The Dark Souls (The Viral Superhero Series Book 1)

by Bryan Cohen

  THE DARK SOULS

  BRYAN COHEN

  CASEY LANE

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Co-Authors’ Note

  Excerpt: The Telepath

  The story of every Chosen One begins with a choice…

  And Ted Finley wasn't always the top pick for the job…

  Discover the story BEFORE the story.

  Click here and register on the next page to get the free prequel to The Viral Superhero Series.

  PROLOGUE

  A bolt of blue lightning tore through the forest clearing, arced around a fallen tree, and struck a murdered corpse. Most Treasure High students would've called her cheerleading uniform sexy, if it weren’t for the red, gaping stab hole in the side. Unless they were into that sort of thing. When the unnatural light struck her buried body, the pale, decomposing torso regained its natural color, as did the rest of her now warming body. Underneath the dirt, her abdomen rebuilt itself, her heart once again pumped oxygen-rich blood, and dormant nerves fired to open her eyes for the first time in 30 days.

  The cheerleader coughed out some earth as she stood, glaring at her surroundings. "Always in the ground. For once, couldn't I just be in a nice casket? Or locked in a closet?"

  She felt her legs, arms and chest and then studied the contours of her face with her hands.

  "Not bad. At least a 9." The former corpse brushed her backside. "Maybe even a 10. Let's see what she can do."

  After a quick, deep breath, the cheerleader dashed forward into a full sprint. She did what came naturally to her body. A cartwheel. A series of impressive flips. She topped it all off with a midair spin before she landed solidly on the ground.

  "Good. Good." The cheerleader caught her breath. "I can kill with this body."

  She saw a squirrel run by as a siren echoed through the clearing. The cheerleader watched the Sheriff’s Department SUV come to a screeching halt in the muddy grass. A well-built man in uniform emerged from the driver’s side with a panicked look on his face.

  "Holy hell." He looked from the sky to her bloody top and back. "Were you struck by lightning?"

  No, Sheriff. I am the lightning, she thought.

  "I'm fine." She put on her best teenager smile. "It's an… old wound."

  She always dreaded the first encounter after crossing over. Some of them were much bloodier than others.

  "Wait a second." The sheriff’s mouth slacked open. "Erica?"

  It usually took a name to jog the memories from her former inhabitant. The man was the local sheriff and she was Erica LaPlante, a cheerleader, a slut, and the girl at the top of the popularity food chain. At least, that's who she used to be.

  "Hey, Sheriff Norris. It really has been too long."

  "It's been a month." The sheriff's jaw hardened. "We assumed the worst."

  They were right to assume that Erica had died, but thankfully, that was one of the few memories the body's new resident didn't have to deal with. Other parts of the teen’s past flooded back. Her parents. Her friends, including the sheriff’s straight-A daughter, Jennifer. Erica could even see the fifth of vodka in the back of her high school locker. The memories were as real as if she lived them herself, but she knew her mission was the only thing that mattered.

  "Where on Earth were you?"

  Erica arched an eyebrow. "That's the thing, sheriff. I wasn't on Earth at all. But I could use your help to show me around the place."

  Tiny arcs of blue electricity danced between her fingers.

  The sheriff took a step back. "There's something wrong with your hand."

  Erica bridged the gap. "I've gotta warn you, the first part hurts." The blue lights brightened. "And the second part isn't any better."

  With a yelp, he tripped over an exposed root and fell onto his back. Before he could even grasp his sidearm, Erica had her hands on his temples.

  "Nothing personal, but a mission is a mission. Now hold still."

  A light shot out of Erica's hands and tunneled through the sheriff's skull. His eyes blazed a bright blue. The nearby forest was the only witness to his screams of pain.

  1

  Ted Finley could feel his worst nightmare coming to life: the dreaded breakup brunch.

  "You know, you aren't very manly, Ted." Natalie nonchalantly sipped the last of her chocolate and vanilla milkshake when she said it.

  Ted looked anywhere but into her deep, brown eyes. "That's what they tell me." His gaze locked on one of the first edition manuscripts that lined the walls of Page’s. "But isn't that refreshing and different?"

  "It was."

  Ted felt his fingers instinctively reach for a paper straw wrapper, which he naturally rolled into a tiny ball. "That's pretty past tense."

  When he finally caught her cold stare, Natalie remained silent. The first lips he'd ever kissed were firmly shut. A familiar ball of nervous energy grew in the pit of his stomach. Far too much silence went by before she spoke.

  "You've been acting pretty strange for someone who wants this thing to have a future."

  Ted looked down at his favorite meal, The Sugar Crash, though he felt anything but energetic. The first high school relationship that progressed past the "Hi, I'm Ted" stage was falling apart. And it was all his fault.

  He sighed. "I’m sorry, Nat. I'm trying."

  Natalie stuck her fork into the center of her waffles. It stood straight up like a fence post. "You've been at my games. We've gone out to movies. We've hung out in Dhiraj’s basement." She shook her head. "But for the last month you haven't really been there."

