Blackwell smiled at Raven, and then to Fenrir, he said, “As for your pack, well…” Blackwell shrugged then, without a care in the world, he casually looked around and continued explaining. “Well-technically, they aren’t your pack, not yet at least, right? If I am not mistaken, you haven’t completed the ceremony. And thus, they have not taken of your flesh, not yet at least. And thus, they are no more than… wayward souls. At least for the moment they aren’t.”
Fenrir growled but didn’t object.
Blackwell looked curiously at the four wolves latched onto Raven’s wings and the two at his wrists. They were big, the largest of the pack… but they weren’t marked. They weren’t bitten. “You don’t mark your pack any longer?”
“I have done away with it. It is an archaic and unnecessary tradition. And over the ages, the mortals have not taken too kindly to my agents. It’s better to blend in.”
“Agents?” questioned Blackwell before realizing the answer. “Ah, agents. Your werewolves, your recruiters. Your…” Blackwell paused and studied the beasts. The one on Raven’s wing, farthest on the right, had an interesting look to it. That one’s a game-changer, or a traitor, he thought without knowing for sure. “Yes, agents. Talent agents.” Blackwell nodded to himself then said, “Well, I liked it, the bites, the markings but… you know, to each their own. Plus, like you said before, I’m sure it helps to keep away those pesky humans and their silver magic bullets.”
Fenrir was growing tired of small talk, and he growled at Blackwell to let him know it. Get on with it. Why are you here?
“Anyways,” Blackwell continued. “Aside from all that, I wasn’t the one that attacked them.” He nodded at the ceiling. “He was.”
A loud growl and long golden whiskers peeked out of the blackness. Long rows of white fangs followed and gleamed and gritted down on all of them. Hissing, then growling, then slow-spoken words following. “Hello… old friend.”
“Serpent,” Fenrir growled. He lowered his glaive to his side while gripping it even tighter, his anger building. “The great water dragon. Jormungandr, Tiamat, Leviathan; what name do you go by now? Once upon a time, you were the great serpent of the sea—Once. And now what are you? A myth? A fable? The Dark One’s lackey?”
The blackness that covered the ceiling turned to black and blue scales. Layers upon layers of scales, all intertwined like a ream of thick, braided rope. The scales widened and pulsed with anger and anticipation. “Wolf,” Leviathan said, venomous. “All these years, and your arrogance had not dulled a bit.”
“Nor has my blade.”
Opening its great mouth, the giant serpent coiled back and around the shadows. The muscles beneath its giant scales tensed and tightened. “Then let us finish what we began so long ago.”
“Aye,” growled Fenrir as he readied his blade, “let’s. I imprisoned you once.” Fenrir’s blade shimmered onyx-black while its edge lit up with concentrated electricity. Vines of purple lightning sparkled and flashed over the thin, sharp edge and begged to be released. “And I can do it again.”
And Fenrir’s pack would not abandon him. Their fear vanished, and the wolves turned towards the ceiling. Snarling, their snouts lifting like curtains and revealed a thousand sets of polished white fangs, smaller yet just as sharp as Leviathan’s own. The fur on their backs spiked up with adrenaline, and they awaited the giant serpent’s attack and waited to attack themselves. And knowing they stood little chance against the giant monster, their courage was admirable. Brave but foolish.
Fenrir’s eyes shifted down and over his wolves, and he tried to conceal his concern for them, his pack, his family, but he knew that there was no other way. The battle was unavoidable, and mourning was best saved for later… for many would die, including the serpent. Fenrir would kill the great serpent Leviathan (again) and send him back to hell, or he would die trying.
The air was thick with bloodlust and contempt… and then it wasn’t.
“That’s enough,” said Blackwell. “You can finish your blood-feud later, after business.” A large beige sack swung out from behind his back, from nowhere but the shadows. Blackwell tossed it at Fenrir’s feet.
“What is this?” asked Fenrir, wary of trusting Blackwell.
“An offering… in exchange for the rogue reaper.”
Momentarily the center of attention, the sack sat lumpy and lifeless. “Ten kings for ten horns,” explained Blackwell, nodding at the lumpy sack. Go on, open it.
