The Seventh Age: Dawn

by Rick Heinz

  “Yeah, they’ve been going at it since they got back. I guess it’s a thing now between the two of them. Akira has years of experience playing these. It’s all she used to do. Now she’s got some wicked-fast speed, though, so there’s no point in anyone else playing her,” she replied.

  “So why is Doc playing her, then? Hey, Doc, you are . . .” Mike was about to say “moving like a turtle,” but he realized that Doc was winning with extreme ease.

  “Doc got what he always wanted, the ability to know what everyone else around him is feeling subconsciously, before they know it. He can even manipulate it. It makes for some fun matches actually. Akira has never lost this much in her entire life, but she’s stuck to the couch and refuses to give up. No matter which character Doc picks, he’s been trouncing her all night long.” She stretched and brought a giant wool blanket over her head. “I wanted super speed. All I got was stupid prediction and some sort of psychometry, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

  “It means any object you pick up, you will be able to use. Think about it. You can drive anything now,” Doc said while finishing a combo.

  “Buuuut I already coooould drive anything,” she mewled.

  Mike put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Doc, man, fate of the world? What the hell’s on the news? What’s going on?”

  “Right now you’re expecting me to say, ‘I already know what you’re going to say,’” Doc said.

  “Actually, no,” Mike said.

  “Right, because I already know what you are going to say. We’ve all upgraded to be proper vampires. No big fish like you, though.” He finished writing with his left hand and closed his book, turning his attention to the screen. “Oh, and before you ask, I’m a psychic vampire. I feed off dreams and emotions. Yes, yours are delicious. Please stop watching bad porn, though.”

  “Um. ’Kay? Soooo . . . news?” Mike asked.

  Lucy chimed in. “You really do not want to see the news.”

  “Yeah, I kinda do,” Mike replied.

  “I didn’t know you were a big fan of pop stars getting divorced and drunks showing their tits,” she said. “Wait. Never mind. That does seem like you.”

  “Ouch. That twists, Lucy. You left your knife in my back earlier. Now you gotta poke the wound?” Mike said. “Speaking of that. Lucy, you were a demon hunter. Now you’ve eaten demon hearts. How does that make you feel?” Mike fired a jab back.

  “I ate a few,” she replied. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “Did I turn into a demon?”

  “Well . . . um, no, but—”

  “Can I kill more demons now than I could before?”

  “Uh . . . yes? But—”

  “Do soldiers not use the best weapons at their disposal?”

  “Okay. Yikes. I can’t win against you,” Mike said, holding up his hands while putting a smirk on his face. The room remained silent as Lucy stared at him.

  “Remember that statement,” she said.

  Mike waited as the awkward silence hung in the air, broken at times by the sounds coming from the epic match of Tekken playing out in the background. “Seriously? Nothing? Just pop stars?” he finally said.

  “Yeah, it’s kinda fucked up, huh,” came Phoebe’s muffled voice from under her blanket. “You, however, are a hero and are viral all over the Internet. They keep trying to shut you down. They actually tried to cut the Internet feed, but hackers decided that wasn’t going to do.” She popped her blanket off and smiled at Mike. It sucked him in. “Man, they will remember you for centuries, the guy who turned Chicago into vampires and ghosts.”

  Mike dropped his bag. It made a clang on the concrete floor. “What?”

  Doc performed a finishing move on Akira, who let out a curse that was muffled in the cocoon. “Turns out that you went viral, and rather than run when demons came, most of the people who encountered them did exactly what you said and fought back.”

  Mike let out a laugh. “That’s fucking awesome.”

  Doc continued. “Some of them, after they got their own powers, started wearing armbands, organizing other people. The armbands have green-and-black stripes from your coat, Mikey.”

  Lucy sighed. “A whole lot of untrained people are going to die.”

  Doc shrugged and looked back to Mike. “Either way, whatever the Unification wanted to hide is unhidable here. This is it, Mike. The apocalypse. A revolution is spreading. You gave it a voice. Hope you’re ready for a big fight.” He took a moment to size Mike up and down, his gaze leveled and serious.