  Ted looked around for an out. Even his favorite waitress Sandra was too far away for a time-saving refill request. Natalie's eyes bore into the mushy stuff at the bottom of his soul.

  He gulped. "You're right. Ever since Erica went missing–"

  "You two aren't even friends! You weren't even talking!" Natalie's Jersey drawl heightened with her anger. "I get that she was literally the girl next door. But she moved, she moved on, and then she skipped town."

  Ted’s stomach butterflies grew razor wings.

  "You're supposed to be my boyfriend. Instead, you’re the only person left who thinks she might be out there."

  Ted couldn't help but picture his former friend chained up in a basement or buried in a ditch. He hadn't exchanged more than a glance with Erica in three years. And yet, he was right up there with Jennifer Norris helping to organize search party after search party.
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  Natalie cracked her long, powerful knuckles. "So, you're going to have to make a choice."

  His forehead wrinkled. "Punch in the face or kick in the groin?"

  She almost smiled. Almost. But almost wasn't enough. "You keep obsessively looking for your golden girl or you stick with me. I don't have enough time for in between."

  Ted’s throat closed up as he tried to swallow. He knew the popularity queen Erica LaPlante would never search for him if he went missing. She wouldn't even bat an eye, while Natalie would tear down a brick wall with her bare hands to find him. And yet…

  "I don't want to give up on anybody." He slouched forward. "You or her."

  Ted watched Natalie as she slowly stood. He forgot to breathe.

  "Not making a choice is a choice, Ted."

  He sunk deeper into the booth. "I'll get the check."

  "I'm breaking up with you." She tossed down a crumpled up 20. "The least I can do is buy your waffles."

  "I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted, Natalie."

  She smirked. "I've been elbowed in the face before. I'll survive."

  "Good."

  They looked at each other for a long moment.

  "See you around, Finley."

  With that, Natalie walked away.

  You are the biggest idiot alive.

  Ted looked over his shoulder and saw Natalie hold the door open for a group of five tough-looking men with strange tattoos.

  Get up and stop her!

  He didn't move a muscle.

  Come on, Ted.

  He remained a statue as he hoped Natalie would turn back. She didn't. He watched the door to Page’s close with a slam.

  And that's when he started turning blue.

  A pulse of energy burned his insides as it coursed through his veins and sparked from his fingers. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes to avoid from publicly shrieking in pain.

  "I’m dying. I’m single and I’m dying!"

  Ted assumed he’d open his eyes to countless stares. He steeled himself against the embarrassment, but when his lids lifted, everyone around him continued to munch on, unawares, as the blue light moved to his shoulders and chest. Along with the fiery sensation came energy that felt like pins and needles in every muscle.

  Somebody has to be seeing this. Right?!

  Ted spied his waitress, Sandra, chatting with four of the gruff-looking men Natalie had let in. The energy continued to move into every part of his body. He began to shake, and when he gripped the booth to stabilize himself, the table shook as well. And somehow, nobody seemed to notice him at all.

  "How many people spontaneously combust every year?" He laughed to himself as his teeth chattered and tears pooled in his eyes. "I think I’m about to become a statistic."

  As the energy sizzled up his neck, Ted heard a scream from the kitchen. His glance in that direction made him realize all the blinds had been drawn. One of the thugs chatting with Sandra jumped up on the table, sending gasps throughout the room and forks clattering to the ground.

  The tattooed felon cocked his pistol. "Heads up, phones down." His confident British accent filled the room. "Begging your pardon, but you better follow our instructions, or you’ll lose a lot more than your wallets."

  The skinny Brit waved his gun in the air, causing several diners to cower and shriek. Ted had never seen a firearm this close up, but the current pulsing through his body made him numb to emotion. He noticed a woman at the table next to him begin to sob silently, her tears dripping onto her patty melt and soaking into the bread.

  "Anyone sends a text, tweet, or snap gets a bullet in the head." He smiled like a kid on Christmas. "Toss the phones in the bag."

  When a massive fellow tattooed thug passed by, Ted didn't hesitate to toss his cell in with the others. The musclehead hardly gave him a glance as he gathered all the phones. Ted noticed the pain in his body subside as the energy dipped to a low, controlled hum.

  "I was once like all of you." The thug’s face beamed. "I had regrets. My life was a constant disappointment." He tapped his gun against the tattoo on his bicep. "Now everything is different. And you'll be some of the first people in the world to feel the same way."

  As Ted watched the patrons’ confusion spread throughout the diner, he instinctively reached for the pile of paper straw balls he'd rolled earlier. As his fingers moved ahead, the bits of paper slid away. When his hand inched forward again, the tiny white spheres continued to shift.

  What the–

  "Now tell me." The Brit’s teeth glistened. "Who wants to go first?"

