The Awakening of the Gods (Forgotten Ones)

by M. H. Hawkins

  “Yes, I’m still here, but the more important question is: why are you still here?

  Trevor leaned back incredulously, hard and with exaggeration. “Why are we here?” Trevor tosses one of the emerald blades aside. It disappeared into a flash of fluorescent green then blasted back into the first emerald blade, making it glow momentarily as well. “Azazel, why are we still here? That answer is easy. We haven’t finished what we came here to do.

  “The boy,” Azazel said. They’re still wanting to kill the boy, Mea’s brother. Trevor isn’t that bold, Azazel thought. He isn’t that clever to go after the boy… “Who sent you?”

  Trevor grinned and gave Azazel a condescending look. “Who sent us? Azazel, aren’t you the inquisitive one… aren’t you? Aye, Azazel, look around. You aren’t the only god in town. You aren’t even the only god on the street… are ya?”

  Azazel looked at the axe in his left hand. God how he wanted to use it to split open Trevor’s head like a cantaloupe. Azazel snorted and thought about who Trevor was talking about. It was the Dark One or the Wolf. It obviously wasn’t Mea, so the next likely candidate was Lilith. But she would have told him about her plan... wouldn’t she? Then the answer popped into Azazel’s head. “The Beast, the Lord of Desolation.”

  “There it is!” Trevor exclaimed then playfully jabbed the emerald sword in Azazel’s direction, grinning again. “We have a winner. Circle takes the square.”

  “He’ll betray you,” Azazel said. Yelling over Trevor’s head, he shouted out to the army of outcasts, a warning. “The Lord of Desolation, the Harbinger, he’ll betray you, all of you. He will use you to do his dirty work, to set the stage for his… pets. Then he will use you for food, pet food, and that will be the end of your story. Is that what you want? Is that the kind of god you want to serve?”

  “Well,” Trevor said with his brow wrinkled inquisitively. “That’s the thing, isn’t it?” He went on to scratching the back of his head, sending his perfectly tussled jet-black hair flopping around as he did so. Finished scratching, he shrugged. “He wouldn’t be the first god we killed for. Aye, or for that matter, he wouldn’t be the first god to use us for his dirty work, or even the first god to betray us… now would he?

  Azazel huffed and shook his head, knowing that Trevor was talking about his failed uprising. If he only knew the truth, Azazel thought, if only anyone knew the truth… but they don’t, nobody does. “Trevor, listen—“

  “No. You listen. The great god… Azazel. I mean, who are you to give us orders. You can’t even use your true name. Do you even remember it—“

  “—I know my name,” Azazel snapped back, cutting Trevor off from saying Azazel’s true name. “You don’t know him. You don’t—“

  “—And you do?” Trevor angrily snapped back. “You know him? Or have you forgotten, aye? The first rebellion in Heaven, the Ravaging of Elysium? Aye, ‘course he was known as Vandriel, the Eternal Sword of Light, at the time, but he—“

  “—Then where is he?” Azazel snapped back again, growing angrier with each one of Trevor’s misgivings. Although, truth be told, Azazel’s mistakes were monumental as well, and he knew that he really didn’t have room to talk.

  Along with that, Azazel didn’t really remember Vandriel nor did he ever remember meeting him. He remembered fighting someone during the first rebellion—him and Mea, but he didn’t remember the leader. Vandriel. Somehow though, when Trevor mentioned Vandriel’s name, it jogged his memories.

  Together they defeated the army of rebellious angels. The rebels, their wings were as black as his, but their blood was the color of ink. Their angelic eyes had been transformed into blood-red pools of corruption and brutality. Savages, they were… feeding on the angels of Elysium that fell in battle, slaughtering the souls in Heaven, the ones that actually made it there.

  There ranks swelled, and the armies of tainted angels turned their sights on the crystal city. Even its towering walls weren’t enough to endure their siege. In the end, the mammoth glass-like wall of the city fell, reduced to nothing but giant chunks of quartz and… He, Mea, and the rest of the loyal angels fought off the siege and save most of the city.

  Sparing them the final death, Mea opted to exile them, casting them out of Heaven and down to Earth, exploding into what is now-known as Angel Falls. After the rebellion was squashed, Vandriel went missing, most likely going back to sleep, as the gods normally did. As for Vandriel’s fallen angels, as the world changed and mankind evolved, they were lost with the passing of time and never seen again. “Vandriel,” Azazel huffed. “Vandriel’s rebellion failed, just as mine had— and if Vandriel is so great, where are his fallen angels?

