Chapter One
Genesis
Genesis had come to the City of Endless Night,
and Leviathan stood by him.
An alley black as freshly burned pitch yawned
before the assassin like a portal to the abyss. A subterranean hive of evil, Nyx lay concealed
behind a secret door that he had yet to find. He stared into the gloom, scuffing his boots
in the remains of a wet Russian newspaper.
Near the wall, a trickle of cold water slipped past trash, rotten
leaves, and slush that only now turned red.
The source of the color bled his life into the gutter
only a few paces away.
A gurgle escaped a sucking wound; the pickpocket
gasped. Even as death clutched his
jugular, the man reached out with blood dripping from his fingers to a woman
who ignored him in passing. Oksana
walked up to her boss and shook the snow from her jacket.
“Ve should dispose of him and quickly.” Behind
her shoulder, the Hard Rock Café beckoned tourists from the terrible Moscow
cold that smothered Old Arbat Street in a Napoleonic-like winter.
“Levi, could you take care of that for us?”
Genesis asked, his breath pluming forth from between his lips. Because of the cold, the skin of his cheeks
felt as dry as rice paper.
The man without a surname wore futuristic black
Mjolnir riot armor and stood almost seven feet tall. The buckles, breastplate, helmet, and pads
concealed Leviathan’s impressive physique from head to toe. Neither man nor beast, Leviathan lifted the
visor that perpetually covered his fish eyes, and a horrific black light shone
forth from irises Genesis wished he could forget. Levi wasted no time, knelt beside the man,
and covered the dying pickpocket’s mouth with his massive glove. He uttered one last muffled scream that
abruptly ended in the crunch of many snapping bones. A wet slurping sound soon followed--the kind a
large mouth makes when it gulps down food.
This feasting lasted half a minute--longer than
Genesis intended--but he could think of no better way to dispose of an unwanted
corpse.
Genesis stared at the back of Leviathan’s head
as the thing finished; watched him replace his helmet. A pair of bloody valenki remained; a puddle of
steaming blood spread amongst the cobblestones.
The demon prince had hair the
color of the deep sea after it swallowed the light of the sun.
Not
black but something else. Is there color in the dank places of the earth where
the vile creatures of the world go to live?
Oksana made the sign of the cross. When she did so, Levi’s shoulders seemed to
stiffen. Genesis turned to his
companion, regarded her lovely ginger hair with a passing fancy, and gently
shook his head in warning.
“Vy do ve travel vith him?” she whispered. “You are the best in the vorld. Ve do not need him.”
“Shh,” he cautioned. “Levi has his uses. And our employer insists that he accompany
us. Let’s just find out what Charon has
to say, shall we? After all, he does make
us rich.”
Oksana trembled but dutifully nodded with
respect to his judgment. He saw her grip
the handle of the gun she wore on her hip underneath her favorite mink coat. Truthfully, Genesis had his doubts as to
whether traditional bullets could kill such a monster. He kept a clip of incendiary rounds just in
case and recalled the wisdoms of Master Dawa who had taught him how to slay
demons.
He and another young man with hair as blond as
harvest wheat trained for fifteen years with the tattoo warrior monks. Together, they had washed in the tears of the
moon at the base of their sacred temple.
They grew up in the sacred home of Shangri-La, hidden deep within the
Himalayan Mountains. Genesis recalled
that Kolin chose a purple rose and had placed it at the nape of the neck. In contrast, Genesis had chosen a red one. Each of course came with its own power.
All
demons fear the light. In the least, incendiary rounds should prove a
distraction should I need it.
Genesis beckoned to Oksana with his hand. Follow
me. He swallowed and moved forward
with caution, measuring the thick gloom that lay before him with a baleful eye.
Soon, shadows swallowed the glow from the
street.
They flickered around him and made the path
murky. He took heart in his task, walked deeper into the row known by those who
dwelled here as the Alley of Ashes.
Genesis made out the shapes of people that
huddled together in the frigid dark. Homeless
souls that had drifted away from god’s light, the assassin viewed the scattered
masses with disdain. They crouched
around him like so much chattel. Instead
of human beings, Genesis saw alcoholics, drug addicts, prostitutes, and thieves.
Genesis thought of himself as a refined
evil. He grew up in a privileged home
with two loving parents whose only fault lay in their contempt for those
without means. Even when he engineered
their deaths to lay claim to their estate, the prejudice of such an upbringing
failed to acclimate him to the offensive smell of the destitute.
