by Brian Rella
“Okay,” Frank said, nodding, keeping his expression neutral.
“Come on, Jack,” Nic said, gently touching his brother’s shoulder.
They got up off the chairs and walked to their mother’s side. Nic leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Frank forced himself not to listen. It wasn’t for him to hear. Nic backed away and Jack moved closer to his mother, leaned over her, and his long locks of hair blocked view of his face. He flopped forward and rested his head and shoulders on his mother, hugging her in silence. Frank shifted his feet and looked away, forcing the uncomfortable feelings back down the bottomless pit where they belonged.
The boys turned to Frank and he scanned their faces briefly. “Come on,” he said, and led them out the door and down the hall to the exit. They stepped out onto First Avenue, and Frank raised his hand to hail a cab, then had second thoughts. A walk will do us all some good. “This way,” he said.
15
TITUS
October 27, 2015
Fort Tuthill, Arizona
The sky was crisp and blue as Titus walked the shoulder of Route 17 at the outskirts of Flagstaff. A convertible flew by, sending his dark maroon three-quarter leather jacket sailing behind him in a dust cloud. He grabbed his lapels and straightened the jacket without missing a step in his swagger, shaking more dust and sand from his clothes. He glimpsed the driver’s eyes in the rearview. There was happiness in those eyes. He recognized it, even though it was an emotion he hadn’t seen in his own reflection since she had died twenty years ago. Would he ever look in the mirror and see happiness in his own eyes again? Who gives a fuck? But then, he didn’t have to worry about looking in a mirror very often these days.
Driving was something that didn’t concern him either. Walking was better; the solitude of walking the road, alone. He’d been walking for a long time, wandering the desert like some kind of lonesome black cowboy. The desert had become his home. He slept in its sand when he was tired, ate the meat of its creatures when he was hungry, and the rest of the time he just walked, avoiding people as much as he could. Alone was better. Simpler that way. No one to answer to. No one to depend on. No one to care about. Just me. Solo was the way to go.
Sometimes he got a call from the General. Rand was the only person Titus spoke to anymore; the only person who understood him and what he was about. They were warriors and had been through hell, each of them in their own wars—enough said. That was their bond, and the basis of their arrangement. The General understood that humanity was at war with the Fallen, and he wanted to kill them as bad as Titus did.
He passed the Fort Tuthill Campgrounds and his phone vibrated in his pocket again. He knew who it was without looking, so he didn’t look. General Rand. Only the General had his number. Rand was used to people jumping when he said so. But Titus wasn’t people, and he jumped for no one. Those days were long behind him. So he let the phone vibrate. He’d be there when he got there.
Past the campgrounds was the military museum at the old Fort Tuthill. It was closed to the public now for renovations, but that was a front for what was going on underneath. His phone buzzed again as he stepped through the secure doors at the back of the storage shed behind the museum, ducking so that his afro could make it under the frame of the elevator. He took the elevator down five levels to the command center and testing facility where he was sure the General was waiting impatiently.
The doors opened and Titus saw two men standing on either side armed with guns and grenades and wearing flak jackets. They looked uncomfortably at Titus as he exited the elevator. He was used to that look and he returned a bland expression. Normal humans always gave him that look. He was six foot nine and built like a professional wrestler. His leather vintage clothes and horseshoe mustache complemented his ‘fro and made him look like Shaft. He passed the soldiers without saying anything. They shifted nervously and clutched their guns tighter. Like guns would save you. Please.
Past the tables lined with computer monitors and the testing chambers, Titus went to the office of General Rand and tapped lightly on the door. He waited impassively for the door to open. He could hear their conversations through the wood and metal and despite his previous guidance and consultation, the soldiers were still arguing and discussing the basics. He shook his head in disbelief.
The murmuring finally stopped, and the door opened. Titus stepped inside.
