“Thank you, elders,” he said, floating in the air before them, his voice suddenly amplified. “Since we’re moving straight into the testimony, I will start there and make this as brief as possible, with additional documents available that will back up my claims. I’ve been under the suspicion for some time that the leaders of many of the committees that this Congress oversees have been purposefully preventing peace with the Progeny of Light.”
Murmurs in the crowd, a few gasps; Lucian suddenly felt a sense of electricity in the air, one he hadn’t felt just moments ago.
“These are very grave charges,” said one of the female elders, her voice withered, her face ancient.
Lucian watched the crowd grow even rowdier as Gaspard began naming names, explaining their affiliations with the upper echelons of the Progeny of Light and how they had purposely kept the lower levels at war.
He arrived at the name Lucian was familiar with, Lord Lifton.
“It is my belief based on conversations that I’ve had, overheard, as well as written testimony that I have been able to gather and that I can provide, that the aforementioned Lord Lifton, majority leader of the Committee on Luminaries, has been the leader of this campaign for some time now.”
Someone in the crowd stood and screamed, shaking his fist at Gaspard.
Still with his back to the audience, Gaspard continued. “I do not know if peace with the Progeny of Light is in our best interest, but I do believe that is something that we should be open to exploring, especially after so many years of endless turmoil and struggle. Now, we find ourselves on the eve of an actual war, one caused by an episode that I took part in at a beach in North America. Our response going forward will affect all of us: either we end up warring with the angels and facing the repercussions of a long and drawn-out battle, knowing that we are drawing power from the same source…”
Even though the crowd had turned against him, this last statement caused Lucian to pause.
He had made a similar argument before, although his was one made out of sheer instinct, less rooted in facts.
But if what Gaspard was saying, that the two Progenies drew their powers from the same source, not only made sense that they had a cold war for so long, but one could argue that they could possibly work together to cultivate this power in a new way.
The more cynical side of Lucian knew that it equally made sense they would continue to war for all eternity.
“Enough,” the lead elder said, cutting Gaspard off as he continued his plea for sanity. “The things you have said are as blasphemous as the mention of alternate parasitic beings. You’ve used your position to draw all of us here to speak this nonsense before a crowd unwilling to hear it. And for what?”
“I have evidence of everything that I’ve said,” Gaspard told him, his voice not wavering. “And I believe that there are those seated before me who know that what I’m saying is true, and still perhaps there are those seated before me who are actively working against our own kind by pitting lower Deaths against lower angels.”
“Not a good enough answer,” the lead elder said again, his voice closer to a roar than it had been just moments ago. “For your blasphemy, you will have your mantlecore removed and redistributed to Deaths of our choosing.”
A few in the crowd started to cheer, others gasped.
“I will what?” Gaspard asked.
“In two days’ time, we will have a trial based on not only the evidence you presented, but the extent that you have gone to spread this vile, blasphemous misinformation. At that time, after we have made our judgment, you will have your mantle stripped from you.”
“That’s not fair,” Lucian said, starting to stand.
Mastima grabbed his arm and yanked him down. “Not now, Lucian. This isn’t the place…”
“Fuck this,” he said, throwing his hand up in the air. “How is somebody supposed to have a trial if someone else has already predetermined the outcome?”
The lead elder lifted his fist.
The same black energy that spawned the platform quickly wrapped around Gaspard, preventing him from leaving.
Mastima grabbed Lucian’s hand and quickly moved to the exit, slipping out of the arched doorway, hurrying down the entranceway.
Lucian tried to stop her, but once he saw the look on her face, one of absolute fear, he let up, allowing her to lead him.
“We have to go,” she told him hurriedly. “We will discuss this more in a private location.”
Lucian and Mastima’s forms took shape back in his predecessor’s world, Lucian catching a sullen expression on the female Death’s face as she turned to him.
“What the hell?” he asked her.
Mastima lifted her hand, cutting him off. “There was nothing we could do there,” she said in an uncertain tone. “You must believe me when I tell you that there was nothing we could do.”
“I just don’t get it,” Lucian said as his crows came to him.
He had left all his creations behind, as per Mastima’s instructions. They had gathered as well, his replicants ready to go if need be.
“What’s there to get? He appealed to the Congress and now they have called for his death.”
“Then the elders are probably in cahoots somehow with the higher-ups and the various committees, whatever. I don’t know all the terms for this shit. But that’s the only explanation, right? They want the Deaths on the bottom, like me, to constantly fight the angels. I get that. Masters of war. I get that. But what I don’t understand is how they can simply say that they’re going to have a trial for Gaspard after already declaring him guilty. What kind of justice system is this?”
“Your question is in regards to justice?” she asked, her lips parting in a slightly amused way.
“Yeah, what kind of justice system is this? He presents his evidence, and they don’t even look at the evidence before they condemn him? What kind of third world-ass banana republic politics is our Progeny operating on?”
“A system that was designed long before either you or I took our mantles.”
