap operas he watched. It could’ve been nothing. It must have been nothing.

  He’d look into it later. Maybe that was her way in to the group. He kissed her on her forehead. “Alright, I’ll go. Let’s go kill some gods.”

  …

  Kevan sat at his usual spot at the bar. In front of him was a pile of receipts, scattered along the bar, and a calculator. He was crunching and writing down numbers on a piece of paper.

  The bartender gave him another glass of whiskey.

  “Thanks,” Kevan said to him. Maybe he went here too often. He wasn’t an alcoholic, he could’ve given up at any time but… he wrote down a negative number.

  But he was freaking figuring out his finance problems at a bar. Maybe Frank, the bartender, let him do whatever he wanted to as long as he bought something. But Kevan felt that was counterproductive.

  Kevan growled, staring at the numbers on all the sheets of paper in front of him. There was no way he was going to be able to afford to pay for his mother’s rehab. Kevan lifted a pamphlet. Heaven’s Heights. One of the best rehabs in the state. She’d never kick her problem if she went to a low-rate center that didn’t give a damn about her.

  A man sat next to him and ordered a gin and tonic. The bartender brought him his drink. The dirty-looking man stared at Kevan’s work.

  “Hmm, negative two thousand dollars. You’ll never kick your problem if you don’t get a better handle on your money.”

  Kevan glanced up at him. “What the hell is it to you? How about you fuck off?”

  “Sorry, I meant no offense. Just trying to start a casual conversation.”

  Kevan ignored him.

  “My name is Brookes.” He extended his hand. At first Kevan ignored him, but the man held out his hand, unwavering, for an uncomfortably long time.

  Kevan gave in and shook.

  “Kevan.”

  Brookes was a dirty-looking fellow. The bags under his eyes said he was older than forty, his unwrinkled skin under fifty. His long brown beard and hair were speckled with grey. He wore a grimy green canvas jacket covered in oily black spots. Kevan was surprised he didn’t smell like shit, but instead he reeked of booze.

  “It’s not for me,” Kevan said.

  Brookes downed his g
in and tonic in one swallow and motioned for another.

  “Then why are you trying to pay for it?”

  “You’re asking the wrong question.”

  “I’m just saying. If it was me, I’d let them fiend for themselves. Why do you have to pay charity for someone else?”

  “You speak as if you know me? You’re drunk. Screw off now before we have a problem.”

  Brookes downed another drink.

  “Sorry. Sorry. You just look familiar. I knew a guy who looked a lot like you. His name was Patrick.”

  Kevan froze. Brookes took notice.

  “So, you are his son. Are you the one who killed him in cold blood?” Brookes tone turned serious.

  Kevan looked down.

  “No. That was my brother, August.”

  “Ah, sorry about that then.” He patted Kevan on his back. “I forgot that he told me he had two sons. Sorry I acted hostile, he was a good friend of mine and I thought you were that son.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “So, you’re Kevan.” The man laughed.

  Kevan didn’t answer him. He didn’t need this, he needed to figure out how to help his mother.

  “If you’re looking for help, you could go to Ifor.”

  “Why would I go to them? The last I checked, they don’t give out charity.”

  “Your father is why. He was a great man and did them a great service. Sometimes they perform special requests if you get on the right person’s good side. I’m sure they’ll listen to your request when you tell them that you were Patrick’s son.”

  Asking for Ifor’s help. He really didn’t think negatively or positively about the gods. He had to ask for their help. With a baby on the way, he couldn’t afford to keep his family together. He wanted his kid to have a grandmother.

  “How?” Kevan asked.

  “You can call to set an appointment for a special request, I know some people there. I could get you into the room with someone who matters in the organization. It might even be a god.”

  “Why? Why are you helping me?”

  “Like I said, your father was a good man. I owe him a favor.”

  Kevan looked at the windows, he could never tell what time it was in the place. They had the windows boarded up. But he had a guess that it was too late to go tonight. He got his papers and receipts together and turned to Brookes.