“Lieutenant, you can leave us,” Rand said. “And close the door behind you.” Rand was at his desk, his fingers interlaced over his wide belly. The lieutenant rose, saluted the General, and turned to leave, giving Titus the evil eye as he left. The soldiers still didn’t trust his kind, and they especially didn’t like to be asked to leave when he showed up.
“General.” Titus nodded to Rand. Next to him was Dr. Emory Fallston. His partially bald head reflected the harsh lighting overhead and gleamed into Titus’ eyes. Titus nodded to him as well. There were two men behind the General on a large screen that covered the back wall of Rand’s office. Their military dress jackets were decorated with too many medals to count, and Titus took them to be Rand’s superiors.
“Have a seat, Titus,” the General said in his thick drawl, motioning to the chair next to Fallston. “Doctor, please bring Mr. Titus up to speed on your latest developments.”
Dr. Fallston cleared his throat, “We’ve been running tests on the lesser demonic species you brought back from the other dimension and have had some success with the weapon.”
Titus fought back the urge to correct him. The military had an irritating way of renaming and re-classifying everything they came into contact with. Hybrids instead of Watchers. Demons instead of Fallen. Other dimensions instead of the Second Death. Never mind that these names have been in existence since the beginning of man. By all means, call them what you want.
“What do you mean by some success? What weapon?” Titus was skeptical, but interested. In all his years with the government, they had never successfully developed a conventional weapon to combat the Fallen. The Fallen were mystical creatures. How could the science and technology of man suddenly make the jump from the physical to the mystical?
Fallston’s eyebrows formed a “V”, and he was clearly happy to explain how his new toy worked. “It was quite simple really. Our analysis has determined that the demonic entities are comprised entirely of dark energy and so we have developed a weapon that disrupts, and then eradicates said dark energy. Using existing laser and light technology, we were able to develop a disruptor. In layman’s terms, it breaks down the sub-atomic particles of dark energy, eradicating the dark energy completely. We are able to focus the effect through a beam and direct it at a target.”
“So you have a laser gun that can kill the Fallen?” Titus said mockingly.
Dr. Fallston looked down his nose at Titus. “In a manner of speaking, yes. We call it the DED device. Dark Energy Disruptor.”
“How creative,” Titus said. “So you’ve called me in to get you another specimen?”
“The H.D.D.E. has authorized you to return to the…what do you call it?” one of the men on the screen said.
“The Second Death,” Titus finished for him.
“Yes…to bring back another lesser demon to test the DED device. We want to see it in action before we deploy it.”
Titus frowned. The Homeland Defense against Demonic Entities was becoming reckless. Just like the Order. The H.D.D.E. had brought back too many of the Fallen; lesser though they were, it was still dangerous bringing them into the land of the living. It was becoming too regular, and Titus feared they were taking too many chances, just as the Order had so many years ago when he lost Domino. Reckless fools. They are underestimating the Fallen just like the Order does.
“Is there a problem with that, soldier?” the other man on the screen asked Titus sternly, bringing him back to the present.
Titus glared at him. “Let’s be clear on something, General Whatever-your-name-is. I am not a soldier. Nor am I under your command. My mission i
s to kill the Fallen, not bring them here for you to play with in your labs. You’ve never developed a successful weapon before, so I’m highly skeptical you have developed one now—”
“I assure you the technology works, General,” Fallston chimed in. “Preliminary tests show one-hundred-percent effectiveness—”
“Tests?” Titus said. “Tests on what?”
Fallston frowned.
“Gentlemen, please,” Rand cut in. “This is all a good debate, but we have had a successful test under controlled conditions in the lab,” he said, nodding to the doctor, “and we need your help bringing in a live subject to further our assumptions. Now let me assure you, Titus, we are on the same team and have the same goals in mind. If the weapon is successful, we can not only play defense here at home, but we can also go on the offense.” He folded his arms on top of his belly, waiting for his statement to sink in.
Titus frowned. “What do you mean, offense?”