Fenrir’s face showed his confusion and distrust, and he remained reluctant to open the bag. Ten kings wouldn’t fit in such a small sack. This was another one of Blackwell’s games.
Seeing the suspicion in Fenrir’s eyes, Blackwell elaborated. “Well… not kings, the heads of kings, kings of corporations.”
After darting a look up at the giant floating serpent—to ensure that it wasn’t going to strike, Fenrir spun around his glaive and poked at the beige sack with the butt of his weapon, prying open the bag gentle and wide enough for his eyes only. Examining the contents, he could hear Blackwell’s voice. “And I’ll give you back your recruits, your lost souls—well, technically they’re my lost souls. I mean, it is my domain after all, and you still have not held your ceremony.”
“No,” growled Leviathan. “They are mine. We had a deal.” All the wolf-meat you can eat.
“Yes. Yes, we did,” Blackwell agreed before leaning back and facing the ceiling—to address the giant beast. “Leviathan, I promised you an early release and offered you the promise of wolf flesh but… I didn’t say you could keep it.”
Feeling tricked, and rightfully so, Leviathan wasn’t happy. Snarling, it coiled back, ready to strike but resisting the urge. Leviathan’s scales squirming through the shadows, and the serpent seemed to replace the shadows and seemed larger than physically possible. “You tricked me.”
“Perhaps, but I said you could attack the wolves, not that you had to. But… if you feel that strongly about it, I can let you and the Wolf hash it out again. And you can get imprisoned again. Or we can just cut open your stomach and take them back. Or you could just return them—your choice.”
Still playing both sides, Blackwell checked to see if Fenrir was paying attention. He was. Still standing over the opened bag, Fenrir was still clenching his glaive while keeping a watchful eye on all three of them; Raven, Blackwell, and Leviathan.
After giving Leviathan a moment to think about it, Blackwell asked, “So?” though he already knew the answer.
Leviathan growled again before disappearing back into the shadows. Then, just as its growling died down, it was replaced with the sound of yelping and echoing whimpers. A flurry of yellow eyes reappeared from within the long, dark corridors. Bouncing and bounding forward, the returned wolves poured out of the tunnels and into the cavern.
“Excellent choice,” said Blackwell. “And you?” he asked, turning towards Fenrir.
Fenrir was none too pleased. He growled, paused, and pondered. Ten kings, for ten horns, for one reaper. It wasn’t a bad deal, but Blackwell’s fiasco of disrespect wasn’t appreciated. “You send your reaper here to assassinate me, and then, you bring Leviathan here—to murder my flock and sully my house. And now, you want a deal? After disrespecting me—in my home, in my den! You would dare engage in such brazen, blasphemous behavior? The years have changed you, old friend.”
As Fenrir spoke, his pack echoed his anger. The six wolves that were still latched onto Raven released him, his battered body went limp and crumbled on to the ground. The six wolves, along with the rest of them, turned their curled lips and ivory fangs towards Blackwell.
He handled it well. With a thousand angry wolves snarling wildly at him, ready to tear him to shreds, Blackwell could have cared less. “Fenrir, I did not come to disrespect you… I came to visit,” Blackwell quipped. “But… in my defense, it’s been a very long time since we last spoke. I mean, you were still marking your pack back then. And you slept; you slept through the great flood—which, if I am not
mistaken—and I’m not, you benefitted substantially from.” Blackwell paused to let that last sentence marinate (with Fenrir). Then he continued. “And then the world changed. When I came here, I didn’t know what to expect. Leviathan was just… insurance, that’s it—and he released your pack, the recruits… the ones that could be saved. Besides, technically speaking, they were still mine anyways. You hadn’t turned them yet.”
Fenrir growled and gave Blackwell a look of disdain. But yet again, he couldn’t disagree.
Fenrir wasn’t the only unhappy party. Still sore from being used, Leviathan growled loudly from somewhere within the shadows. Although, this time, only his giant moon-like eyes were visible.
“Leviathan,” said Blackwell. “I don’t know why you’re growling or why you’re even still here. You just got pardoned, and you didn’t even have to get your stomach slit open to get it. And you’re getting a front-row seat to the Cleansing. So quit your moaning.” Then Blackwell realized something, he hadn’t released him. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot… you are released.”
