Cruel Mercy (Book 2)

by Lola StVil

  Copyright © 2017 by Lola StVil

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is dedicated to my friend and fellow fantasy writer:

  Ednah Walters

  May you rest with Angels…

  Quick reader’s reference guide:

  PARENTS: Pry & Silver

  CHILDREN: Summit & Dylan

  PARENTS: Diana & Bex

  CHILDREN: Nix & Lucas (Nix is Malakaro's son but raised by Bex)

  PARENTS: Easton & Mel

  CHILDREN: Parker & Ryder

  PARENT: Swoop

  CHILD: RJ (Raised by Jay & Miku)

  “Knowing your own darkness

  is the best method for dealing with the darkness

  of other people.”

  — Carl Jung

  When your father is, or was, the source of all evil, you get used to being looked at and judged. You even get used to being hated, but this is different. The one looking at me with hatred isn’t just anyone; it’s my brother, Lucas. And the truth is, he has a right to his hate. I just confessed that I sent someone to kill the girl he loves.

  It’s not his rage that gets me; it’s his genuine disappointment. I hate myself for making him feel this way about me, but I had my reasons for doing what I did. I hope he can understand that; if not now, maybe in the future.

  Lucas must be wondering how I got here. How I got to the point where I would send a killer after Summit, our leader. I wonder the same thing myself sometimes now that Summit is family. I can’t help thinking back to how it all started. It was only a couple of months ago, but it feels like an eternity has passed since the day it all began.

  It’s a few months earlier, before we meet Summit face-to-face. I’m in class, staring out the window at the dreary day outside, casually spinning my pen around in my fingers.

  Mrs. Hale is trying and failing to make the “Mortals and Morality” class seem interesting. The class is supposed to be about good versus evil, but for the most part, it just feels like yet another history lesson.

  I can never understand why we are all so fixated on the past. It’s not like we can change it. They say that we can learn from it, but just by looking at history, I have to wonder if that’s true. The same patterns repeat themselves over and over again as seemingly good guys show their true colors and go over to the dark side to pursue a less than noble path.

  I always wonder at which point those guys woke up and thought “today I’m going to hatch my evil master plan to take over the world.” We never discuss those things, though, because I guess no one really knows.

  Mrs. Hale’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

  “Everyone gets a chance to choose if they are going to be good or evil. It’s not one event that makes people choose, it’s a series of small ones. The littlest decisions can be the ones with the biggest consequences. They can put you on the path to righteousness or the path to wickedness,” she explains.

  “The right choice isn’t always the easy choice, and often, the people who went down a bad path started down that path with the thought that sometimes, the good guys have to do bad things for the greater good.”

  She pauses and looks at us. I feel as though she’s looking at me, but that’s probably my own paranoia.

  “It’s entirely possible that someone makes a wrong choice and just can’t find their way back. They end up making a string of bad choices in an attempt to put right whatever mistake they made originally, and it spirals,” she goes on.

  Now I know she’s looking at me. I resist the urge to look away.

  “But the history books don’t tell us any of this. They don’t get into people’s heads and show us their thought processes, or the eternal guilt they might feel. They portray them as bad people. People who are evil to the core. People who chose to abuse their power. Now don’t get me wrong, I think there are people in this world who are pure evil. People who make choices based on causing the maximum level of chaos and pain that they can. I just don’t think everyone who goes bad started out with that intention,” she says.

  Great. Now it’s a psychology lesson.

  The only psychology lesson I need today is how to psyche out the Daraquin team during our Runner Ball match. Let’s see, how can I explain what Runner Ball is? First off, it’s seriously the best game ever invented. It’s just like soccer, but far more dangerous. While soccer has eleven players on each side, Runner Ball has five. Nothing on Earth can withstand the strength with which we kick the ball. The only thing that can is a Holder, a bubble-like substance. But we need something inside it to weigh it down. So we put Runners inside it. A Runner is a human who gave his soul to evil in exchange for wealth. So, we place a Runner inside the ball and we start playing.

  But the Runner is given powers by way of a Snap. It’s like a candy, but once you put it in your mouth, instead of a sugar high, you get powers. So picture it: You are on the field and you kick the runner ball as hard as you can, and the Runner is released from his orb. But now he’s on the field with superpowers. So in addition to having to win the game, you also have to defeat the Runner and whatever powers he’s been given.

  Sometimes the Runner gets fire power, and he’ll fry your ass before you know what happened. Sometimes the Runner gets the power of wind and will wipe out an entire forest before he can be contained. Like I said before, Runner Ball is just like soccer, except the ball fights back. It’s awesome!

  Tomorrow we are set for a game against the Daraquin team. I can’t stand them. They attend the Daraquin school located in the city of angels. So, basically they are all elitist jerks who think they are better than us angels who live on Earth. They are like posh boarding school kids that think they’re superior. They are all sore because Bex, my adopted father, the King of Paras, decided to place my brother and I in school on Earth instead of in the light with them. Last year should have been our year, but we suffered a crushing defeat. But not this year. This year, victory is ours!