“I mean we take the fight to them. We arm our men with these DED devices and we invade the other dim…that is, the Second Death.”
The General looked very pleased with himself as he scanned Titus’ face. Titus wasn’t sure how he felt about this. On one hand, the General was right. Having a defense against the Fallen that would arm every man, woman, and child in the land of the living was a good idea. The fact was, humans were helpless against the Fallen and only the Watchers were able to take them on. This could be a game-changer, and one that would eliminate the Fallen forever if it worked.
If it worked. And invasion was extremely risky. Even the Watchers had never tried it before.
“Look, Titus. You’ve been working with us for a decade now. We’re not taking any unnecessary risks here.”
“General, I’m not so sure that’s true.”
The General held up his hands. “Okay, but some risk is necessary, right? We need to keep trying to defeat them. It’s us or them, isn’t it?”
Titus couldn’t argue with his logic. More importantly, he saw no reason to not help. And it’s about time we take the fight to them. Play a little offense instead of always being on defense.
“Show me the weapon,” Titus said.
16
BOOK OF RAZMUS
Chapter 3: 1-3
And so he devoured the soul of the man and it came to be that his spirit became black as the night.
And Kuriel the Protector fell from His grace, and the consequences were realized, and eternal.
And Kuriel the Protector became Dalkhu.
17
KURIEL
5873 B.C.
Mesopotamia
Kuriel withdrew from the dreamlands and fell back onto the soil, reeling from the transformation that had occurred within his essence. The memory of light energy echoed through him like a shout in a dark tunnel, and began to fade. The roaring darkness filled the void of light, overtaking him and filling him with fear.
Still in human form, he tried to transform into a ball of light to flee Earth and seek out Uriel to help him. He opened his mouth to sing, but there was no song left in him. A choked moan escaped his chest and he remained in his physical form, unable to change.
Fear turned to anger. Anger at the man, who lay slumped against the tree before him. The man he had tried to save, and who had cursed him in return with his impure soul.
“NO!” he shouted at the man. “This cannot be!”
Kuriel flew into a whirl of rage. He pulled the man from the ground and held him in the air before him. The man’s head lulled to the side, then snapped back, staring at Kuriel. His eyes were the color of ink and his face a portrait of shock.
The man clutched at Kuriel, unable to free himself from the iron grasp of the Celestial. Kuriel shook him violently, thrashing him about. He flung the man, smashing him against the tree where he had slept, and pinned him against the trunk, his feet dangling off the ground.
Kuriel’s face darkened and he plunged his fist into the man’s chest. Bone shattered and blood gushed as Kuriel grasped the man’s beating heart in his hand. He squeezed until the heart burst, sending blood and muscle spurting between his fingers.
The man shook and quivered in the air. His face went pale as the blood drained from him. And finally he was dead, pinned against the tree, with Kuriel’s hand still inside of him.
“No, damn you! No!”
Kuriel became frantic and ripped at the man, tearing his limbs from him and scattering them across the ground around the tree. Soaked in the man’s blood, his spirit as black as the starless night, he raised his face to the heavens, and bellowed to the Creator.
“DAMN YOU! You have forsaken me! I will destroy you and all that you have created on this planet!”
The land grew silent around him as he seethed at the sky. The stars went dark above him and the seam of the night sky tore open like ripping cloth, and something not of His making appeared in the sky. It had no reference for Kuriel to identify it: no shape, no presence, no spirit he could relate it to. But it was there, filling the skies above him, and with it came dread and emptiness and cold, like a shadow casting a shadow of itself on the backdrop of icy nothingness. A void that swallowed the senses, yet one that had power. And the power was tempting and irresistible in the purity of its depravity. And Kuriel knew it wanted him. It wanted to touch him. And Kuriel invited it to.
Come to me, the void called. I am for you.