“I’ve waited long for you, brother,” a voice
said in greeting.
Genesis examined the crowd and saw garments
that reminded him of an Orthodox priest though they had been altered in
places. In the end, he could not name
the religion from which they hailed. The
voice belonged to a brown face framed in wiry steel-colored whiskers and round
spectacles that crouched atop a bulbous nose.
“I’m Kragar, Israfil of the Horcus. It’s my pleasure to meet someone so well
respected. Still, you shouldn’t have
killed poor Simon. It’s not wise to make
enemies. Not in this place. Even those hired by our Master must rest…am I
right?”
A
veiled threat. He speaks as if he knows
me. But how can someone know anything of
another without knowledge of their true name?
Israfil…a title? He wears a gold
ring on his finger with the chalice and the blade…the cult of A Deo et Rage.
Genesis placed his palms together and bowed
respectfully to Israfil Kragar. “I see
your wisdom my brother, but he meant to mug me and perhaps his intentions were
even darker. Who can say for sure? It’s better to make an example now than to
waste time and perhaps lives later. This
flock has been given a second chance and through our Master’s good will, they
live yet another day. However, sometimes
the greatest lessons come with a little loss of life. I beg your forgiveness on this matter, but I
must say that I was guided to do what I did.”
“Guided by whom, brother?” When Genesis refused
to answer, Kragar hung his head but did not pursue the matter further.
There
is a bulge under his robe…a weapon of some kind. He leans ever slightly to one side as if
unsure of its weight.
The priest joined Genesis on his right. Oksana walked silently to his left, and
behind them all, walked Leviathan who took slow but lengthy strides, watching
the beggars who cowed in his passing.
Hundreds of dirty faces looked toward them as they made their way to the
portal of Nyx. It lay concealed behind a
concrete slab at the end of the alley.
Kragar walked toward the door and disappeared
through it as if a ghost.
Illusion?
A hologram of some kind?
Genesis looked at Oksana. She shrugged her shoulders and indicated for
him to go first. He set his jaw and
walked into the wall which had no substance, yet warmed his skin as he passed
through it. On the far side, a metal
staircase descended into the labyrinths of Moscow, now overrun by more of the
cultists who did some dark business within the shadow of the Kremlin. A lingering haze of steam floated about in
the still air. Despite his misgivings, he
welcomed the moisture into his lungs.
The assassin followed Kragar down into the
throat of the world. Near him, glass
spiders threw off silver light and scurried about on eight legs. Some followed the path Kragar made for Genesis
and his companions. They danced lightly
upon glowing webs of silver thread.
Beneath their crystalline skin, he saw tiny gears moving through what
looked like pools of pink blood.
When they reached the last step, a swarm of glittering
spiders parted before the priest.
Humanoid shapes mummified in thick webs clung to the walls of the
tunnel. Kragar escorted the assassin to
a pair of double doors and threw them wide.
A magnificent chamber lay before them.
Glowing lights built into the door frame
created four continuous lasers that barred their passing much like a
translucent gate. A vermillion throw
carpet extended from the entranceway to a raised dais on the far side of the
room some 100 feet distant. Mounted atop
this platform sat a throne of frosted glass, inside which he could see many
multi-colored blinking lights. Seated
atop the throne on a crimson cushion, Charon looked upon each of them and bid
Genesis enter with a single bony finger clad in skin as transparent and hard as
diamonds. Fiber optic cables transmitted
information to this strange throne to and from all places in the world.
Genesis swallowed and stepped through the
lasers. Behind him, the others followed.
He looked to the left and right and saw purple
storm clouds playing along flat-paneled television sets. Charon had arranged them to look like tall
windows amidst massive stone walls that ascended to a vaulted ceiling high
above.
“Welcome to Nyx,” Charon said with a slow and
deep voice. He smoothed the blood red
hair back from his shoulders; the sight of his beating heart pumping blood
through his immortal body unnerved Genesis for a moment.
“What is this place?” the assassin asked.
Charon studied them for a moment before
answering. “We’re far beneath the
streets of Moscow--catacombs where our followers assemble the army of the dust
men. But we’re also in a sacred place,
entirely sheathed in the protection of the Shadow. The storm clouds you see in the windows…they’re
the dreams of my Master.”
Charon blinked his metallic silver eyes as if
lost in reverence.