Leviathan’s growling and his glowing eyes faded from the shadows. But Fenrir remained cautious and watched the darkness with extra diligence until the sounds of his enemy had completely faded out and he was confident that it wasn’t coming back.
He turned his attention back to the beige sack and again glanced inside. He sniffed at the air again, and the sweet smell of death wafted through his nostrils. Dead kings, they were. Kings of Corporations, abominations. And he wanted them.
He gave Blackwell a distrusting look then turned towards the still-subdued, wounded reaper next to the sack.
Barely conscious, Raven gazed up at the wolf-god. His jet-black hair was matted across his face and over his gray, half-opened eyes. Battered and beaten, his head swayed lazily as he drifted ever-so-close to the end.
“Layers upon layers of truth,” Fenrir told Raven again. “Remember that, little puppy.” Fenrir looking over at the beige sack again then looked over his flock of newly returned wolves as he considered Blackwell’s deal.
“Ten kings,” Blackwell repeated. “It’s a good deal—and I’ll even throw in a sweetener.” A cloud of black smoke puffed out next to him, and from it, Blackwell pulled out another, smaller beige sack and tossed it next to the first. “Two more. Two more kings of corporations… courtesy of Lilith.”
Fenrir’s sapphire-blue eyes glowed and glared while Blackwell studied him. He’s close, thought Blackwell—close to taking the deal. He knew better than anyone, and he was certain of it. He just needed to sweeten the pot a little more, just a little bit extra, just to close the deal, to let Fenrir think he got the better of him. Everyone likes to win, even if it’s a lie. As if he was reading Fenrir’s mind and knew what he wanted, Blackwell said, “A pound of flesh?”
Fenrir growled and nodded.
“Well… I might need it. A pound of flesh? How ‘bout a pair of wings?”
CH 33: Bright Lights, Big City
Lilly stood on the edge of the terrace, on the edge of its marble railing. Her toes curled over the polished stone while she smiled and held her arms out wide. Her golden-blond hair and black dress swayed with the wind, like ocean waves, and sparkled with a similar elegance. Her skin glistened in the moonlight. She was as elegant and cold as a frostbit diamond.
Clouds of cigarette smoke swirled around her head and whispered their confessions and secrets into her ears. And Lilly responded. “Soon, soon my dears… Vengeance will come. Yes, soon enough… Yes, I know your pain. They have hurt you, and you will have your justice… Our feminine retribution will come, and no injustice will go unpunished. I assure you… Oh yes, mankind will know our pain, and they will learn… What will they learn? They will learn that it doesn’t take much strength to plunge a knife into the necks of tyrants, only courage. And they will learn that mortal men can bleed just as easily as the ones they subjugate.”
She balanced a dancing stream of smoke in her hand while another quickened and swirled around her neck.
But something else caught her attention, a blinking star. Off in the distance, and bright and flashing like a man-made light, it grew larger and brighter with each burst.
The swirling smoke around her neck whistled like a strong gust of wind. “Oh.” Lilly lifted an eyebrow and understood. “Oh, she’s coming, is she?”
That brought her attention back up to the flashing star. “Yes, and from the looks of it, she’s on her way, right now. In fact, it looks like she’ll be here in no time at all. Good.” Lilly shrugged. “Then she can join the rest of the fallen, failed heroes of the past.”
CH 34: Cake by the Ocean
Thick and pale, the fog rose from the bay and flooded over the great suspension bridge. The moon was still high and bright, and the night still hid the horrors of the world and those to come. Mankind was not ready; they would not understand. At the moment, it mattered not. He was released, released from captivity. Free once again, for the first time in a millennia.
The fog grew further and soon covered the ocean, shoreline, and shore alike, like a massive gray blanket. The red cables of the bridge disappeared beneath the fog and were painted smoky-white as it rose further.
Blackwell’s words floated through its head. “Our transaction is complete. You are free, free to roam the earth’s oceans as you once had.” From somewhere high above, a throaty laugh that was half-a-growl whispered to those who could hear it.
