The Long Night of the Gods: Lilith Awakens (Forgotten Ones Book 2)

by M. H. Hawkins

  “They are not unworthy or rotten. They are growing. And they will slip, stumble, and fall along the way… but they will learn.”

  “Learn?” Azazel growled. “Protect their friends? Protect their family?” Mea could hear the scuffing of stone inside Azazel’s prison cell as he stood up and moved back over to the prison bars. His emerald eyes dulled into a dirty gold. “And what of you? What would you protect?” If his prior words were heavy, his next ones carried the weight of the world and hit Mea like a battering ram, slamming the strength right out of her. Again, the ringing started up inside her ears, and she found herself shocked and frozen from more muted words.

  CH 24: Old Time Rock ‘n Roll

  It was completely black with not even a torch to light the way, but Blackwell didn’t seem to notice or care. He walked over the cobbled stone with unbridled confidence with his hands stabbed into his pant pockets like sheathed daggers. His echoing footsteps and his whistling were the only proof that anyone was even there at all.

  Eventually both the whistling and clacking of stone stopped and was replaced by the sound of sloshing water. And the bottom of his Italian dress shoes made a loud scrapping sound as he stepped to the edge of the stone dock. “Sooo, now that you’ve had time to think—do we have a deal?” he asked the infinite darkness.

  And the infinite darkness answered. Amidst the sound of more sloshing water, two bright white moons rose from the ocean of black water in front of Blackwell. And the stirred-yet-subtle waves glistened black and silver in the moons’ light.

  The twin moons in front of him blinked and oval irises—as tall as Blackwell himself—rose partly above the black water. “A deal?”

  “Yes. A deal.”

  The moons had finished rising and now sat just above the rocking waves. Nearer to the dock, two long streams of golden stencil swayed just below the ocean’s surface, just past the stone edge where Blackwell was standing. Two smaller black holes, nostrils, broke the surface of the black water. “A deal with the devil?” it asked—its words loud, low, and slow.

  “Yes, a deal with the devil.” Blackwell scrunched up his forehead and cocked his head to the side. “If you want to call it that.” With his hands still sheathed in his pockets, he kicked a stone off the side and into the ocean. “It’s a good deal. Beats staying down here—doesn’t it? Swimming in an ocean of darkness beneath the great stone tower, my great stone tower.”

  The nostrils of the great beast flared and it grumbled. “Your dungeon.”

  “Yes,” said Blackwell. “But I mean to free you. So, do we have a deal?”

  “The Cleansing is at hand, isn’t it? I can sense it.” Its giant nostrils inhaled deeply and grew larger as its stony scales crinkled. “I can smell it. It’s starting.”

  “It is. Either way, better to be up there than down here when it begins, when the world ends.”

  “Yesss,” it hissed.

  “So we have a deal?”

  “Yesss,” it hissed again.

  “Excellent. We have a deal and all is forgiven.” That last part was clearly a jab. Prisoners don’t forgive prison guards, wardens, or judges; and in this case, Blackwell was all three.

  The beast growled a contemptuous growl.

  “And you remember the contingencies of our deal, do you not?”

  “Yesss,” it hissed again.

  “No live humans, no killing, no accidents or accidental shipwrecks to feed your belly.”

  “Yesss, I know. With the Cleansing, I will have no need to kill. The oceans will be filled with the dead.”

  “Nonetheless.” Blackwell shrugged. “No killing.”

  “Agreed.”

  Blackwell nodded. “And just a word of caution, I would avoid being seen by the mortals. It is a different time than the last time you saw them, from the last time that…”

  “That I ruled the seas? I would imagine so. Your caution is noted, but still, no man’s spear can kill me, let alone pierce my scales or wound my flesh.”

  Blackwell scratched his eyebrow and started chuckling. Spears? No. Harpoons, missiles, bombs; those will do more than just wound your flesh, old serpent. He shook his head in disbelief and smiled. Such ignorance.