  “Azazel,” Trevor said in a playfully tone, with the clear intent of taunting Azazel . “I’m sensing a wee-bit of jealousy in your voice. Aye, I am. That’s not like you. As for Vandriel’s fallen angels, as you like to call them, he told us where they are, where they went.

  “And where’s that?” asked Azazel, knowing that Trevor’s answer would be somewhere between a rose-scented chamber pot and a blatant lie.

  “They ascended, just as we will… to a new heaven with a new god. Aye, it’s certainly better than to where you led us, living in squaler, squatting in abandoned factory, existing just to exist… in the filth of the mortals. And now… it’s just nice to be wanted, you know.”

  “Trevor,” Azazel sighed, still trying to save the outcasts from themselves. While Azazel may have misled them and was responsible for the brunt of their hardships, he still cared for them and didn’t want them following this path, a path that led to certain death. “I made some mistakes. There’s no denying that. When we were cast out of Elysium, out of Heaven… I tried to teach you to live with them, the mortals. I tried to teach myself but…”

  “But they think we’re freaks, right? That was what you were going to say, isn’t it? The mortals looks at us like we’re trash—freaks, weirdos, filth… but you want us be like them, right? Aye, when we shared our knowledge with them, they heralded us. But when we told them what we truly were, what we are… they condemned us, called us sorcerers, witches. Aye, but when we hid who we truly were, hid our sins, our power… to be like them… Then they just called us freaks, spit on us, told us that we didn’t belong in their society.” Disgusted by the subject, Trevor huffed. “No, we tried, but no, we will not try again. The mortals, aye, they are the freaks, the weirdos… the cowards. Never again will we hide our true selves from the mortals, concealing our existent behind the wasted memories they left behind. No more, never again. And now… we will do what we came to do… and kill the boy. Aye, our new god commands it.”

  “My brothers and sisters,” Trevor yelled and held up his emerald sword. “Let us seize our future.” The army of outcasts squeezed their weapons. Their eyes flashed green, and they were about to charge.

  Azazel readied his axes, sharpening one axe’s edge on the other one, sending flashes of sparked metal in front of him. With narrowed eyes, he prepared to take them all on. But then…

  The heavy, gray clouds that hung overhead flashed. Then they flashed again and kept flashing, like a strobe light made of lightning. Though the weather was fair (though obnoxiously overcast) and the temperature was a calm sixty-five degrees, Azazel saw that his breath was now frosting, and the air was a lot cold and crisper. Azazel lowering his axes took a step back.

  All hell broke loose. The lightning flashes came even quicker, and seemed to be coming from every direction. Strangely silent as it was, the lightning was still ferocious, as violent and wild as he’d ever seen. Azazel watched as Daikon moved to his side while Nisha and her wolves remained stationary.

  The once-focused outcasts were suddenly very distracted and more concerned with the lightning storm. They frantically looked around, trying to pinpoint the cause of the lightning and looking for answers—from the heavens and then from one another.

  Azazel was oddly calm. “Wait,” he told Daikon as he held up his axe and blocked his friend�
�s impending attack. They nodded at each other then took another step backwards.

  The outcasts were less calm and already starting to break ranks. Their orderly columns of soldiers became nothing but sloppy lines of confused followers. He could sense their wavering loyalty. In fact, the outcasts’ loyalty was already on shaky ground, and about half of them were no loyal to Vandriel than they were to Azazel. Most were followed Trevor solely because he controlled the emerald blade, their symbol of leadership. It’s now or never, he thought. “Kill them! We are the new gods, let us—“

  The thunder finally came and stole the words right out of Trevor’s mouth. Rattling the air, it began sounding like an exploding mountain. Then more lightning came, this time crashing down in waves. Like machine gun fire, the lightning exploded into the sidewalk, from back of the outcast army and towards Azazel. Each strike stenciled a charred spider web into the concrete walkway.

  The outcasts that broke ranks and fled met it first-hand. No less than twenty had tried to escape. They made it as far as the sidewalk before they were halted by a bolt of golden electricity, frozen in their footsteps. The paralysis didn’t last long, and their veins lit up with the same lightning that struck them… and then they shattered.

  Seeing this, the remaining outcasts grew even more fearful, and it sent them huddling in the street and with each other. Now none of them were particularly motivated in fleeing, and attacking was out of the question.