Storm clouds formed, dark and ominous. They darkened further and stirred with rain, electricity, and something else. Moonlight glimmered off the edges of the clouds like freshly polished daggers. And what lied within the clouds was no less dangerous.
Once the great serpent ruled the seas. Before time, when men still thought the world flat, the beast feasted on lost ships and storm-wrecked vessels, back when the flesh of foolish adventurers was plentiful. Now it was less so, but not for long.
Soon it will be the same, thought Leviathan. No killing though; I will not kill again, that was the deal. Doesn’t matter either way, not really. Despite his condescending and trickery, Blackwell kept his side of the deal, and Leviathan decided that it would do the same. Besides, Leviathan thought, with the Cleansing at hand, the oceans will be filled with the corpses of men and monsters alike, soon enough, and food would be plentiful.
Above the suspension bridge, the swirling black clouds grew larger and darker, and they grew into each other—and larger—and hovered just above the blanket of snowy fog. The thunder growled and growled louder. Soon it was joined by flashes of lightning. Of course the lightning should have come first, but it didn’t, not tonight. The flashes and growling grew brighter and louder. And soon, the clouds were blacker than the night itself and kissed the top of the red-cabled bridge.
Within the thick clouds of darkness, the thrashing lightning quickened, and the storm clouds seemed to be holding more than a reservoir of raindrops. A massive, swirling snake dwelled within them. Its long black scales squirmed and shifted over each other while the muddy clouds bubbled over the serpent’s scales and over themselves—black, bubbling, and ominous—like a burning oil well. The giant snake’s eyes opened and glinted like slits of silver. Then it came.
A pillar of water poured out of the thick, muddy cloud. Walls of water poured down out of the clouds, out of the night’s sky, and into the ocean. Within was the great serpent Leviathan.
And under the darkened night, the moon watched the giant sea dragon pour into the ocean. And it watched as the infinitely long shadow stretched out across the San Francisco Bay and into the Pacific Ocean. And it watched as the long shadow squirmed, stretched, and thickened before it then thinned and sank into the ancient depths from which it came from oh so long ago.
CH 35: Worlds Collide
Raven’s torn, wingless body dropped out of the blackness of the roof and bounced off the familiar floor of the abandoned factory—where he killed the outcasts, where Blackwell set him up and convinced him to go after Fenrir.
His large broadsword followed and fell out of the sky as well. Clanging as it landed, the blade danced across the factory floor before finally settling next to its owner.
Blackwell would soon join him. Graceful and prestigious as always and drifting down as smooth as a feather, he emerged from the shadows above, as well. “Very good,” he said. “That went exactly as I expected.”
Raven grimaced from his wounds and flailed back and forth on the ground, but his anger was enough to fuel his speech. “Liar! You betrayed me. You set me up.”
“Well,” said Blackwell. “It was more of a fib than a lie, but yes. But, to be fair though, you did betray me first. Before you became a reaper, we made a deal… a deal which you broke.”
Raven’s claw reached for his sword and wrapped around the hilt of it. I’m not dead yet; my blood was maroon. With reckless rage and determined to find out if the gods were truly immortal, he rushed towards the dark-god, half-stumbling as he did so.
“Come on,” Blackwell said, smiling and waving him in. And like a raging bull, Raven charged Blackwell. And Blackwell greeted him with open arms.
Raven’s blade accepted the invitation, and he plunged the great sword into Blackwell’s well-dressed stomach and through it. With a sharp slit down the middle, Raven’s blade exited the back of Blackwell’s expensive suit, and Raven felt a blinking flash of pride, redemption, victory, and hope. Blackwell seemed to have felt nothing at all.
Raven’s moment was fleeting and swallowed by a different experience. His breath was caught in his throat, and the shock preceded the pain. Looking down, he saw Blackwell’s hands. Then he saw the onyx pummels at the end of them. Then he felt them, the two daggers punched through his chest.
Adding insult to injury, Blackwell said, “At least this time you had the courage to look me in his eyes when you stabbed me in the back… through the back.”
The Long Night of the Gods: Lilith Awakens (Forgotten Ones Book 2) Page 28
