Paranormals | Book 3 | Darkness Reigns

by Andrews, Christopher

  Concentrating, he willed the light to burn brighter — he didn’t want to give away their presence here, but what good was looking for the rogue converts if he could not see?

  His hand did brighten, somewhat. But not as much as it should have, and the spilled light still failed to spread as far as expected.

  Something was wrong. Perhaps a convert who could ... disrupt light? Mute perceptions?

  Leaving the alleyway, he looked around until he spotted one of the area’s streetlights — a search which took longer than it should have, because the electric lights were also muted.

  Something was definitely wrong. He had explained to Steve how his people were learning a renewed appreciation for “gut feelings,” and right now, his gut was screaming Danger!

  Callin shrugged the trench coat from his shoulders, preparing to ignite his energy aura and take to the air. He hated to lose the element of surprise, but all indications suggested that their presence was already known. He must call the others together, let them know they were in—

  A voice whispered, in Taalu, “Callin. Over here.”

  Callin spun back to the alley. The voice had been male and older, gruff. “Larr?” he whispered back. No, that didn’t make sense.

  “No,” the voice agreed. “Not Lord Larr, Callin. But close, I suppose.”

  Callin reignited his aura around his right hand and pushed it to top brilliance, which he then aimed into the alley like a search light. As he had already discovered, it failed to penetrate the darkness as it should have, but it did reveal a humanoid figure standing between the buildings, roughly halfway to the next street.

  “Who are you?” Callin demanded in Taalu.

  The figured chuckled. “You might not believe me when I tell you. Come closer. I mean no harm. Quite the opposite, actually.”

  Trap. It had to be.

  Callin considered calling out for his comrades. He also deliberated going on the offensive, blasting his energy at the shadowy figure, or willing the living metal of his cape to reform into his sword and shield, the effort be damned.

  But then he had to wonder, How could an Earthborn convert be speaking Taalu?

  A handful of humans, such as Steve, knew some of the language, true. But in Callin’s experience, they had difficulty capturing the Taalu’s graceful accent, just as he still spoke accented English — the phrenic impression was a wondrous process, but it was not perfect.

  Perhaps he was dealing with a convert who could master alien languages? Lieutenant Takayasu once told him of such a convert linguist who worked for Earth’s SETI project ...

  But then, from what little he could see of the figure, he appeared to lack the wide head of the humans, which suggested this really was a Taalu male.

  “Come now, Callin,” the figure said, his tone growing a touch impatient. “You are wasting too much time. If I meant to harm you, I could have done so while you stand there in indecision.”

  Callin’s cape rippled in response to his annoyance, primarily because he realized the speaker was correct.

  “Fine,” he said, his hand still glowing as bright as it could in this abnormal darkness. “What say we meet in the middle? But I warn you, you face—”

  “Yes, yes, I face the ‘Grand Lord of the Taalu.’ I am more than a little familiar with the title.”

  But in spite of his obvious irritation, the figure was striding toward him.

  Wholly on his guard, ready to take to the air and fire an energy blast at the slightest provocation, Callin stepped forward to meet—

  The instant his light exposed the figure’s face, he halted.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head Taalu-style in rejection. “This is not possible.”

  “It is possible,” the Taalu man insisted. “In this galaxy, as it has become, many things are possible.” The man smiled. “I will admit, I am pleased that you recognize me. I had to leave before you were born — barely after your father and aunt were born, to be more accurate. It is gratifying to know you have studied your lineage.”

  Callin did not comment on that; he barely heard it. He instead stood, gaping, at the man.

  Gaping at his grandfather, former Grand Lord Calacus Lan.

  “I cannot stay long, Callin,” his grandfather told him. “I am actually many, many light-years from here, and it takes a tremendous amount of energy to project myself like this.”

  “ ‘Project’ yourself,” Callin repeated, trying to find something tangible to focus upon, something that might make him feel more grounded. “Am I facing a hologram, then? Or some type of mental illusion?”

  Despite the severity of his overall demeanor, Calacus smiled at that. “No, not quite a hologram, and certainly not an illusion. You could touch me, if you wished. And yet, I am still not exactly here, either. It is complicated, and you do not have the time for me to explain it to you. Once I am gone, I have no idea when I might return.”

  “We did not even know that you were still alive,” Callin said, striving to accept — for the time being — that this might very well be his grandfather. “How long ...? I mean, where are—?”

  “Callin,” the older Taalu snapped. “We do not have time for this.”

  Callin folded his arms, though he kept his right hand exposed enough to maintain some level of visibility. “Why, then? If you cannot tell me how you are here, tell me why.”

  “I am here to warn you of a terrible danger that is descending upon our people.”

  “Which is?”

  “There is a creature, Callin, that has entered this world from another dimension. This creature currently has its sights set upon your friends, but it will not stop there.”

  “What sort of—?”

  “Listen to me,” Calacus snapped again. “Once this creature is done with your friends — and there is no way to know how long that will be; it enjoys toying with its prey, but it is invariably deadly — it will turn its scrutiny upon our people, Callin. The last of our people, thanks to the Cargaun.”

