Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet

by Kenyon T Henry

  “Gregor,” a frail voice said.

  Charles! He turned to face him, knowing something had gone wrong.

  “We need to attack now,” Charles demanded. “The longer he’s alive, the more power he will gain. You don’t know who he is.”

  Gregor couldn’t help but grin as he fought back the laughter. “That’s funny. All this time, I thought he was the one that didn’t know who he is.”

  Charles’s eyes widened. “You know . . .”

  “That he’s the last surviving member from the House of King David? Yes, I know. I’ve known from the beginning.”

  Bernie and Elizabeth, who had paid little attention as they watched the wall of fire, suddenly became very interested. Both snapped around to question Gregor.

  “He’s what?” Bernie asked.

  “You’re madder than I am,” Elizabeth said.

  “The boy doesn’t know what drives him. He doesn’t understand what fuels him. Once I defeat him, everyone else will bow before me.”

  The moon moved away from covering the sun completely, and day, once again, became light.

  “It’s time. Are you coming?” he asked, less as a question and more as a command.

  The four could have vanished to the front line behind the wall of fire. But Gregor knew strategy well. He walked down the catwalk and through the mass of Fallen, head high to command respect as he went.

  Though many would willingly fight and give their lives for him, he detested them all. Their doubts were plain to see, as eyes occasionally glanced toward the flames and back to him as he passed by. Pathetic, he thought, much like he had once been.

  He stopped in front of the flames. Too close. The leader glared as he took a step back, but remained closer than Bernie, Elizabeth, and Charles.

  ****

  Patty tapped nervously on the console where she listened to the various reports coming in as the skirmishes began all over the world. Although greatly outnumbered, Mighty were holding their own for now. One site reported that something must have happened because Fallen pulled back for a moment, then advanced again. The battle on Arthur’s Seat—a grass-covered mountain in the middle of Edinburgh, Scotland—continued, though forces on both side were small. Asia, Europe, South America, Africa, and even Australia had battles ongoing. Still, she knew the numbers. Patty understood that whatever happened at the steel mill would decide the outcome of this generation’s fight for humanity. If Stephen lost, Satan was free to begin his reign.

  Being bonded with Stephen only seemed to make matters worse. She felt his excitement and worry. Sharing his powers seemed much more like sharing his life, forcing her to feel all the emotions and turmoil that he felt. And although she’d once begged Stephen to share with her what was going on inside him, this was a time when she believed there should be some separation, a distance between them that most spouses naturally had.

  Jax put his hand on top of hers. “Mrs. Patty, you’re making me nervous.”

  She could see the worry in his eyes. He was barely an adult, but in this moment looked so much older. She patted his hand with her free one. “It’ll be okay, Jax.”

  “I know. I just feel like I should be out there.”

  “I need you here with me. Okay?”

  Jax nodded and turned back toward the monitor, placing a headset back on his head.

  There were a few others in the room with headsets, also monitoring the situation and reporting as updates came in. Each knew their job, and just how to do it. They were skilled strategists who not only took updates, but worked to coordinate against the attacks at a higher level.

  “Patty!” Shannon yelled from behind. “I need you.”

  Patty turned to see Shannon standing in the OC, Sam’s body cradled in her arms. His skin so white it had a bluish hue. The hilt of a dagger protruded from his chest. She looked at Shannon, whose face confirmed what Patty was afraid was true. Sam was dead.

  She and Jax rushed to Shannon’s side. The others looked, but went back to their work, understanding the importance of the role they were playing in the battle.

  Jax took Sam from Shannon’s arms.

  “Take care of him for me. I don’t have the strength,” Shannon pleaded.

  He nodded and carried the body to the only place they had for such a situation—the infirmary.

  Shannon buried her face in her hands and fell to her knees. Her muffled cry filled the room. “He’s gone. Charles tried to kill Stephen, and Dad jumped in the way.”

  Patty knelt beside her. Stephen was okay. She felt some relief. Then guilt. She pulled her friend into her arms and let her cry. She knew Shannon had always tried to be strong, but on the inside her bestie was just as frail as anyone else.