  The great beast took offense to the slight, and its great head rose from the water. The golden streams hung off the side of its muzzle like two oversized horsetails dipped in liquid gold. “You mock me?” With his moonlight eyes, the creature’s scales changed color from black to blue to dark blue—like the depths of the ocean. And the scaly stone bricks behind Blackwell shifted around and shifted in color as well.

  Yet, despite the threatening creature, Blackwell remained calm and did nothing but raise an open hand. Calm down. Then his open hand rose a bit higher. All of you as well, relax. Behind the beast, an army of ravens hung in the air. Floating on leathery wings, their blades were out and ready to stick the great water dragon. “No, no,” Blackwell said. “I apologize. I meant no offense. I only meant that the spears of men have improved. Some larger, some smaller—much smaller, with lead-blunted tips. Others are tipped with metals, rare and sharp metals—sharp enough to pierce steel. And they explode, like crashing stars.”

  The beast calmed. “Crashing stars?” it grunted. “Men wield such power?”

  “Some do. But others… that part is like the old days. While some men wield power, others only do as they’re told. But those few with power will certainly put that power to great use—if they should see such a beast as great as you are. Such a creature of your stature has not been seen since… well, since you.”

  It growled, hiding the swelled pride it felt from Blackwell’s complement. “I will head your warning, Dark One. In the past, power begged to be challenged. And now, it seems that that is one thing time has not changed.”

  The beast lowered itself back into the black water.

  “Well, you got me there. And when you’re right, you’re right.”

  “Still,” the beast growled. “I agree. I will not kill, and I will not feast upon man-flesh. Besides, I have had enough man-flesh to last two lifetimes.”

  “Good, but there is still an upside to all this… All the wolf meat you can eat.”

  CH 25: Hey Brother

  “And what of you? What would you protect… Sister.” Those were Azazel’s words.

  And with them, Mea’s heart dropped and her hand rose to cover her dropped jaw. More memories flashed into her mind. Children playing in the crystal city. Racing down glass hallways giggling. Black and white wings buzzing around each other against glowing clouds in a soft blue sky. Still, despite all the sudden, new memories, all she could say was, “You.”

  “Yes, me, your little brother. Defiant, stubborn… loving.”

  “You.”

  “Yes, me and you. Before time, before this world, before the one before it.” Azazel snorted as a fleeting smile came across his face. “Me and you. And then…”

  “I ripped out your wings and cast you out,” said Mea, suddenly feeling cruel and regretful.

  “Yes,” said Azazel as he smiled again—an innocent smile, despite the fact that the truthful words and reality still hurt. “That part you remember. Yes, and for the twenty-thousand years that followed—give-or-take a few millennia—we have remained estranged.”

  “Then you tried to kill me. After the great flood, you saved me. And then, after all those years, you… you tried to kill me.”

  “Eh, siblings fight,” he said dismissively, trying to make light of it.

  “Why?” Mea asked, beyond confused. “Why-why didn’t you come see me? Come tell me?” The rest of her memories remained a fog. “Why did I…” rip out your wings? “Why did I cast you out?” Her thoughts drifted to Ryan, her new little brother… She couldn’t imagine harming him. “Why would I do that to you?”

  “Why?” Azazel grabbed onto the iron bars of his cell and tugged at them lightly. Why, indeed. “Why? to save the humans, the best you could—the best way you knew how. Even if they did not deserve you
r mercy…”

  And now Azazel seemed to be sharing in his sister’s pain and was now resting his head against the iron bars of his cell. Looking more defeated than usual, he was still a hulk of a man with muscles carved and hard as stone and towered over Mea, looking down on her through his prison bars. Blinking, his angry eyes grew sad and seemed to flash to the soft gold that Mea remembered from her dream. He continued, “And now… Now you have a new little brother… and a new family. And you don’t need me.”

  Still confused, Mea was unsure of how she should react. And if her memories betrayed her, her feelings didn’t. All the hurt she caused him flooded her. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember why, but I… I’m sorry. It was harsh, there had to be another way.” Exile, tearing out his wings, suddenly it all seemed so cruel. The gods are cruel, she thought, even me. “I’m sorry.”