  Calacus closed his eyes in pain, fighting an evident wave of emotion which he struggled to control.

  “I apologize,” he said after a moment. “I have chastised you for wasting time, and then I allow my feelings to ... But that is irrelevant. Everything is irrelevant, except saving our people.”

  Callin strove to consider this with equal dispassion. “I’m listening.”

  “You must leave here, Callin,” his grandfather stated with authority. “This world, Earth, has been a pleasant haven for a year, but your respite is over. Return to the Taalu encampment, recall all delegates, power up the ships as quickly as possible, and leave.”

  “I see. And where would you have us go?”

  “Anywhere, Callin,” Calacus returned. “So long as you continue to travel away from the heart of the Veraun Supremacy, anywhere will soon be safer for our people than this world. This creature, this thing which has set its gaze upon the Earth, is relentless. You - must - leave, now.”

  “I see,” Callin said again. “So ... you have managed — from wherever it is that you actually are — to anticipate the arrival of this ‘creature’ from another dimension, and have managed to ‘project’ yourself to me, to warn me of this imminent danger to the Taalu.”

  “Yes, Callin, yes. And you must act—”

  “You’ll forgive me,” he interrupted, “if I am somewhat skeptical. Not only of the fact that you are still alive, that you appear to have aged very little from the time you recorded your farewell message, but that you could have possibly accomplished any of this.”

  Calacus’ features may have been shrouded in shadow, but he still succeeded in conveying his disappointment in Callin. “In a reality where you are able to defy gravity and project light from your own hand, is that truly so farfetched?”

  “If you are able to detect such threats,” Callin challenged, “then why did you not forewarn us of the Noctoponm last year?”

  “I considered it,” Calacus admitted, “and very nearly did so. Bu
t in the end, with the Noctoponm ... I chose to embrace faith. Faith in you, faith in your brother and sister, faith in your new convert friends. Faith that you would meet the Noctoponm, and prove triumphant.” He smiled. “And you did. Please know that I — and, I’m sure, your father, rest his soul — felt immense pride in you that day.” Then his smile faded. “But this ... this thing that stalks your new world ... it is different, it is evil, and it will be the death of the Taalu.”

  “If you had faith in us, and in my new friends before, then please do so now.”

  “We cannot afford faith this time, Callin! You must leave, before the creature—”

  “If you have been able to watch us from afar, if you know all about our family and even our friends on this world, then you know it is not that simple. We have forged relationships with these people. I have forged relationships with them, both as Grand Lord and as—”

  Calacus scoffed, “Yes, as ‘the Shining Star.’ Just as your father took to calling himself ‘the Burning Star,’ correct?” He shook his head, a look of distaste crossing his shadowed features. “Really, Callin, the Grand Lordship requires maturity and clarity of thought. Your new convert abilities were not intended for such ostentation, but to defend our people against the Cargaun—”

  “Which we did,” Callin retorted. “And who are you to dictate what our abilities were ‘intended’ for? Unless ... unless what some of us have suspected is true.” He swallowed, then pushed on. “Grandfather ... did you have something to do with the creation of the conversion wave?”

  All emotion dropped from Calacus’ visage as he adopted what the humans called a “poker face.” “Callin,” he stated, “we have gotten off topic. I cannot stress this enough: You must take our people and leave. Leave this world before the creature finds you, all of you. I beg you to believe me when I say that it is beyond the Noctoponm. It is unstoppable.”

  Callin opened his mouth to push further, both regarding the creature and the subject of the conversion wave, but then Calacus jerked his head to the side, as if hearing something Callin could not.

  “Damn,” Calacus muttered.

  “What? What is it?”

  Calacus looked back to him. “I’m sorry, Callin, my window is closing faster than expected. I ... I had so much more to say ...”

  Even as his grandfather’s words gained an eerie reverberation, Callin realized that he was beginning to see through Calacus’ body to the dark alley beyond.

  “Grandfather ...”

  But Calacus overrode him, clenching his fists before him as he called, “Callin! Be the Grand Lord the Taalu need! Make the choice they deserve! Forget these people! Flee, Callin — flee before it is too late, before the creature devours the last of our race!”

  “Grandfather!” Callin shouted as Calacus disappeared altogether.

  Calacus was gone ... yet he heard one last warning, drifting from the gloom around him. “Flee, Callin ... massacre ... already begun ...”

  And then Callin stood alone, in darkness and silence.

  VORTEX

  Steve held his phone high over his head, trying to get a signal. But that was the weird thing: According to the little symbol on his screen, he had a signal — not the strongest, but steady. And yet, every attempt to call Lieutenant Takayasu resulted in nothing but odd static. He had also tried the Taalu device Shining Star had given him, but his efforts to contact Callin had proven equally frustrating.

  All right, he decided, screw the covert approach. We’ll do this the old fashioned way.

  Slipping his phone back into his belt, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Shining Star!”

  But from the first syllable, he knew it wasn’t going to work. In this area, surrounded by these old concrete buildings, his voice should have echoed to and fro; instead, it fell flat, almost muffled, as though his mask were ten times thicker than it was. He thought he might have heard someone shout back — not Callin, but maybe Michael? — but if so, he couldn’t make out any of the words.