  The lightning strikes finally made it to the front of the outcast formation and paused. Then it didn’t. Lightning slammed into the asphalt like gunfire then struck almost-directly between Daikon and Azazel, like machine gun fire.

  The whistling of a high-speed jet followed, and bullets rained down from heaven. Crystal shards, actually. They peppered the asphalt just in front of the first row of outcasts then curved around the formation of fallen angels. The outcasts crept backwards a few steps, but Trevor was less worried. As lightning crashed down once again, Trevor moved only ever-so-slightly to his left, casually yet narrowing avoiding the bolt of lightning. Then, almost too slowly, he yanked the emerald blade in front of him, deflecting the edged shard of crystal from slicing into him.

  By now everyone was looking at the sky. Far above them, Mea’s wings were flared out like a glider covered in snow, and she gently floated down from the darkness, into the center of the melee, between the two armies and between Azazel and Daikon.

  It wasn’t over. Lightning slammed into the shadow that hung overhead and filled its capillaries with electricity that glittered like gold and lit up the creases between its scales like a high-powered spotlight that lived within the creature.

  Its eyes were the same color and design of the lightning. And when it roared, only the sound of slamming thunder came out, shaking the earth and rattling everyone’s bones. Rearing back its head, the creature looked like it was about to spew fire. It opened its massive jaw instead, showing of its gleaming fangs.

  Instead of fire, a thick stream of lighting shot out of the creature’s muzzle. Thick and bright, it scattered and filled the air with a lattice of electricity. The largest bolt was aimed at Azazel and shattered the asphalt a near his foot. Then another lightning bolt did the same.

  Odd, thought Azazel, and they say lightning never strikes twice in the same place. He watched as it did it again, although this time he felt both the lightning and thunder rumble through him. What the hell? wondered Azazel. Then he had it. Snorting and grinning—huh—he looked up at the sky. All that lightning, makes sense. She’s pissed, probably because I killed her. Azazel gazed up at the dark, heavy clouds hanging above them and the rest of the block, and then he saw the angry, giant creature hidden behind them. Teeth, scales, massive wings, teeth the size of broadswords. “Hello, Anna.”

  And while not necessarily feeling one way or another, Azazel thought, doesn’t anyone stay dead anymore.

  The thunder slammed against the air again, and more lightning crashed inches away from where the previous bolt hit. Azazel chewed his lip then said, “Still a little bit sore, aren’t ya?” He turned to Daikon and said, “I killed her, Anna. She was a Nephilim, a half-breed.”

  “Yeah,” Daikon said, “I know. Blackwell had her locked up in the stone tower… and now she’s a storm dragon.”

  “And now she’s a storm dragon,” echoed Azazel.

  With the unforeseen interruption, Trevor started to feel trapped, like the walls were closing in on him. His plans had been thwarted. His obedient army had reverted back to the disordered rabble of outcasts they were before. Soon to be completely alone, he had no chance at killing the boy or taking on Azazel. His eyes darted around while he tried to hide his concerns. Then he saw it, opportunity.

  With the crashing thunder and the flurry of lightning strikes sent Trevor’s skin tingling with opportunity. Azazel was distracted and facing away from him. Equally important, the two axes clenched in his hands were now hanging limply and lackadaisically at his sides.

  Trevor decided to seize the opportunity. Trevor lifted his emerald sword and dashed forward, ready to hack into the middle of Azazel’s back.

  A spin and two wind-milling axes ended Trevor’s assault. Azazel’s first blow struck true and sent the emerald sword and Trevor’s hands tumbling forward and into the middle of the street. The second one drew a thin line across Trevor’s neck. With a delayed reaction, Trevor grinned then groaned his last words. “Vandriel has awakened.” Then, as his Trevor lifted up his arms and glimpsed his newly trimmed wrists, and smacked his tongue and looked like he was about to say something, but he didn’t.

  The sound of crunching metal interrupted Trevor’s final moments, and everyone turned to see the hood of June Swiekert’s 1996 Ford Mustang get hammered into the car’s engine block and the windshield explode. Blasting down from the night’s sky and landing quite spectacularly, it was Mea.

  With her thin, glassy swords in hand and her wings flared out behind her, her appearance was awe-inspiring—and apparently she brought a storm dragon with her.