  “Nix?” says Mrs. Hale.

  The class snickers, and I realize she’s asked me a question that I missed completely.

  “Huh?” I say.

  “I said you seem lost in thought and I wondered if you would like to share your thoughts with the class,” Mrs. Hale says.

  No. I’d like to get home and do something useful like finalize tomorrow’s game plan.

  I shrug.

  “So you weren’t listening to me at all?” Mrs. Hale asks, raising an eyebrow.

  I shrug again.

  “I was, but then I got sidetracked. Come on, Mrs. Hale, you know what tomorrow’s game means to the school. We have to crush them.”

  Mrs. Hale ignores what I’ve said completely. Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with adults sometimes. How can something as important as a Runner Ball match be met with such a lack of enthusiasm?

  “Do you have any thoughts on how a decision, maybe even one that feels inconsequential at the time, can lead to a person becoming evil?” she asks.

  “Not really,” I say honestly. “I think it’s a simple enough choice. Either you do the right thing, or you don’t.”

  Can’t she just leave me alone and go back to her “we all have a choice” mantra so I can go back to working out a strategy for the game tomorrow?

  “How would Nix know anything about evil—oh yeah, evil is the family business,” I hear someone whisper.

  “That’s enough,” Mrs. Hale snaps, and the voice stops.

  That idiot who just spoke was Jake. He’s referring to the fact that m
y biological father, Malakaro, was the biggest evil that ever lived. But Malakaro might be my biological father, but Bex is my father where it counts. He adopted me when I was a baby and has taken care of me all my life. And the one thing he’s always taught Lucas and I is how to do the right thing, even when it’s the hard choice.

  I’ve heard the stories of course. Who hasn’t? That Malakaro went bad because his father abandoned him. I find myself wondering, not for the first time, if he had been raised with his family, would he have been different?

  I guess I’ll never know for sure, but I don’t really think so. Family is everything. I get that, and I’m grateful for having a great family, but if I didn’t have them, I’d still know right from wrong. I mean, seriously, how hard is it to just do what’s right?

  Mrs. Hale goes back to talking about how we choose our own paths. A few students listen to her, but most of them are too intent on watching me. Most of them give me the side eye, but George Danner doesn’t.

  He stares right at me. I can feel the hatred coming off him in waves. I vaguely remember being told he’s a descendant of one of the many people my father killed.

  And now he thinks I’m more interested in Runner Ball than good and evil. He’s right, but it’s not because I don’t care. I just don’t think we need to dwell in the past.

  Again, just do the right thing. Don’t kill people. How hard can that be?

  “You know what?” Mrs. Hale says from the front of the classroom. “It’s clear to me that most of you are far more interested in hearing about actual people than the theory behind their actions.”

  Personally, I’d rather hear about creatures and demons. I’d like to hear about some of the real evil we’ll face in this world, not people who are long dead. I’d like to hear about how we can actually defeat these creatures.

  For most people, that would never be something they have to do. For the Toren team, well, it’s something we know we’ll have to do in the future. It’s another reason I really want us to beat the Daraquins.

  So many of them look down on our team because we don’t go to their school. They think we can’t hold our own in a battle. We know differently. Our parents chose this school for a reason. And we have to show them just how good we are.

  Mrs. Hale goes on.

  “I know we’ve touched on that kind of thing in the past, but let’s dive right in now. Let’s talk about Malakaro.”

  I feel myself do a double take. Is she for real? Has she seriously just announced that we are going to study my father and the pure evil he unleashed on the world? The way everyone in the class turns in their seats to openly stare at me tells me that yes, that’s exactly what she just said.

  It’s like she wants them all to hate me. Maybe she doesn’t really believe in choice. Maybe she sees I am like him and she wants everyone else to see it too.

  I feel physically sick at the thought of being anything like him. He was twisted to the core, and I am nothing like him. Am I?

  No. I’m not. I can’t be. I can barely think about some of the things he did without feeling a part of me withering up inside.

  But people tell me I look like him. What if our similarities don’t end there?

  I dismiss the thought. I am not my father.

  I stare back at my classmates as they glare at me.

  I won’t let them see my discomfort. I won’t beg them to understand that I am not him. I won’t let them see me weak. I won’t.

  Mrs. Hale shuffles some papers on her desk, her back to the class. I feel a rolled-up ball of paper bounce off the back of my head.

  I want to jump up and yell at whoever threw it, but I don’t. I resist the urge to even turn around. I don’t want to give them any reason to think I am prone to outbursts of temper.

  The seething rage inside of me bubbles at the unfairness of it all. But I won’t let them see it. I keep staring straight ahead. I need to keep my cool for the upcoming game.

