by Lola StVil
The Noru: Book III
Fall Of The Chosen
By Lola StVil
© 2015, Lola St Vil
This book is dedicated to Elizabeth Rivera
When I think about you, I think about the beautiful Latina singing “rump shaker” at the top of her lungs in the hallway of our high school before Drama class; your gold curls bouncing playfully in the air. That is how I will remember you: playful, pretty and positive.
May you rest with Angels…
Book I:
Santini “The Gentleman” Moss
“It’s better to do a dull thing with style than a dangerous thing without it.”
- Charles Bukowski
Chapter One:
Cry
For the record, no motherfucker can summon me to a meeting. I’m not some low-level demon with simple-ass powers. On the contrary, I’m high ranking and feared by many. And if they don’t fear me, at the very least they hesitate before taking me on. Yet here I am, standing in the middle of his black marble and stone lair, moments after he calls on me.
My name is Santini Moss, but in the Demon world I am simply referred to as “The Gentleman.” That’s because unlike other demons, I don’t resort to brute violence and hand-to-hand combat. I don’t pulverize my opponents with bare fists and firepower. In fact, when I battle, I never even have so much as a wrinkle in my shirt. Which is a good thing because my clothes are, in a word, exquisite.
I look at my reflection in the waterfall display at the center of the lair. I’m six feet tall, buff, and have dark hair. I’m always in a suit and tie because wearing anything else would be uncivilized.
Every single one of my suits is tailored; my ties and pocket squares are silk. In addition, only top designers craft my shoes. Today I’m wearing a Tom Ford charcoal grey three-button suit with a metallic sliver paisley tie and pocket square. And lastly, I am wearing my signature shades from Dolce Gabbana. I am, to be honest, a handsome demon.
The only flaw I have is the six-inch scar on my right cheek. I got it when I was in battle with a demon that attacked one of my human maids, Joanna. I don’t like humans normally. They are genius with fashion but worthless otherwise. However, Joanna had been with me the longest. She minded her business and knew enough not to ask questions. Yet she was bold enough to demand her money when her pay was late.
I could have killed her, but she seemed willing to accept death. I liked that about her. Most humans are weak and fear everything. However, Joanna refused to give in to fear. She’s also the best cleaning lady I’ve ever had. She’s meticulous and never has a hair out of place. I made her the head of the cleaning staff. She manages my mansion with precision and skill.
We routinely have these chats that I happen to enjoy. We talk about wars that humanity has waged with each other throughout its existence and why they did or did not work. We were in a heated debate about the logistics of the Spanish Revolution when we came under attack.
I managed to kill every one of the demons, but not before one grabbed Joanna. In saving her, I was injured. A Swoosen blade caused the scar; any injury caused by that kind of blade won’t ever heal.
I thought Joanna would run screaming as fast as she could out of the city. I thought she’d be driven insane by what she witnessed. Normally humans need to be killed after they are made aware of our existence. But the next day Joanna came to work on time and ready to clean, as if nothing happened. She’s a tough old woman and I respect the hell out of that.
I look at my reflection yet again; even with the scar, I’m still handsome. But it’s not just about my looks. I try and take care of myself. Get a workout in at least three to four times a week. That’s hard to do in between killing humans, angels, and disrespectful demons. You see, I believe that presentation is important. Anyone can be a killer. But what I bring to the party is…style.
I look at my watch; he’s been keeping me waiting in his frigid lair for half an hour now. Again, I am not normally summoned, but when he calls on you, you come. I think back to when I first met him.
The Demon world was in complete chaos because we had no leadership. The source of all evil was killed, so the Demon world waited for its next all-powerful leader. But while we waited, we did what was in our nature to do: fight. We formed different factions and went to war with each other.
I had managed to lead a team of over three dozen demons. We ran an impressive import and export business. We handled everything: human slaves (Pawns), Wednesday, Coy Paste, and other lethal drugs. We also supplied items to Hun’s market, the market where beings go to find new and wonderful ways to inflict pain on their enemies. My business was booming. In fact, I was attending to a business matter the day I first met him. That day plays out before me as if it’s happening now…
I pull up ahead of the motorcade in my chauffeur driven midnight colored Bentley (I’m wearing a dark blue Armani suit with matching tie and pocket square). We walk into the place where most demons in my business congregate: “STK” restaurant in Los Angeles.
The driver opens my car door. I step out and take in the scene: glamorous patrons dripping in diamonds, high-end handbags, and luxury cars. I love Los Angeles. Here all things evil sparkle. And everywhere you look there are Runners to make our lives easier.
Unlike Pawns, who still have their souls, Runners are humans who have traded theirs to evil in order to gain material things. We own most of the humans on Wall Street and ,well, just about every famous entertainer you can think of. That’s why we demons love LA. It’s a city full of humans to do our bidding. They will do anything from park our cars to murder. We own them.
We enter the trendy restaurant and find a pleasant civil atmosphere with humans, Runners, and demons. I signal for my guys to surround the room. I find the demon I came for: Morehouse.