  “Fight?” Mike was even paler than usual, but in his eyes there was a tiny spark, a flame that was beginning to kindle.

  “Phoebe picked up prediction, remember? She can guess a coin flip right fifty percent of the time. Eh, a bunch of religious prophetic claptrap I know you won’t care about,” Doc said.

  “Shut up,” Phoebe chimed in. “Short story is war is coming. Fighting and death will surround you, and you’ll make a choice to join a heretic or not. Don’t feel too special, though, cupcake. You aren’t the second coming of Christ. I guess if this . . . all of this . . . isn’t stopped, the death of dreams and the birth of nightmares will be made into flesh in seven years and darkness will rule for a thousand more while the worthy wander lost in a forest no longer ignorant of their natures.”

  Doc Daneka laughed. A tiny set of fangs protruded. When he smiled like a predator, Mike felt like he was being eaten by Doc’s look alone.

  “Then we better rise to the occasion,” Mike said. “I’ve always wanted a revolution. We have to come up with some survival plans. I’m pretty sure world trade will come to a grinding halt soon. At least localized labor will have a place.” He vaulted over the couch and plopped in between Doc and Akira. “First, though, give me that controller. I love this game, and Akira isn’t the only one with speed.”

  As the sun, grayer than the day before, rose on the horizon in Chicago, Mike put down his third controller, broken in half by his frustration. Akira had devastated him twenty-one matches in a row. The weight of the change and the slumber that comes with the rise of the morning star claimed them. The Sons and Daughters slept.

  CHAPTER 26

  Well-laid plans always have problems the moment combat starts. Mr. Bollard reminded himself of this as he stood outside the medical clinic in Minneapolis. He had been leading society containment squads for a few days now. His driver, a council-assigned butler, was there to assist him and to ensure the contingency plans were carried out according to the schedule. He would have preferred another bound demon rather than an assigned grunt from the council.

  Wheels within wheels, Bollard.

  The sounds of gunfire echoed in the night from the clinic, reminding Mr. Bollard that other activities should be holding his attention right now.

  Everything had been going according to plan for some time. Glory-seeking dignitaries would move into an area primed for a dive, usually noticed by demons or ghosts bounding out of purgatory, looking for their escape. Society crews would move in to reinforce and contain the area and sometimes assist with diving in as well. It was a rather bloody affair on all sides.

  His plan required sacrifice, but he was sure that his employers would understand.

  The ends do indeed justify the means.

  “Oh, I do believe we will do a fantastic job by sticking to our specialty.” Mr. Bollard, secretly a rakshasa himself, knew more about the various layers of hell and its inner workings than all but the most experienced warlocks.

  At each location, Mr. Bollard would enter the building alone, take on his true form, and sacrifice a handful of the building’s inhabitants in a ritual to summon up another demon. Once one demon had entered the world, others in that particular area of hell would rush to that exit.

  This would prevent them from spawning in random uncontrolled areas of the city. Helldiver teams would move in and launch their exploration in pursuit of Lazarus, w
hile he spied on the paths they took through the labyrinth, looking for what he needed. He would then send in the society’s Special Forces units to eliminate everyone and everything on the inside. A nice, contained, and clean operation. Each section of purgatory within the Twin Cities, block by block, was explored and mapped by this method.

  Well, each section that I am responsible for anyway.

  So far, this method had pleased Lady Dumont and allowed Mr. Bollard enough free time to engage in some personal indulgences and side business. Of course if it was discovered he was rakshasa himself, it might cause some difficulties. After all, a demon summoning forth other demons was the entire secret to his success. Something that would land him in Vryce’s experimentation chambers with his heart likely consumed to grant some unworthy human magical powers.

  JJ had already tried to convince Bollard that Delilah Dumont was the only human in this city with whom he should be willing to make a pact, granting her some of his blood in exchange for future services. For that to happen, however, Vryce would have to die, for the warlock would never allow Delilah to make a pact with him out of jealousy. Perhaps Vryce would get lost in hell himself or eaten alive by an arch demon. Mr. Bollard struggled with the thought. He loved and hated the idea. Stealing her from Vryce would satiate a vice of his, but his blood carried too much power. Deus was not to be trifled with, as evidenced by his current observations.