  Mrs. Hale turns back around, and most of the students who have been glaring at me look back at her.

  “I’ve rearranged out class schedule so we can fully study Malakaro this week,” she tells us.

  “A full week?” a girl in the front row asks, shocked.

  Mrs. Hale nods primly. “Yes. It will take around a week to get through all of this.”

  Generally, it takes a day to learn about the wrongdoings of a single being. The longest I can ever remember needing to study anyone was a day and a half. And my father gets a week.

  The girl who asked the question turns to look at me. I don’t see hatred or disdain on her face. I see fear. And that pierces me more than any of the dirty looks I’ve been thrown.

  I give her a half smile, trying to make her see she has nothing to fear from me, and she gasps and turns back to face the front.

  Mrs. Hale looks at me.

  “If you want to sit this one out, I can arrange alternate classes for you,” she says to me.

  I shake my head. Doing so would be like admitting guilt. I don’t know why I feel that way, but I do.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. At least I know this is one assignment I am guaranteed an A.”

  My attempt at humor is a mistake. A collective gasp of horror goes up from the class. Mrs. Hale doesn’t seem to know what to say, so she picks up a textbook and dives right in.

  “From an early age, Malakaro was described as being brilliant. He was very eager to learn and even more eager to impress. As he got older, he had a very black-and-white view of things. His teachers described him as intelligent, focused, and strong. All great qualities in any angel, but also qualities essential to being evil. Add that to his callousness and lack of empathy, and you have a recipe for the being who was set to destroy the Angel world.”

  I slink down in my seat, conscious of all of the eyes behind me boring into my back. I knew sitting in the second row was a mistake, I just didn’t know why until now.

  I wish I could be anywhere but here. I wish I’d taken Mrs. Hale up on her offer to leave the class and do something else. But I didn’t. And now it’s too late to go back.

  My chest tightens from the overwhelming thought, and I try to refocus my mind to other things so I don’t look like I’m freaking out.

  I think about the Runner Ball game and try to think of how many girls will be after me when we bring home the trophy. I will be the hero of the school.

  I look up and hear Mrs. Hale has launched straight in at the part where my father slaughtered an innocent group of humans, angels, and Quos for no reason other than his own twisted entertainment and his total jealousy of his sister.

  She doesn’t hold back. She lays it all on thick. How my father cut down the innocent partygoers in order to make his point. The class absorbs every hateful word, never breaking eye contact. I wonder briefly if it could have been different. If he hadn’t been abandoned by his father, would he still have felt the need to be so destructive and destroy the good in the world?

  Would he have chosen differently if he had been given the same start as his sister? I don’t know. From what I’ve heard about Malakaro, probably not, he’d have just used a different excuse to go bad, or taken his family with him.

  My mother always told me there was a certain grace to Malakaro. But I still prefer Bex as my dad. My dad, he taught me everything. He took me to flight training for the first time, and I will never forget the pride in his eyes when I finished the course with the best time.

  My dad, who taught me all about Runner Ball and how to talk to girls, he’s never looked at me as anything but his son. I can’t wait to win this game and make him so proud, show him he made the right decision with schools.

  The class has descended into a rapt silence now as Mrs. Hale describes how Malakaro tortured his sister, taunting her with the fact that so many innocent lives had been lost simply because of their association with her.

  I am relieved when there’s a knock on the classroom door. Someone pops their h
ead in, momentarily peeling the watchful eyes of the class away from me. My relief is short lived.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Hale,” says the floating head. “Mrs. Greenblatt needs to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

  “Please excuse me,” Mrs. Hale says to us.

  “Have a read through chapter four of your textbooks while I’m gone.”

  And then she disappears. And that’s when I realize just how much the entire class now hates me. The second the door closes, all eyes are on me. One or two look nervous, but the majority of them sparkle with hatred. And something else. Glee. Glee that Malakaro is my father and not theirs.

  “I told you there was something not right about him.”

  “Nix is a ticking time bomb.”

  “Someone should take him out now before he has a chance to hurt anyone.”

  Those are just the phrases I pick up out of the hundreds of insults and slurs that are being aimed at me, and the conversations going on around me about me. I can’t help but notice the irony of the person suggesting they take me out now. If that’s not a good example of making a choice to be bad instead of good, then what is?

  All I know for sure is that I can’t stand this. I can’t stand being made to feel as though I am my father. As though his evil has penetrated my soul and I might snap at any moment. How can they not see I’m different? How can they not see that being evil is a choice, and I’ve chosen not to slaughter people? Their insults reach a crescendo of noise that becomes almost a chant. I pick out the odd word.

  Murderer. Evil. Death. Killer.

  I feel my head spinning and I want to put my hands over my ears to block out their jeering. The more I hear, the more I start to question myself.

  What if Mrs. Hale is wrong?

  What if there’s no choice involved and people are just born evil?