Swirling dark clouds formed, traced with glimmering black light and radiant violet flames. It turned above him. Around and around it went, funneling into the nothingness behind it. Lightning streaked, the sky boomed, and Kuriel closed his eyes and opened his arms to it.
A ray of glittering darkness ripped down through the empty, whirling night, striking him on the head and freezing him in place. A searing pain spread through his body. Long spikes of black, steel-like power were driven with tremendous force through his head, down through his back, and out his pelvis and feet. Spiking pain burrowed through him and he shimmered with impurity. His flesh cracked and fractured like an egg shell and the membrane of his essence, gloomy and ink-like, poked through the gaps.
The dark light pounded him, spiking him through and through, vibrating violently through him, shaking him apart. Madness swept through Kuriel. The knowledge and purity of the Creator was ripped from him with brutality and savagery, and it sped back to the funneling emptiness above.
And then more pain came.
It started as a blister and grew to a conflagration. It scorched him, burning his flesh, charring the skin on his face so that he no longer looked like a man, but more like leathery meat left on the spit over an open flame for an eternity.
A thunder-clap echoed above him and the swirling void above spun down and evaporated into the sky. The dark clouds faded into the seam of the sky and stars appeared again, twinkling at Kuriel with their brightness. Kuriel wobbled somewhere between consciousness and something else, and fell to the ground with a thud, his skin crackling and smoking on the ground.
He rose from the ground slowly, his face marred and nightmarish. Flakes of charred flesh fell from his cheeks as a fiendish smile cut across his burnt face. And Kuriel, who had once basked in the light of the Creator, was no longer compelled by His laws as he once had been. He was bound by nothing, and his mind became awash with murky thoughts of murder and power and wretchedness. He went back the way he had come, following the path of the dark man, back to the tribe and in search of more light to devour to satisfy his blackened spirit.
A dire wolf howled in the distance, and the Celestial that was once Kuriel sought out the animal with evil intention. He followed the sounds of the giant wolf’s growls and found him feasting on the flesh of a man, and he was pleased, for he found nothing but pleasure in man’s demise.
The hound looked up from its meal, baring its teeth at him, protecting its meal from the approaching evil. The wolf snarled and gnashed his teeth. It lunged at Kuriel, and he snatched the beast from the air and held him in front of hi
s seared face.
The wolf barked and growled and snapped at Kuriel, but he snapped the beast’s neck and twisted its head from its shoulders, spraying its warm blood over his scorched body. He adorned the wolf’s head as his own, masking his burnt face. He skinned the wolf and used the pelt to cover his loins. From the wolf’s bones, he formed a tall staff with a crook, and held it by his side as he walked on toward the musky scented souls of man that drifted toward him on the night air.
And so he roamed onward, following the aroma of the tribe, for he had the taste, and he desired to fill himself with all the souls of the race of man.
18
FRANK
October 27, 2015
New York, New York
Walking up First Avenue with the boys in tow, the crisp, blustery wind was refreshing after being in the stale and emotionally draining hospital. Autumn was in full swing, and winter was nearing. Frank pulled up the collar of his leather jacket, and noticed the boys shivering.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s pick up the pace. It’s getting cold out here.”
“Will she be okay?” Jack asked his brother in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Nic said. “The doctor said she had a mental breakdown, whatever that means.”
“Her mind is trying to deal with what’s been happening,” Frank said. “She’ll be fine once her brain figures out how to process everything.”
“When will that be?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. It’s up to her really,” Frank replied.
“What does that mean?” Nic said.
“Give her some time, boys,” Frank said, but he couldn’t be sure time would solve anything, and he hoped the boys didn’t see through his feeble attempt to soothe them. Of course he didn’t want to tell the kids it could be a long time before she came out of it, or that she may never be the same. Look at what happened to my mother, boys. It could happen to yours, too. But don’t worry, I’m here to help. Time might help, but there were no guarantees. A little bit of the truth was better; better than the whole truth and better than flat-out lying.