  Mr. Bollard didn’t expect the Special Forces units of the society to be as effective in combating the forces of hell and returning back from the pits. Dignitary helldivers were powerful, experienced, and well prepared. They would lead a squad in, and in most cases, it was only the squad that came out with information of the landscape below, lost treasures, and a few casualties.

  No wonder Delilah approves of our methods. We are perfect cover for them to eliminate competition in this race as well. A nice symbiotic relationship. Still, it’s not like the society is always successful. More than a few outsiders have come back with great acclaim and mapped out significant paths. This portal, however . . . I had a good feeling about this location.

  Pulling on the leather gloves to ensure a snug fit and taking a deep breath, Mr. Bollard held it, counting for four seconds before exhaling. A plume of warm air danced in the night sky lit by the waning moon. They were ready.

  “Pull up the video feed from the unit commander. I wish to see the results,” Mr. Bollard said to his driver.

  Mr. Bollard had chosen this medical clinic for a specific reason. Inside housed research into the uses of demon blood and children who had undergone a particular ritual from a warlock before birth. The purpose of such a ritual was to ensure their future as sorcerers. It had been done a few times throughout history with terrifying effectiveness. The warlock had sped up the process that would normally take seven generations of parents who each had a seventh son.

  Well, it’s not that much of a mystery. Delilah Dumont showed him the beauty of embryo manipulation and modern- day science, allowing him to achieve those exact results.

  The truth of this medical clinic was technically above Mr. Bollard’s clearance level. He was only here because the Captain uncovered it.

  It was a perfect location for an expedition. The suffering, shadows, secrecy, and spellcraft surrounding the facility meant Bollard could dive deeper and longer once he removed everyone and everything out of the way. So he summoned a plague demon inside after the sacrifice of the personnel. He tipped off some divers to pave the way. He even mobilized the Special Forces unit, with little information about what they would be facing. They were expecting barghests and carrion eaters again.

  Then the bastard showed up with his own crew.

  Gabriel D’Angelo and his companions had not asked any questions before entering the building minutes ago. He had been freed to assist the society with their operations. He brought with him Captain Mitch Slade, leader of the first precinct and a Masonic apprentice to Master Vryce. He also brought Cael McManus, a druid sorcerer from the Unification branch in Greenland, another of his apprentices. The three of them together might as well have been the closest sorcerers to Warlock Vryce out of anyone here. In addition, a small crew of the vampiric army of the society led by Alexander Lex DuPris provided backup.

  The driver had finished pulling up the video feed from Mr. Bollard’s unit commander. “Bloody hell,” he said, as the shaky camera offered a limited picture of what was happening inside.

  “Bloody hell is right,” Mr. Bollard replied. He leaned into the car window to get a better view. If he had eyebrows, they would reveal a look of surprise. “This is not according to plan.”

  “Which plan, sir?” the driver asked.

  “Be first,” JJ said, quickly taking control of the body.

  The screen revealed Gabriel surrounded by a ring of red-and-blue flame. There were several other rings in the distance with soldiers inside them. Insects from the plague demon were repelled and banished back by the flames. The walls of purgatory pulsed with a sickly neon-green light, but here, a vortex led straight down.

  JJ, I thought you said he could not cast spells of high sorcery?

  “I didn’t think he could,” he replied, right as he looked at the driver.

  “They seem to be most effective, sir. Considering only hellhounds were expected, the unit was not equipped to handle a plague demon. Judging from what we can see, perhaps even more than one. Do you think these are agents of Legion, the many demons of one name? According to our information, they should only be active within the region of the Black Sea. For them to be here, they would have to be directly summoned.” He pointed with excitement. “Look! See there. On the head of the one behind the fires, the head of swine and the mark of the beast.”