Mastima turned toward Lucian’s lake, her arms crossed over her chest. He walked around the side of her to get a look at her face again and saw that she was back to being in total despair, her eyes darting left and right, her lips twitching with nervousness.
Lucian was silent for a spell, mentally sifting through all the emotions he was feeling, trying to ignore his disdain for the system as he tried to conjure together a solution.
But one didn’t come to him.
And what did he owe Gaspard anyway?
Hadn’t the man threatened his own well-being just a few days back?
But Lucian couldn’t help but see himself standing before the elders at some point in the future, pleading his case and being handed similar bogus charges.
No, even if he couldn’t come up with his next step now, he needed to do something.
And he had two days to pull it off.
“What now?” Lucian finally asked her.
Mastima shook her head. “Now? I… I don’t know. I trust that Gaspard won’t give our names to the elders, but we should be prepared for him to do so...”
“It just doesn’t make sense to me, any of it. Why won’t they acknowledge that there are other parasites? Why would they want to be in constant war with the angels when…” Lucian recalled what Gaspard said. “When we are powered by the same thing.”
“We are powered by death and they are powered by hope.”
“But it’s the same energy,” Lucian said. “Look, I’m no scientist, and yes, I get it, I’m new at all of this and we operate on a plane of this existence where science is out of the picture, but there are more things that unite our Progenies than separate them.”
“Aside from Heaven and Hell, I understand your point.”
“Hell? Where is Hell in all of this? The only thing hellacious I’ve seen are the injuresouls and some of the nastier parasites.”
“Just because you don’t see it an
d it doesn’t affect you, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist,” she said solemnly. “There is a counterforce to the Progeny of Light, but it is not us, and their battle happens on a different plane of existence than the one we currently reside in.”
“So they are duking it out somewhere else, huh? The real battle between Heaven and Hell?”
She nodded.
“It’s all bullshit, all of this,” Lucian said with a grunt. “But you know what? I can’t do anything about that fight; I can, however try to do something about this one. But I’ve also got my own problems,” he said, thinking of his brother. “Maybe we just have to forget about this fight for the time being.”
“Perhaps.”
“Maybe it will help us to form a resistance of sorts,” he said, running with the idea that just came to him, “and slowly recruit members. I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud here.”
“There are already the loose foundations of one,” Mastima told him, “but after what just happened to Gaspard, or I should say what will happen in two days, those interested in any sort of rebellion may keep to their robes for a while.”
“I get it,” said Lucian, “not everyone has a death wish like Yoshimi.”
“Yoshimi?”
Lucian explained to Mastima what had happened, how she had asked him to kill her before Azazyel did.
A look of utter disdain curled her lips. “Azazyel never stops, does he?”
“It doesn’t look like it. About the only thing that seems to unite our Progenies is a spite for the fallen angel. I barely know the guy, and I already hate his guts.”
A spark of an idea came to Lucian at that moment but he didn’t give words to it, not yet.
He would need to think about it some more, and aside from that, he hadn’t yet tested just how powerful he had become with Yoshimi’s donation, nor had he field-tested his ability to constantly replenish his Soul Points.
But he had an idea of how he could test both at once.
“Let’s meet tomorrow,” he told Mastima. “I need some time to think about some things and perform a few tests.”
“Oh?”
“Just trust me.”
“Sure,” she said uncertainly. “I will see you tomorrow then.”
“Wait, where are you going?”
“Where I always go when I need to think.”
“The moon?”
She nodded, and with that her robes dropped to the ground into a pile of fabric, the mysterious female Death gone.
“Is everyone ready?” Lucian asked, turning to find his six replicants already standing behind him, Hugin and Munin raring to go as well.
His replicants nodded.
“Good. Let’s go fuck some shit up.”
Chapter Twenty-Two: The South Wind
It wasn’t quite a bright and shiny day as Lucian took shape in his brother’s backyard, the sun a pale yellow, a haze heavy in the sky, blackened clouds on the horizon.
He waited for his replicants to settle behind him, Lucian already sporting his bone armor, which pressed out of his skin and hardened. He felt an instant surge as the power coursing through his armor entered into his system.
Checking his stats, Lucian saw that he had a full tank.
Lucian drew his lava blade from thin air and flourished it once as he made his way to the back door.
He was surprised to enter into his brother’s home and find Connor moving around in a panicked way, sweeping things into a trash bag. The man appeared to be cleaning, but there was something off about his demeanor, Lucian noticing that he was a little jumpy, his hands twitching.
“Sheesh, sheesh,” Connor spoke to himself as he cleaned. “No, you’re not… no. No.”
Rather than instantly engage the parasite visible on his brother’s back, Lucian held his fist up, letting his creations know to hold off for a moment as he floated around the home.
The first place he went was the basement, Lucian looking for any sign that his brother had been using.
He didn’t find any. His kit wasn’t out, and the basement was actually clean for once, the boxes stacked, the space swept.