Next to him, Oksana moved to the edge of the
carpet and eyed a concrete floor that, to his surprise, lay strewn with human
bones. Rivers of blood and gobbets of
flesh still clung to some. And beyond
the shadows that darkened each of the four corners of this immense hall, he
heard an omnipresent grinding. It
sounded like stone upon stone, as if a mill worked to reduce seed into flour. It went on and on with a terrible and
methodical purpose. Only then did
Genesis truly realize that the gate he had passed through at the door had taken
him to another place. Perhaps even,
another time, a dimension that lay beyond the curtains of known perception and
unto a world ruled by horrors of immense strength.
Genesis spotted a movement in one portion of
the chamber. A thing of pure darkness
approached. It maintained the outline of
a muscular man of some eight feet in height, but the whole of this thing
emanated a far reaching power that left footprints of vaporous black flame with
every step. It carried within its left
hand a huge sword made of hell fire. Genesis
felt tremendous hunger emanating from this being; he felt hatred, pain, and
hopelessness. How all these terrifying
conditions could exist as a sentient being defied the ability for his mind to
rationalize. Yet here they strode, and
they stared at him with eyes that comprehended only one thing, the mortality of
everything else that lived within this universe.
Charon paused in his narrative and stayed the
creature with a single word in a language that Genesis did not recognize. Yet, its awful pronunciation drew blood from
his ears.
“The Horcus would see you consumed,” Charon stated
with almost smug indifference. “But, if
you stay on the red carpet, you’ll come to no harm.”
“What…is…he?” Genesis managed to ask.
Charon’s eyes became reflective. “It’s hard to describe the Horcus in terms
you can understand. He is the mightiest servant of the Shadow,
greater even than I. But unlike him, I and the demon princes he commands can
walk among the mortals. Zero created him
from the anger and hatred of a million destroyed worlds forged into a hologram
and suspended forever on the event horizon of a black hole somewhere in deep
space. These things are gateways to
Hell, a place from which light itself cannot escape. If you must understand the Horcus, think of it
as the last terrifying scream before the great silence that will one day
consume your universe when the last of the stars burns out and all becomes
black.”
Oksana swallowed nervously and took a step back
from the edge of the carpet. “You
consort vith Lucifer.”
“Yes,” Charon whispered. “But that’s just a name given by men who
could never understand the true nature of darkness. The Horcus has many names, could be called
many things, but by all countenances and cultures there’s one commonality…evil
has many faces. You’ve much to fear
young woman; it shows you possess wisdom.”
“Why have you brought me here?” Genesis asked.
“Belle hired you several months ago in the
Grand Bazaar of Istanbul on the Kalpakçılar Caddesi for a million American
dollars. Tell me what she hired you to
do? She’s no longer with us, so I cannot
ask her myself.”
A dreadful silence filled the hall while Charon
awaited his answer.
“She hired me to bring her the names of the Priory
of Angelus and to kill the archeological team excavating the site of Tall
el-Hammam near the Dead Sea.”
“And what pray tell is the Priory of Angelus?”
Charon asked.
“It’s a secret organization headed by a Malik
Aquariel, and I do not have all of their names.
They have three international branches.
One is in London, a second in New York, and a third in Rome. I killed the team digging at the site
believed to be an important biblical location associated with the kingdoms of
Sodom and Gomorrah. But Malik escaped
with an engraved jewel they found in a clay pot. Hakim, a man who begged for his life, told me
that it might be one of the twelve jewels said to belong to the original
Hoshen—a breastplate depicted in The
Books of Samuel. Many believe the
vestments bestowed a power to commune with a higher consciousness, perhaps even
unto God. The Books of Samuel describe David as having worn it as he danced
before the Ark of the Covenant in ancient times. The jewel stolen by Malik was inscribed with
the words ‘The tribes of Jeshurun’ in
Hebrew.”
Charon tapped fingers on the armrest of his
chair and stared at the blinking lights flowing into his throne. A glass spider crawled across the floor and
scurried up his silver garments and settled near his palm. Charon picked it up and gently stroked the crystal
belly of the orb spider with an index finger.
Above them, the image on the television screens
shifted to a still photograph taken from a video camera in what Genesis thought
might be some kind of medical facility due to the white walls. It displayed a
smug yet familiar face. This young, tall
Brit possessed an athletic build, platinum blond hair, and sky blue eyes. He could not see it, but he knew a tattoo of
a purple rose decorated the man’s skin beneath his collar.
“Do you know this man?”
Genesis nodded.