  Ted attempted to grasp the papers one more time. Before he could, they shot out in every direction, most of them careening off the side of the table. He hadn't even come close to touching them. It seemed insane, but he was pretty sure he'd moved the wrappers with his mind.

  2

  Stucky never liked holding a gun, but here he was pointing a weapon at a kitchen of cooks. It's not that Nigel and the others trusted him; after all, he'd nearly blown off his brother Tank’s foot during a dry run. But Nigel, or whatever he'd become, was now the man in charge. If he said they needed guns for Phase One, then that's what they'd do. It's Phase Two that still gave Stucky shivers.

  None of them deserve this.

  He watched his powerful brother grab the last of the patrons’ phones. Tank was focused and bloodthirsty. He wasn't himself anymore either.

  Nobody deserves this.

  Stucky still couldn't believe what he'd seen. Resurrection. Magic. Whatever the hell it was, Nigel wasn't the same man he’d met in a cell a dozen years ago. That man would never plan a mass murder. And it was all because of Stucky.

  The thug had never been in a restaurant kitchen before. The room was all stainless steel and every inch of it smelled like oil and sugar. He turned off all the burners as Nigel had instructed him to do and then lifted a sausage patty off one of the skillets and took a bite. He burned his tongue and almost let out a curse before realizing he was in view of half a dozen hostages. Nigel told him never to show weakness.

  "That's good sausage." He blew on the rest of the patty to cool it down.

  He poured himself some water and chugged it, before topping it off with a spray from a can of whipped cream and a short squirt of chocolate sauce. He wondered if the cooks would make him a proper meal after the ritual was complete.

  As he thought about his rumbling stomach, he heard the sound of fabric against linoleum. Stucky spun around and nearly pulled the trigger on a shorthaired waitress.

  He kept his voice a whisper. "Hey! What're you doing?"

  Stucky recognized the girl from the rainbow-colored butterfly tattoo on her left hand. She'd served them when they'd cased the joint a week earlier. The waitress was only a few feet away from a landline phone that none of the gang had spotted until now.

  The girl stopped cold and looked at Stucky's gun. "Why are you whispering?"

  "I'm trying to keep you from getting killed." Stucky could feel his gun hand getting sweaty. "Why don't you just sneak out the back?"

  He could see that the girl was tempted. She glanced toward the back door, but instead, she continued to inch toward the phone.

  "I'm giving you an out, don't be a hero."

  "I'm not leaving without everyone."

  Stucky felt Nigel's glance from across the restaurant. He looked up and met it.

  "Everything OK back there, old friend?"

  Stucky knew he was dooming the waitress if he pointed her out, but the alternative could get him killed.

  "Nigel! Someone's trying to call the cops." Stucky ripped the cord out of the phone and grabbed the girl by her right wrist. "You gave me no choice."

  She scowled. "If you even touch my customers, I'll make you pay."

  Nigel strutted into the kitchen and grinned at the waitress. "The check’s in the mail, Sandra. I think you just became our first volunteer."

  The waitress backed away and dove for something on the countertop. She came away wit
h a large chef’s knife.

  "Nigel, wait!"

  When the Brit reached for her, Sandra sliced at his arm, leaving a long, red gash. Blood started to trickle out of Nigel's wound.

  "I'm not going down easy." Her grip tightened around the weapon. "Shoot me if you have to."

  Without warning, the blood oozing out of Nigel's arm began to retract itself into the wound. It only took a few moments for skin to form where the laceration had been, and in mere seconds, he was completely healed.

  Sandra’s face went white. "What the hell are you?"

  "The next stage of humankind. And soon, you will be, too."

  The waitress stabbed at Nigel again, but this time he slapped the knife out of her hands. He gave Stucky a nod before he placed his arms around Sandra's waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder.

  "Stop it! Put me down!"

  Nigel walked her out of the kitchen, and Stucky watched as the cooks cringed.

  Stucky saw Nigel pass off the girl to Yarrick, a no-nonsense Russian who was more than willing perform the ritual and add to their ranks. Stucky hoped that responsibility would never fall to him.

  The Russian held the girl tightly and ripped one of her sleeves clean off her shirt. Stucky expected Sandra to cry, but she looked more angry than upset. Yarrick held her tight while the job's fifth man, Carter, the technician, spoke a strange incantation. After three repetitions, a symbol appeared on the girl's arm.

  Now the waitress matched everyone else in the gang. Nigel said the symbol was part of an ancient language. When Tank was killed, his tattoo lit up like a blue Christmas tree before he was taken over by something from another world.

  Sandra rubbed at the unwanted design. "What are you doing to me?"

  "You wanted to be a hero." Nigel spoke his words to the entire room. "You wanted to be a part of the story. I'm just granting you your wish. You were a waitress before. I'm going to make you a legend."

  The girl tried to wrestle free of Yarrick.

  "She's pretty strong." The Russian chuckled. "She'll make good addition."

  Carter finished the incantation and backed away, as the woman’s arm began to shake.

  "What the hell, you're hurting me! What did you–"