From there, he moved back up to the main floor and roamed through the rooms, ignoring the family photos on the walls, and Tuck the cat, who was already starting to hiss as he caught sight of Lucian.
He checked the bedrooms, the bathrooms, even the garage for signs that Connor was doing drugs.
Nothing.
Had Connor quit cold turkey?
Lucian returned to the living room, watching as his brother finished filling a trash bag full of discarded papers and other items around the home that needed to be collected for disposal.
His brother looked bad, in need of a good shave and a bath too, his dark hair matted to his head, his eyes bloodshot, his whiskers graying, his shoulders hunched over a little.
There was also something about him that seemed different, a faint light even, even though that’s not exactly what Lucian saw around him.
His death date was the same, but Lucian could tell that something had changed.
He would have to monitor him further, but before he did so, he needed to see if his newfound power would give him an edge over his sibling’s parasite.
Lucian swung his sword at Connor, ignoring the fact it looked like he was about to cut his brother’s head off.
His blade sliced into the parasite and then passed right through it, as if it were made of water.
The demon bug didn’t even pretend to notice him, simply going back to what it was doing, a portion of its tentacle suctioned under the back of his brother’s head.
“How?” Lucian asked aloud.
Hugin floated over to him. “Maybe the parasite has grown stronger.”
“But a day ago…” Lucian shook his head. “A day ago, we were able to get it to respond to us. But now, this?”
Hugin would never have a chance to respond.
A flash in the backyard lit up the inside of Connor’s home, a golden energy now making the back windows glow, illuminating the space.
Lucian’s replicants responded first, turning immediately and bringing their weapon arms to the ready as they pressed through the walls.
Lucian joined them, half-expecting to find Azazyel.
What he saw instead were a trio of angels led by Hashul, the spear-toting bronze-skinned angel that Lucian had faced off against several times, who had a cocky look on his face.
The man brandished his spear and advanced on him, Lucian grinning beneath his mask before Hashul could reach him.
After all, he had been looking for a fight.
His replicants took off toward the other angels, Lucian swiping away Hashul’s first attempted strike.
His hand behind his back, he conjured injurecrows and sent them ripping around his body in a surprise attack, his spherical IEDs exploding on impact.
Lucian threw his sword to one of his mechas, who swiped it out of the air and went to address a female angel with golden blades for arms, in an intense set of armor that reminded Lucian of shattered crystals.
He conjured his gun that fired an electric tripwire and aimed it at Hashul, quickly taking a shot.
This managed to draw the angel to the ground, Hashul responding with a burst of shimmering energy that tore through the tripwire.
“You will never defeat us,” Hashul hissed to Lucian. “And even if you do, you will never save her.”
“What?” Lucian asked, just about to light the angel up with a fireball.
Hashul swatted Hugin away as some of his oily long hair fell into his face, Lucian just now realizing he was the only angel present who didn’t have a mask on.
“Danira,” said Hashul, baring his teeth. “I was the one that turned her in to the Celestial Council. Do you think upon discovering your twisted little relationship that I wouldn’t take things to the next level?”
Lucian was on him faster than the angel could respond, his hands around Hashul’s throat, Lucian repeatedly slamming t
he back of his head into the ground.
He lifted his palm into the air and one of his injurecrows flew into it.
Lucian proceeded to stuff the injurecrow into Hashul’s mouth, a moment away from telling it to detonate when one of the other angels managed to break through the protection that his replicants had provided.
The female angel tackled Lucian, the two hitting the wooden fence and breaking through it as they rolled around.
Lucian’s response was swift and sudden.
Flipping her over in a heartbeat, he fired a shot from a handgun he hardly remembered equipping, the shot going straight to the back of her head. He mashed the trigger down, emptying the magazine into the angel just as Hashul started to move to his feet.
Lucian saw another flash in the sky as two of his mechas took down another angel, this was followed by the third angel that had joined Hashul, a male with his long golden hair in a braid, who was quickly decapitated by one of Lucian’s replicants, his body going one way and his head going the other.
“Where is she!?” Lucian screamed as he approached Hashul.
“You won’t be able to do anything for her,” the angel told him.
“I may not be able to do anything for her, but I can kill all of you.”
“No…” Hashul said, the look on his face telling Lucian that he realized in that instant that it had been Lucian who had recently killed members of the Progeny of Light. “It was… You?”
“Tell me where she is and…” An option that Lucian hadn’t really given much thought to yet came to him in that instant, a way to disrupt everything at once: “Tell me where she is, and I will tell you who gave me the power and the approval to destroy your kind.”
Hashul glared at him. “The power and approval?”
“I am new at this,” Lucian said. “How do you think I have become so powerful so quickly without outside help?”
“You won’t be able to save her,” Hashul said acrimoniously. “Not where she is going, the traitor.”
“Tell me where Danira is,” Lucian growled, his lava sword appearing in his hand. “Last chance.”
“The South Wind,” Hashul said hurriedly, one of the angels that had been brought down responding to his confession with an angry grunt.
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