  “You did not answer my question. Gabriel is moving objects with telekinesis, and that is an earth elemental guarding him. The others are acting according to their operational methods. Lex has transformed into the war form of dracul, Slade wields his flaming swords, and Cael is commanding summoned vines.” JJ pointed and gestured to each instance as they came on camera. He radioed the commander and told him to get him a visual of Gabriel as he watched the soldiers unload round after round into the endless legion coming from the pit.

  The driver interrupted. “Gabriel does not possess any of these abilities. According to Unification files, he is an unblooded witch. Born to a family who by birthright can command the blood by will. Perhaps we underestimated their lot? There is a significant amount of demon blood within that room. Or perhaps Warlock Vryce is possessing him,” he said.

  “Perhaps it is Master Vryce. I see no symptoms or signs of possession, though,” JJ replied while peering at the screen.

  Of course. You could just be wrong about him. These are special children, though. Did we stumble onto a tool we can use later as a lure? Mr. Bollard looked back at the clinic. Flashes of light reflected off the black windows, creating a shadow puppet show. If Vryce has a weakness for this, we can exploit it. He’ll keep all other divers away from here. His lips curled in a smile with pointed teeth starting to grow as he gazed into the building. He reached into his coat and clicked the safety off his pistol. It had been loaded with a special ammunition blessed by papal authority.

  “No! It’s not him. I can confirm that Warlock Vryce is meeting as we speak with Alexandria of Ur and other dignitaries in the Libraries of Deus.” The driver clicked his phone shut. “We are observing Gabriel and Legion. Look! Gabriel just sliced the head off the Unification diver himself! Sir, inform the death lords of this backstab. The society is killing off their agents.”

  Shit. Delilah and the society aren’t here saving Lazarus at all. I’m being used as a patsy. Or tested. How do I play this out? As Mr. Bollard and JJ conversed with each other internally, Bollard clicked the safety on his pistol and halted his shape change.

  An explosion blasted the windows out, creating a shower of blackened glass. As cold air rushed in, the flames were given strength by fresh air and blazed even ho
tter. Mr. Bollard could feel the waves of heat wash over him. He closed his eyes to embrace it.

  “Tell me what’s happening in there,” JJ said with his eyes closed.

  “Visual is lost, sir. Smoke has blinded everything.” The Englishman tossed the tablet into the vehicle. “Would you care for a spot of brandy, sir?”

  “Perhaps. What year?” he paused. “Are they dead?”

  Would that not be a tip of luck in our favor?

  “Brandy de Jerez Solera Gran Reserva, sir. I’m sure you will find it to your liking.” The driver produced a flask from his suit and passed it over. “It is highly unlikely they are dead. Although judging from the popping of overheated insects, I would wager that the agents of Legion are.”

  “Since we have arrived here in the city, you’ve neglected to share that you are walking around with decades-old brandy?” Mr. Bollard opened the flask and smelled it. JJ felt pleased at the sting in his nostrils and took a swig. The sky was lit up by fleeing burning scarabs and beetles.

  “One must always be prepared to carouse if you are going to remain unnoticed,” he said.

  The words hung in Bollard’s mind longer than normal. It was interesting advice and something they could put into motion. After this scenario, they would need to engage in some carousing to cover his tracks and motives. You got greedy, Mr. Bollard. Now it’s my turn to fix your mistakes. You were too hasty trying to be first. I think we can do better.

  The doors to the clinic spewed smoke as flames ravaged the inside. First the Special Forces unit made their way out, escorting a handful of ash-covered children with rags over their faces, followed by Alexander Lex DuPris, no longer in his war form, his clothes shredded. He picked an insect from his ragged hair and ate it, looking rather satisfied with himself.

  Everyone else made their way out of the building as quickly as they could: some bothered by the smoke; some strolling out as if it was air they breathed daily.

  Gabriel was the last to exit. He carried an eight-year-old boy who was still in hospital robes. Gabriel wrapped the kid in his singed and blackened fleece. He even took a moment to lick his thumb and give the child a smile as he cleaned off the kid’s face.