  The outcasts backed away while remaining in the street—unsure if they should be more afraid of her or the storm dragon. Considering that Mea was the same god that exiled them from their home and the same one that had killed so many of their kind, it wasn’t that hard of a decision. To them, Mea might as well been the boogey man, a nightmare that had been made real, the embodiment of divine justice. Even if she didn’t believe it herself, the outcasts did. Their fear forced them shuffling backwards and into each other, but they were careful to not fully retreat, afraid of being picked off by the storm dragon, Mea, or both.

  Mea eyed the scrambling herd of outcasts then eyed the army of wolves before hopping off June Swiekert’s demolished Ford Mustang. “What’s the meaning of this?” Though her question was aimed at the outcasts, Mea would have taken any answer, almost any answer. When Trevor’s severed head bumped into her armored foot, it wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Glaring at the rocking head, Trevor’s lifeless lips pecked at the silver armor of Mea’s foot.

  Azazel tried to provide some clarification. “Just a misunderstanding.”

  Mea glanced over at the glowing emerald sword that still had Trevor’s hands wrapped around the sword’s grip. “A misunderstanding?”

  Azazel shrugged then they watched as Trevor’s headless and handless body dropped to its knees before falling forward and bursting into a million black pellets. Rolling over the asphalt, the pellets that were once Trevor, a fallen angel, melted into liquid droplets that were quickly absorbed by the street.

  Mea huffed and her breath became a warm fog in the suddenly cold air. Then she stepped on Trevor’s head and sheathed her swords.

  Glaring at the outcasts, Mea diverted her attention to Azazel, and to his surprise, she hugged him. “Are you okay?”

  “I… I’m fine.” With all the bad blood between Azazel and Mea, a hug was the last thing he expected. Though it happened before he could even think about it, he half-expected her to stab
him—figuring somehow Mea discovered that Lilly had sent him here… to kill her family. Though not at first, Azazel changed his mind and decided to do quite the opposite, watching over Mea’s mother and brother until she returned.

  The thought made Azazel glance up at the Harris’s apartment. Like every other nearby house, their windows were the same color as the night, black as night and as dark as a windowless room.

  Mea looked as well, frightened that she was too late. She slapped a hand over her mouth. I’m too late, she thought, thinking the worse. They’re dead. My mom, Ryan, they’re dead. “Are they—“

  “They’re fine. I’ve been… keeping an eye on them. I was scared that something like this would happen. I didn’t expect the wolves though. That was a curve ball.” It was almost true… and it was almost a lie.

  Mea hugged him again and muttered, “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She sighed then said, “Alright. Now… let’s finish this.”

  Mea turned to Nisha and noticed the absence of Fenrir. She made her way over to the new wolf-god, eyeing Daikon as she passed by. Though she didn’t say a word to him, she could sense Raven’s and Blackwell’s essence, somewhere inside the strange man. Another mystery to deal with at a later time, she thought, when I have more time, that is, if I ever get any.

  Eyeing Nisha as she stepped in front of her, Mea resisted the urge to unsheathe her swords. Trust, she thought, I have to establish some sense of trust with them, with the wolves. “Where is Fenrir?”

  “Gone.”

  “And you’re his replacement, the new wolf-god?” Mea asked. Her left hand subconsciously slid over to her sword as she waited for Nisha’s answer.

  Not slick enough, the wolves saw Mea’s sliding hand, and their growling began stirring.

  One wolf in particular, Clyde, really didn’t like it. Currently in the skin of his large black wolf and looking more like a werewolf than ever before, Clyde—standing just behind Nisha—leapt onto his feet. And that sent the other six wolves in the front row to their feet as well. Clyde let out a lowly growl, warning Mea, and the flaps of his muzzle were slowly rising, revealing two rows of large polished fangs. “Heel,” Nisha ordered. “Stand down.” Her wolves listened, all but one. Clyde was still growling, deciding that he wasn’t having it, not this time, and he was slowly padding forward, stepping past Nisha—being particularly brave and protective of her. “No. Damn it, Clyde. I said heel.” Nisha grabbed at the loose skin on the wolf’s neck and snatched a fistful of Clyde’s fur coat. This time Clyde obeyed, half-obeyed, and while he was no longer pressing forward, he wasn’t really standing down either and was still leaning forward and growling. Although, to be fair to Clyde, his lowly growling had quieted a bit and was noticeably less aggressive. “Clyde,” Nisha yelled as she yanked him back again. “Hey. She’s fine. Go, go smoke.” Nisha pushed him to the side, patted him twice on his side, her hand thumping against his ribcage like it was a drum. “Go on now. I know you want one.” She scrubbed his head than pushed his towards the sidewalk.