He’s a stout, big bellied prick with a full beard and long hair. He’s engaged in a conversation with another demon, whom I’ve never seen before.
I head over to the table and pull up a chair alongside them.
“I really need to have a discussion with my friend Morehouse. I think you should leave,” I instruct the stranger alongside me.
He exchanges a look with Morehouse and then wisely gets up and walks away from the table. I signal for the waiter to come over.
“Good evening, what would the gentlemen like from the bar?” the waiter asks.
“I’m in the mood for something sweet with a smoky finish. What would you recommend?” I ask as I survey the Coy Dark menu.
“We have an extensive Revere collection. Perhaps you’d care to try our newest acquisition: Malice.”
“That would be perfect, thank you,” I reply.
“And for you?” the waiter asks Morehouse.
Morehouse looks back at me like a human child who’s been told he has to enter a haunted house alone.
“Morehouse, the Runner asked you a question, don’t be rude,” I suggest.
“Nothing…I…nothing,” he manages to choke out.
The waiter walks away and leaves just the two of us alone to talk.
“You know what I hate, Morehouse?” I ask.
He shakes his head “no.”
“I hate gossip. It’s such a childish thing. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” he whispers.
“Yet, listening to gossip is a part of my job. So I have no choice but to do it. But gossip isn’t always reliable. For example, the word around town is that you have a cargo of Coy Paste you need shipped into Germany and you intend to use our competitors to do it. Is that true?” I ask nicely.
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“Well, it’s…I’m not trying to be a problem,” he vows.
“I had to cancel an appointment with my tailor tonight to meet with you. That’s a problem, Morehouse.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“We have always handled Germany. And we have yet to fail you. All we ask in return is a little loyalty,” I remind him.
“Stern and his crew offered to charge me twenty percent less than you guys. Maybe if you can match it, I’ll consider working with you again,” he replies.
“See, now that upsets me.” I sigh.
He shrugs his shoulders and looks back at me with a cocky expression. I take off my shades and look him in the eye. I signal to one of my guys, and they bring over a black box about three feet long and place it on the table.
“What’s this?” Morehouse asks.
“Oh, this? It’s a gift from some of my guys. They know I’m a collector,” I reply as the waiter comes by and pours dark red liquid into my glass.
“What do you collect?” he asks.
“The bone that connects the wings to a demon’s shoulder blades,” I reply as I open the box. Morehouse looks at the bloody wing bone and then back at me.
“Before you ask, that once belonged to Stern,” I inform him.
Morehouse jumps up and summons a fireball in the palm of his hand. My guys are on him before he can even blink. They pin him to the floor with his face in the carpet. Morehouse has a crew too. All of whom are now surrounded by what they know are far more powerful demons.
“I don’t mind that you shopped around for a better deal, but we have history and we should have been notified that you were thinking of leaving us,” I inform him.
“You would have killed us,” he mumbles from the floor below.
“Well, yes, but it wouldn’t have been so…bloody and garish. It would have been a nice, beautiful, peaceful death. But instead you showed no loyalty and we will take over your company and kill every one of your—”
“—Wait! Let’s make a deal. Please, please,” he begs.
I signal for the guys to pick him up and place him on the chair.
“I’m listening,” I tell him.
“You can go back to our old deal,” he offers.
“No, that won’t work for me now,” I reply.
“Okay, okay, we can have a new deal. I’ll pay you twice what I did before.”
“I don’t know…” I admit.
“Wait, I can throw in all the Pawns I have,” he pushes.
“Well, I do like a good slave…”
“So what do you say?” he asks desperately.
“No deal.”
“WHY?” he shouts.
“Because you have no loyalty. I don’t deal with demons I can’t trust. Good-bye, Morehouse,” I reply.
He starts to scream because he knows what’s about to happen. His dark wings flap furiously against the air. He tries to get away, but my guys pin him to the chair, forcing him to endure what’s to come.
I take my shades off and a black beam emanates from my eyes and makes direct contact with Morehouse. Immediately blood starts to seep out of every pore. Soon it runs from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. He dies in seconds, with a shocked look on his face.
The ability to make someone’s body “cry” is a special one. Most demons and even angels can’t do what I do.
I signal for my guys to eliminate every being in the restaurant. Instantly demons are being ripped apart, incinerated, and beaten mercilessly all around me. Normally I would only need to kill a few key demons in Morehouse’s operation, but with our world in chaos, it’s important that motherfuckers remember just how cruel you can be. That way they won’t dare cross you.
I sit back and sip my Coy Dark across the table from my former business partner. I’m halfway done with my libation when I spot a figure sitting still in the corner, watching me.
The figure isn’t the least bit afraid of the chaos that surrounds him. In fact, he seems bored by it. I look closer but can’t really make out his face. Pissed off that my crew would allow a Runner or demon to remain unharmed, I shout out to them.