  “I need to get back,” Shannon said, still crying.

  “No. You need to stay here.” Patty stroked the back of Shannon’s hair. “If Stephen needs you, I’ll let you know.” She closed her eyes as a rush of anticipation ran through her along with an image of a wall of flames and four Fallen leaders on the opposite side. “It’s beginning.”

  ****

  Stephen watched as the four stood near the base of the transparent flame, a black flame that generated a higher degree of heat. Locking eyes with Stephen, Gregor spoke loud enough for Mighty to hear from the other side of the burning wall. “My friend here”—he motioned for Charles to join him—“tells me that you’ve managed to unite the Mighty.” His voice was filled with hatred. “It doesn’t matter.

  “What does matter is that you managed to escape his assassination attempt.” He turned his head toward Charles and snatched hold of his neck. “An attempt that should not have happened.”

  Charles yelled and struggled to get free. But the moment the leader of Fallen grabbed the man, the life and strength that remained in him began to move from his body to Gregor’s. The evil leader smiled, turning his attention back toward Mighty.

  “No!” Alistair yelled.

  “Stop,” Stephen demanded, brandishing Escalibor.

  It was too late. Gregor tossed the listless corpse into the flame where it immediately turned to ash and was carried away in the wind.

  “I’ll kill ye!” Alistair yelled. “Ye hear me? Ye’ll be dead before this day is over!”

  Gregor sneered. “Dead? Amusing.”

  Once again, Stephen felt the presence of death, stronger than before. He looked to where Charles’s body had landed in the flame. He hadn’t wanted that. Charles would have paid for his betrayal. But he remembered a time when Charles had been a friend, casting his own vote in favor of Stephen joining Mighty at Enclave. Plus, he could feel Alistair’s pain. He knew the unresolved issues his friend would be left to deal with. Stephen still struggled with his own since the death of Waltz.

  “What do you want?” Stephen demanded, glaring at Gregor through the flame.

  “Your life,” Gregor shouted.

  Stephen felt the eyes of everyone watching him—Mighty and Fallen. Looking beyond Gregor, past Bernie and Elizabeth, he saw many faces he recognized, watching him closely. They were the faces of former Mighty comrades. Some of whom he had known well. Others he’d only met in passing. Among them was a young man with bright blue hair. Stephen remembered him from his first time in the Hall of Bloodlines.

  Redeem my lost sheep.

  Stephen looked around, half expecting to find someone whispering into his ear. No one.

  Remember your calling, he heard the voice say again.

  This time, Stephen looked back to those whom had once gone missing from Enclave. All this time, he had thought that Outcasts were the lost sheep. Not so. For the first time, he truly understood that although they were different from Mighty in Enclave, they belonged to Almighty God just the same. They weren’t perfect, none of them, Mighty or Outcasts. Still, all belonged to Him.

  The charge given him by God was to bring those who had strayed back into the fold, as many of them as he could. Somehow, he knew now was that moment. Pointing Escalibor straight at his adversary,
he walked through the flame—alone.

  Gasps issued from the crowd of onlookers, both behind him and in front of him. He had felt no heat. The flames parted as he stepped through and then closed behind him. He had no army, not a single guard to defend him.

  Something was different. He could feel it, as though a fire had lit inside him. He hadn’t just walked through the flame—he was the flame.

  Bernie and Elizabeth each stepped backward, apparently staggered by his boldness. He sensed fear in each of them for the first time. Neither had expected his action.

  “Attack,” Gregor growled.

  No one moved.

  He turned to his two generals. “You’re afraid? You should have been afraid of me!,” he yelled, as he lunged toward them and took them both in his hands.

  The army behind him stepped away, giving the enraged leader more space, or increasing the distance so they were not next.

  Stephen rammed Gregor with his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. As Gregor fell, Elizabeth and Bernie fell free and rolled away from their leader. “Get up, Gregor.”

  Maniacal laughter bellowed from Gregor and filled the air as he rose to his feet. Having siphoned a bit of life from Elizabeth and Bernie, he looked younger and stronger than any of their previous encounters.