  “Eh,” huffed Azazel. “Siblings fight. Angels rebel.” His jet-black wings fluttered behind him. “And apparently wings grow back. I forgive you, Sister,” he said, casually while really meaning it. For both gods and those who have truly known suffering, it really wasn’t that big of a deal. He had seen and done worse.

  Mea touched his hand. “How? How can you forgive me? It must have been… horrible, agonizing. All those years?”

  “It was but… as I said, siblings fight. And before I did it, before I rebelled… I knew that you’d retaliate, that you’d punish me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t see the whole ripping-out-my-wings thing coming, but I knew the punishment would be severe. But the truth is… I’d do it all again. Rebellion in Heaven, it’s got a nice ring to it. Don’t you think?” he said grinning. “But what you did, you shouldn’t feel guilty for that… It was the only way.”

  Don’t worry about it? Azazel was going to destroy the Tree of Life and, in doing so, destroy every living soul. And despite that and everything else, he seemed to be playing it all very fast and loose. “Why? Do you hate them?” Mortals.

  “I don’t,” he sighed and wiped his thumb across Mea’s cheek.

  So focused on the conversation, she hadn’t noticed the tears streaming from her eyes, but Azazel had. “I don’t hate them. I never have. I just hate to see you sad, to cry… for them. Same as him.” He nodded towards her shoulder, his chin jabbing at something behind her.

  Half covered in the shadows created by the flickering torchlight, Blackwell stepped closer. “It seems you two have made amends.” As Mea turned to him, her sadness made him turn his eyes to the ground in shame. After a long pause, he answered her unsaid question. Why didn’t you tell me that Azazel was my brother? “He didn’t want me to tell you, figured it’d be something better done in-person… You know, without all of the plotting and murdering and such.”

  “Let him out.” Mea’s voice whimpered with emotion as she squeezed the prison bars. “Let him out now.”

  Blackwell paused before darting looks between Mea and Azazel. Then something else grabbed his attention.

  Mea’s hand was no longer gripping the iron prison bar, it was now firmly over the hilt of her sword. “Do it.”

  Looking like a sad puppy, Blackwell finally brought his eyes up to hers and asked, “You would cut me? You’d cut me to free him?” It was a genuine question. He didn’t know where her head was at or what she might do.

  But easing her hand away from her blade, she came to her senses. “No, no, of course not. I’m sorry, I just…” Her eyes were salty and puffy, so she sniffled and wiped her cheeks. “Please.”

  “As you wish.” And as Blackwell waved his hand in the air, the prison bars clacked loudly and began sliding aside and into a long slot in the stone wall. Azazel was free.

  “No.” With Azazel’s hand pulling, the prison bars slid back in reverse before slamming shut. “Sister, I said I forgive you but…” He glanced at Blackwell before returning his gaze to Mea. “The bridge is already burned… So, I will stay where I am.”

  Sounding like heavy chains at a shipyard, the iron bars to freedom slammed back in to place and locked, and Azazel retreated into the blackness of his now-familiar prison cell. “And if it is all the same to you, I would like to be alone now.”

  A noise came from the darkness. “Goodbye, Mea,” growled Azazel. And as they had done before, and like nothing had changed at all, his eyes became emerald flames.

  CH 26: Cold Cave

  The night had turned cool, and his breath steamed in the forest air. And Raven, he was standing at the edge of the black hole created by Fenrir’s trident. The hole was now hidden beneath a lattice of green and purple weeds that masked the massive depth and darkness of it.

  Is this the place? thought Raven. Slightly unsure, he looked down at a neatly folded piece of paper covered in numbers. Coordinates, longitude and latitude. Then, with a snap of his fingers, and the piece of paper ignited and burst into flames, before turning to ash and drifting away in the cool, mellow breeze. He’s a dick, but at least he gave good directions, thought Raven.

  Draped in his armor complete with claws and talons, he squeezed them tightly before relaxing them. Now or never, he thought trying to build up his courage. Time to kill a god.

  There are worse ways to go. Raven was aimless and lost, a lost soul, and destined to die and/or become a demon. And it didn’t matter whether it was on Earth or in Hell, that was his fate, and he knew it. Like I said, he thought, worse ways to go.