“WHY THE HELL IS THAT GUY STILL ALIVE? I SAID KILL EVERYONE!” I demand.
They run up to the stranger’s table. He makes no move to flee or defend himself. Instead, he calmly scans over the faces of my demons. Then every single member of my crew gets down on one knee and bows their head before the stranger. It’s not just his complete control over my crew that shocks me, it’s how the room has changed.
The air fills with a dark energy, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. He looks to be in his teens, but one look into his troubled dark eyes tells me he is no kid. The expression on his face isn’t rage or malice. It’s something far more sinister—control. His demeanor brings to mind a peaceful ocean surface—filled with deadly sharks below.
I’ve heard about Malakaro before. He’s young but has managed to start making a name for himself. It isn’t the fact that he has killed so many that makes him noteworthy, it’s his strategy that sets him apart from the rest. He knows exactly who to kill, who to learn from, and who to manipulate.
He’s on the short list of possible replacements as the source of all evil. I’m also said to be on that list, so I’m guessing he’s here to battle me. I would never say it out loud, but being in the presence of the young evil instills fear within me.
Malakaro is the first of his kind, in that while he is no doubt evil incarnate, he isn’t a demon at all. He’s a Noru. That means he is the child of a guardian, a superpowered angel. Actually, Malakaro happens to be the firstborn of the most powerful guardian leader, Marcus Cane. His mother, Bianca, was Quo, meaning she was half human and half angel.
Marcus went on to have a family with the Angel of death. Together they have two kids. There’s a newborn named Sam. The little fucker is said to be immortal. And then there’s his ten-year-old sister, Pryor. That little bitch showed signs of enormous power from day one. Angels get everything. It’s a real fucking shame.
Many demons have plotted ways to kill them. But that’s just a death wish. Marcus and the rest of his team have all banded together and keep their kids under watchful eye. And even if that wasn’t the case, going after the children of Death is a bad idea.
Since Malakaro doesn’t have any demon blood in him, you might wonder how the hell he got to be so damn vicious. Well, the demons I’ve talked to cite the wicked ways of his mother, before her death and the stunning rejection he faced from his father.
Although Marcus did not know of Malakaro’s existence, I’m guessing Malakaro took it as rejection nonetheless.
I study his face in search of a sign of goodness and there simply isn’t any. I like that in the guy.
“I’m not going to bow,” I assure him.
“If I wanted you to bow, you would be speaking from the ground,” he informs me in a soft, chilling voice.
“Then what the hell do you want? Did you come here to try and kill me?” I ask.
“I’ve never tried to kill anyone before,” he responds.
“If you’re coming after my crew, I’ll—”
“I have no need for your toys, Santini.”
“Then what is it?”
“I came with an offer. You should work for me,” he says simply.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I’ve got my crew,” I reply.
He smiles. Then without warning every one of my demons reaches out for something sharp: blades, silverware, or jagged pieces of broken plates. They then stab themselves in the chest and proceed to slice their chests open. Everyone in the room is dead.
“I came to you because I admire your loyalty. Do you wish to join me?” he asks.
“If I say no, will you make sure I end up like them?” I ask, signaling to the mass grave on the floor.
“I do not want my second in command to follow me under duress. I can promise you that if you say no, I w
ill not kill you today. However, I would kill you myself if that’s what were needed to reach my goal. So should you someday need to die for me to reach my goal, yes, I would kill you.”
“What exactly is your goal?” I ask.
“You have twenty-four hours to make up your mind,” he says, ignoring my question.
He then rises slowly and walks past the corpses of my demons with complete indifference. I look back at him as he heads towards the exit.
“Wait!” I demand.
He stops walking and faces me.
“Yes,” he replies.
“This goal of yours, would we have to kill a lot of angels?” I ask.
“Quite a few.”
“And I’m guessing we’re taking over the world, right?” I push.
“That comes after,” he says.
“After what?” I ask.
“After my family reunion.”
* * *
I would have been highly pissed off at Malakaro for killing my demons if I wasn’t so busy being impressed. Nothing I heard about him did him justice. The level of sheer wickedness in him is to be commended. Yet I’m not sure joining him is what’s best for me. At least not without finding out more about this angel turned evil. I decide to research Malakaro and find out what’s behind the mystery.
Finding out about the vicious Noru proves to be very difficult. No one knows anything about him other than the fact that his mother was killed and his father never knew him. No one can tell me where Malakaro grew up, what his life was like, or how he ended up being so twisted.
When an important event occurs in the world of angels and demons, it’s written about in journals called Muses. There are libraries all around the world that carry thousands of Muses. But the biggest collection of recorded events in our world can be found in the Library of Congress, in a secret room. I fly there and discover absolutely nothing that could help me learn more about Malakaro.
I put in calls to all my contacts and each time they come back with the same info as before. I am about to give up when a low level demon agrees to give me information in exchange for letting him live. He doesn’t have details of Malakaro’s life, but he does give me the address of a historian who might be able to help me.