  All right, what did he have here? He was surrounded by an abnormal darkness, which street lights and even his cybernetic eyes had trouble penetrating, and so the team’s effort to stay within sight of one another had gone straight down the toilet. Sound waves were apparently also affected, as well as the cellular connection for his phone and whatever tech the Taalu used for their device.

  None of this could be happenstance, so he had to assume the very rogues they were planning to ambush had turned it back on them. He hadn’t heard any indications of fighting, but considering how muted his shout to Callin had been, that didn’t mean much.

  Okay, nothing’s gonna get done by just standing around. Time to regroup.

  Watching his surroundings as best he could, Steve crouched and jogged in the direction he had last seen any of his comrades. He wanted to sprint flat out, to close the distance before the fighting ensued, but the last thing he needed was to run face-first into a concrete wall. In fact, he could as much feel as see one looming before him, so he steered more to the left, holding one gloved hand out before him in case ...

  An eerie, yet familiar, buzzing approached from the direction he had just veered. And it was growing louder in spite of the suppression effect, zeroing in on him. He halted, crouching even lower, tensing his legs, preparing to evade an attack if—

  It emerged from the shadows, large and deadly and terrifying, and bearing down on him, fast.

  “No way!” he gasped.

  Steve knew it couldn’t be the exact same alien, the ghastly wasp-like member of the Noctoponm, because Shining Star had fried that son of a bitch when they fought last year. But that distinction would do him little good if it skewered him with its lethal stinger.

  He had little more than a second to react, knew that his lasers would just slide off its exoskeleton, and settled for firing a repellent vortex wave as he dove to one side — smacking his bad shoulder into the very building he had just been trying to avoid.

  The alien insectoid’s course was diverted by the vortex wave, but not by much. It passed within a foot of him, its stinger gleaming, and he might have felt it tear through his cape. It disappeared back into the darkness, but he could hear from its bombinating that it was already banking, turning back toward him.

  Checking his left and right, he spotted a window in the building that he had just collided with; it was small and boarded up, but plywood wasn’t going to stop him or the wasp-alien — he was far more encouraged by how narrow the frame was.

  Shattering the plywood covering with a brief vortex, he dove through the opening just as the wasp buzzed past him, and this time he was nearly positive that it snatched at his cape. Then it was gone again.

  Safe, for the moment, Steve took in his surroundings. This building appeared as he would expect, an empty, abandoned warehouse, with only the vague smell of ... kitty litter? ... to suggest the purpose it had once served. Unfortunately, that meant he had no cover beyond the four walls, and were it not for scattered tubes of old, flickering fluorescent safety lights hanging from the high ceilings — lights as affected by the strange darkness as the streetlights outside — even he would not have been able to see his hand before his face. He reached back into his belt, knowing that his phone would likely prove just as useless as before but he had to at least try to call in reinforcements, before the wasp-alien returned and—

  A different, larger window a dozen yards to his right exploded inward, and the wasp-alien flew into the warehouse.

  At this point, his best bet was probably to just turn around and leave the way he had come in. If he could back out before it saw him ...

  But either through sight or some other sensory perception, the wasp-alien clearly knew where he was. Its flight path turned in a tight arc, its forelegs spread wide, its stinger poised to kill.

  With stealthy retreat no longer an option, Steve had no choice but to try a broad compression vortex wave, to capture the thing before it could reach him
.

  The wasp-alien lined up.

  Steve drew a preparatory breath.

  ... and then, appearing as though from nowhere, a dark figure jumped between Steve and the oncoming menace. Dressed head-to-toe in black and with his back to Steve, the person slashed downward and severed the alien’s head from its quasi-thorax. The head rolled one way, the body tumbled another, and the stranger never moved as each passed by him.

  And just like that, the threat was over.

  Steve honored the moment with a dignified, “Holy shit.”

  Despite the wasp-alien’s beheaded status, the figure in black backed toward Steve, scanning left and right as though he expected the body parts to reanimate. As he rotated each direction, it became clear how he had accomplished his task when Steve saw that he was wielding, of all things, a sword — two swords, as a second one hung sheathed from his hip.

  Why “of all things”? Your best friend can will his own cape into a sword and shield. And you’re dressed up like a superhero.

  “Are you all right?” the man asked him.

  “Yeah,” Steve told him. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the assist.”

  The man nodded, though Steve barely caught the gesture, given his all-black wardrobe and how damned dark it was in here.

  Feeling awkward in the silence that followed, Steve said, “I’m Vortex, by the way. I’m here to ...” He caught himself, since he didn’t yet know exactly who his savior really was. “... here on patrol, I was patrolling the area. You know, looking for rogues, and this thing — which looks a hell of a lot like something I fought last year — this thing came buzzing out of nowhere ...”

  Steve paused, blinking in confusion. The strange darkness had already been threatening to envelop the wasp-alien’s remains, but as he gestured toward it, he could almost swear that its body parts were melting away, practically liquefying into nothingness.

  “... this, uh, this thing, um ...” he stammered. “... okay, that’s new, the last one didn’t do that. I, I’m not sure what, uh, what’s—”