  In truth, he didn’t care. He wanted to care. He wanted to love Mea, to love and remember his past life, to have a reason to live. But he didn’t. Deep down, Raven was a killer. That’s it, that’s all, and he knew it. And he didn’t care, not really.

  Sometimes he would get flashes of his past lives—bullets, blood, bodies. Wars on foreign soil—in the jungle, in the desert, amidst stone rubble. Soldiers with different faces, different uniform—with lightning bolts, eagle emblems, blue crosses, camouflaged. Strange faces, different languages. The sound of bombs, of bullets, catapults, the wailing of horses. Knives, swords, arrows, halberds. Guns, muskets, rifles, crude revolvers.

  Raven shook his head hard, trying to shake away the memories. How long? How many times had he done this? How many times had he been reincarnated—reincarnated to fight other people’s wars, to kill. Too many, but this time… This time would be the last, his last battle. Still, the way he felt… As much as he hated to admit it, he like it. It’s who he was, what he was born to do. He was a warrior, a soldier… a killer. One more time, he thought, one last time.

  That wasn’t all he was, was it? No, he had a wife. He’d been in love. But the emptiness always came back. Somehow, someway, it always found its way back and sooner or later, it always found a way to creep back into his soul. And that was exactly how he felt, empty and dark… just like the hole he was standing in front of.

  One last time, he thought again, and there were always worse ways to die.

  Staring down at the weed-covered hole, he drew his sword and slashed a slit into the webbing of weeds. Time to do what I did best, he realized and snickered. A smile briefly crept across his face before his jet-black mask slid up and concealed it. Then, with a certain swagger, he leapt into the black hole and disappeared.

  Falling a few stories, he landed silently atop a patch of moist black soil. Grabbing a handful, like coffee grains, the dirt slid between the slits in his claws. Fertile, good for crops. Then he crept forward, following the same path Fenrir had just hours ago.

  Over the black soil and through the tunnel of tree roots, Raven crept through the darkness, same as he had done innumerable times before. His footsteps were light and silent, slow and calculated. Cloaked in the same absent of light as the tunnel itself, his armor and slotted black mask concealed his person. Only his eyes and hair lied uncovered.

  Sneaking along, he descended into and further down the tunnel. Soon thick black soil mixed with rock before the tunnel of tree roots turned to one of clay and rock before becoming pure, polished granite. And from the coolness of the air, Raven knew that the underg
round pathway had led him under the mountain.

  Further along, Raven followed the tunnel until it spilled out into a large cavern. Comparable to that of a sport arena, Raven thought that it looked like an underground reservoir that had been emptied and remodeled. Innumerable nooks were etched within the stone walls and crudely carved steps provided the only means of reaching the higher levels, like stadium steps.

  How strange, such a large cavern, but it was empty. Blackwell had told him to hurry, before the wolf-god regains his strength, but he had only brushed over the fact that the wolf-god lived beneath a mountain of empty caverns.

  Deeper inside the stone hole, Fenrir’s wolf den, the bright blue light that lit up the floor became less vibrant and dimmed to that of a dull, blue, overcast sky. Still, it provided just enough light.

  Being a creature of the night, Raven didn’t need much light. Through his eyes, shadows and stone lit up in sharp, defined shades of darkness—like HDTV with an irregular tint. And despite his lack of visible light, the terrain appeared crisp and precise to his sharpened eyes. And his sharpened eyes saw nothing. The cavern was empty, for now.

  But if they came back, if Raven had visitors; he’d be trapped. So, looking around the cavern then up at heavily shaded ceiling, he wrinkled his eyebrows with an idea. Sword still in-hand, he crouched down until his legs became coiled springs. Then he exploded upwards. With a slow, silent leap and a quieter flap of his wings, he was stretching upwards and through the air.

  Gliding upwards even further, his claw reached for the ceiling and, not unlike a bat, he clenched onto it and hung. And from his impromptu perch, he saw three tunnels leading out of the arena.

  Where do they go? Where do they lead to? The faint blue light offered little details of his surroundings or where the tunnels led.