“Yes. He’s an Avalonian assassin
by the name of Kolin Lightfoot. I
trained him for thirty years, and we performed many killings in the Middle East
together. He’s an expert in all melee
weapons and martial arts. I learned
about liquid life from him and about this other, shadow world that mirrors our
own. I thought we had something
together, but he left me to rot in a North Korean prison following the war. I owe him for that. He’s the only man alive with reflexes superior
to my own. But I’m the better killer. He once told me that he was the result of
genetic manipulation by a robot who wanted to create a perfect human pair to
restart life on his home world…an Adam and Eve story.”
Charon interlaced his fingers and steepled them
before his chin. “Good, you’re now under
contract to fulfill that promise.”
“Kolin is dangerous,” Genesis stated. “I’ll require twice my normal fee, and I want
three vials of Life Green. But, I must
ask, why don’t you have the Horcus or Levi kill him?”
Charon leaned forward in his chair. “There are things you don’t understand. I sent a tzitzimitl to slay the Avalonian. It tracked him down as I instructed, and it
waylaid his truck on a barren road in northern New York. But he survived the accident; my pet moved to
devour him and Aquariel thwarted me.”
“Malik
Aquariel?”
“Yes,” Charon said. “Aquariel’s an angel who has walked the earth
for five centuries. He lives within a
human skin and goes about his mission to inspire humankind with transcendent
and cosmic understanding. Aquariel
doesn’t have great power, but it’s believed he can transcend the barriers of
consciousness to allow two-way communication into the mind of anyone who
touches him.”
“How could this Aquariel defeat your minion?”
Charon blinked and tilted his head to one
side. “Were you not listening? He can open a channel into your mind. What
creature of darkness can survive when a doorway is opened to the wonders of
heaven? Aquariel can choose to show you
what he wants to see. He filled my poor
tzitzimitl with absolute light, and it burned him to ashes.”
My
master was right. “What
does he mean to do with the Hoshen jewel?”
“I’m not sure,” Charon stated. He set the spider upon the floor where it
moved across the stones with a click
clack noise. The television screens
on the walls shifted once more to show images of purple storm clouds. “By the time I learned that Kolin still
lived, he’d rejoined his teenaged lover.”
Genesis scoffed. “A boy?
I don’t understand how this changes anything?”
“This boy
slew Belial and all of her children in a tornado of white fire on Thanksgiving
night. He’s after something powerful;
something my enemy has told him about.
And mark my words, he has found it in New York City. This boy manifests strange powers that defy
my explanation. He may seem harmless to
you, may even look it, but he and his
sister are dangerous. A wake of absolute
destruction has followed him wherever he has gone, and the minions we’ve sent
against him have all but disappeared from the very fabric of the universe. How he does this, vexes me. His sister turned my most cunning ghost
machine into a pillar of salt, and he killed a powerful human ally with a
gunshot to the back. Only the Horcus has
enough power to face either of them one-on-one. But the Horcus cannot enter your world without
a vessel.”
“What kind of vessel?”
Charon smiled.
“He’s called by prophecy ‘The Boy Who Hears the Cries of Heaven.’ But in reality, we know not who he is.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “We have in our possession, a crucible of the
shadow. She’s a woman whose mind
occupies three worlds. The Shadow, my
master, speaks through her, but so does the Oculus of Heaven. This woman refers to him by only two
initials. They are ‘R H.’ We also know he’s eighteen and wears a red
sports cap. You must kidnap him without
doing harm to his physical body. You’ll bring him here to Moscow to be the
avatar of the Horcus. Only in his skin,
can the Horcus cross through the Chaosphere.
Only by wearing his flesh, is the Horcus guaranteed to triumph. It’s written that Jordan cannot raise a hand
against him. We don’t fully understand
why, but if this is true, then it’s a weakness we cannot afford to overlook.”
“Do you have any idea where this ‘Boy Who Hears
the Cries of Heaven’ can be found? The
initials ‘R and H’ aren’t much to go on,” Genesis stated.
“He’ll have a mark on him. We’ve been using ancient blood rituals to
prepare this vessel to withstand the embodiment of the Horcus. The mark will be a human palm print on the
skin. We know not from what. Only that he did not always carry this
mark. I’d suggest that you shadow Jordan
Pendragon, a freshman hockey player at Cornell University. He’s the boyfriend of that assassin, Kolin,
with whom you’re familiar. If you
suspect you’ve found the Boy Who Hears the Cries of Heaven, it’s imperative
that you bring him here for final preparations.
We will take care of everything else. Remember, he must not be harmed. Kill anything that stands in your way.”
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