  Stephen felt more than emotion emanating from the man, but now a dark twisted power. He was mad. The man in front of him had killed Waltz and Pastor Buchanan. Gregor had managed to turn Mighty to Fallen and killed many more. Who was this man, really? He was nothing to Stephen. Stephen was born of all three classes and had more power than anyone thought possible. As the rage grew inside of Stephen, he decided to give Gregor what he had previously asked for—the monster.

  Stephen lunged with Escalibor toward Gregor, who produced his own sword. The two clashed, shaking the ground. Stephen pushed off for space and kicked Gregor in the stomach, causing him to stumble back.

  Stephen unleashed the rage inside. He dodged and hacked, sliced and parried. But Gregor matched his every move, as though somehow fueled by Stephen’s own hatred. Stephen, however, was determined to end Gregor.

  “You have your sword, and I have mine, the very sword used in the beheading of the Apostle Paul,” Gregor sneered.

  “That won’t be enough,” Stephen said, feigning a slicing motion only to kick his opponent again, following up with a spinning swing of Escalibor that sent Gregor’s sword flying.

  Stephen swung again, only Gregor grabbed the hilt of Stephen’s sword with one hand and punched him in the throat with the other. Then Gregor picked Stephen up in the air and tossed him onto a nearby boulder.

  Dazed, Stephen looked up at the evil leader, realizing he was getting nowhere. The angrier he got, the more rage he released from inside, and the more Gregor seemed to enjoy it. This isn’t working!

  “You see this?” Gregor yelled, holding his arms out wide. “You cannot defeat me.” He laughed. “I am life. I am eternal.”

  Life? Stephen thought. He reached deep into Gregor’s mind, on a hunch, while the man was still making declarations of his unending greatness. As quick as he had gone in, Stephen pulled himself out after having seen the truth. Gregor had long been locked away, a prisoner in his own body. “Death.”

  Gregor stopped mid-sentence of whatever nonsense he was spewing and stared Stephen down. “What?”

  “You’re an impostor. You’re not life, but death. And that body belongs to the real Gregor, not you.”

  Stephen’s own declaration seemed to anger the man. He snarled as his face took on a different countenance altogether. His eyes bulged, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Veins throbbed and grew in his neck and face. The primary concern, however, was for those beyond him, Mighty who had been deceived into thinking Gregor was their god. They stared at him as though in anticipation. Many understood now what they hadn’t before—that Gregor was pure evil. And they felt ashamed. Once Mighty, now Fallen.

  Stephen stood and planted the blade of his sword into the ground at his own feet. He finally understood what Danny had meant when he told Stephen the sword was not the key to victory. Instead, God had planted that seed in Stephen from the very beginning of his journey—life to overthrow death. Lift your eyes toward heaven, he cried out in each of the Fallen’s minds. The Almighty still loves you! He caused this sentiment to echo in their heads and shared love with them, letting every individual that was willing to experience love and forgiveness in the same way he had.

  Gregor must have realized that Stephen had turned his attention elsewhere. He yelled, “I’ll not be ignored,” as he knocked Stephen to the ground.

  Stephen lay there, looking at the puppet standing at his feet, feeling pity for the man locked inside with no hope of rescue. Death had permeated every cell of the vessel, until the man was as if dead in his own shell.

  Stephen stood and looked toward those who seemed glued to his every movement. Don’t give up on Him. He loves you, Stephen shared with them. He watched as tears began to trickle from some of those whose hearts were softening and breaking at the realization of what they had done.

  “Stop it!” Gregor yelled, striking Stephen again, who stumbled backward, but managed to remain on his feet this time.

  He heard various thoughts from the crowd. Some were as evil as before, hating him and wishing he were dead. Others were different, moved by Stephen’s boldness and courage. Hearts were melting, and lives were being reborn.

  Gregor kicked Stephen in the ribs.

  Stephen doubled over in pain, eyes still locked on the crowd. He heard some yelling from behind the flame, begging for him to fight, or at least drop the wall of flame.

  Gregor reached down and took hold with one hand and lifted Stephen off the ground by his shirt. “This is your king?” he mocked. “This is the one who was going to defeat me and crush my army? Look at him!” he yelled. “He is as good as dead.” With his free hand, he took hold of Stephen by the neck. His eyes rolled back into his head as he grinned, as Stephen felt life draining from his own body.

  The pain was nearly unbearable. Stephen screamed in agony as he felt the life being pulled away from him. He remembered Tommy, what it had felt like to feel the boy die. He saw Waltz lying in a pool of red, remembering the agony and torment. Prisha, too, had died, followed by Pastor Buchanan. Edge, Max, and Anthony, all three had died—only these three had also lived again.

  Stephen reached forward, grabbing the sides of Gregor’s face. Now, instead of the life fleeing from him, he was releasing it to the true Gregor, the man who was a prisoner in his own mind. Be free.

  “What are you doing?” Gregor snapped.

  “Giving Gregor what you asked for—life,” Stephen said.

  “You can’t do that,” Gregor yelled, only it sounded nothing like Gregor. Instead, it was a low, rumbling demonic voice. “I’ve defeated you. Stop it!”

  The man struggled to free himself from Stephen’s grasp, but couldn’t.

  Stephen held on tighter, with what remaining strength he had, stumbling forward as Gregor tried to back away. Stephen wasn’t letting go, no matter what.

  “NO!” the man screamed. “I’m not done! It was my time to rule,” came a shout from Gregor as he fell to the ground. As the two landed side by side, Gregor’s body began to age and wither, becoming that of a feeble old man. Whatever possessed him had fled back to the darkness from the light of life.

  “Thank you, Stephen,” the feeble man said, a smile glued to his face as his aged, gentle eyes smiled at him too. “I never meant for all this. She would have been disappointed in me, you know. I . . . I realized my mistake too late. I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to save me. Pray that God will forgive me. Perhaps my Teri will forgive me too. I only wanted to see her again.” Gregor grabbed Stephen’s hand, placed a piece of paper in it, and expelled the last remains of air from his lungs.

  “I’m certain you will, God and Teri both,” was all Stephen had the breath for. He looked at the picture of the young girl i
n his hand, and closed his eyes in preparation to meet his Maker.

  Chapter 24

  Patty grabbed her chest as she fell away from Shannon. Her heart ached, as though it had literally been broken in two. Something was wrong, but she had no clue what. She couldn’t sense pain or fear any longer. There was no excitement from the looming fight. Neither was there happiness or joy. Nothing. And that scared her more than anything.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said, standing up.

  Shannon watched with reddened eyes. “What do you mean? Are they fighting?”

  “I’m not sure,” Patty said. “Something was happening. I felt him. He was sad, but moved with compassion for Fallen. I could almost see their faces.”

  Shannon wiped her eyes and cheeks with the backs of her hands. “That doesn’t sound bad.”

  “There was a moment of pain that followed. Then joy. Now, nothing.” Nothing. The word seemed to echo in her mind as soon as it left her lips. “Shannon, I’ve got to get there.” She pulled a medallion from its concealed location tucked inside her shirt and held it out, chain taut around her neck. “How do I use this? I need to get there.”

  She saw the doubt in her friend’s eyes as the tears welled up. She heard commotion coming from the others wearing headsets, but couldn’t understand what was being said. Locking eyes with Jax, she saw tears streaming down his face, lips quivering as he struggled to speak.

  “No,” she yelled. She grabbed Shannon, who seemed paralyzed. “I need you, Shannon. How do I vanish? How do I get to Stephen?”

  Shannon fell away, burying her face in her hands.

  A hand grabbed her shoulder, and she turned to see Jax, who had regained his composure. “I-I’ll take you.”

  ****

  Alistair could do nothing but watch as the last breath escaped from Stephen’s lungs. As the king’s chest fell, so did the wall of flames. No one moved at first, as everyone stared at the two bodies lying next to each other, hand in hand.