REVENANT (Descendants Saga) Read online

  REVENANT

  By

  James Somers

  *A Bonus Preview of “MILLENNIUM” included*

  *A Bonus Preview of “Serpent Kings Saga Omnibus*

  Kindle Edition

  201 3© James Somers

  www.jamessomers.blogspot.com

  Discover other titles by James Somers on Amazon Kindle

  This Ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All characters and events are fictional except where taken from the Holy Bible and World History

  Listen to Preview of FALLEN AUDIOBOOK

  Announcing Descendants Saga Audio Books

  FALLEN Audio Book Now Available

  DESCENDANTS, REVENANT, MILLENNIUM and AFTERMATH set to release monthly through January 2014

  Read by British Narrator: Duncan White

  Published by Sci-Fi Publishing

  Audio Books coming in October 2013: The Realm Shift

  The Order of Shaddai & The Sword of Gideon following

  Audio Book coming December 2013:

  The Serpent Kings Saga Omnibus Edition

  (Serpent Kings, Wraith Dancer, Shadow Walker)

  Revenant

  Arthur Craven sat upon his bed inside the Ambassador Hotel in Philadelphia Pennsylvania, staring at his suitcase. The leather bound case did not match the heavy steamer trunk setting near the wardrobe, but it was big enough to house the particular item of power he never left behind. It was this item that had Arthur on edge of late.

  He had ever been the faithful worshipper while acting as the head of the Order of Light in London. However, since the Order had been destroyed by a troll attack during their meeting with Lord Grayson Stone, Arthur had not prayed once. The golden idol, which had resided for years within a secret chamber in his home, had been packed away with his other belongings, but he had not offered incense after that fateful meeting.

  Sitting in this American hotel, he longed to open the case and make his penance to his master, Lord Natas, but fear kept him still. Arthur knew that his master was likely furious with him. He had ran from the doomed meeting of the Order of Light, never looking back, or even attempting to contact Lord Stone to see if all was well. He had failed.

  Still, there was a small hope that his services might be required. His abilities as a magician had disappeared with his courage that day, and he desired to feel his master’s powerful presence again. Like an opium addict, he longed for the comforting embrace that freed him from his mundane existence as a mortal man. He had to chance his master’s fury.

  While he watched, the two latches on the leather case unfastened themselves. Arthur gasped when the suitcase lid flew open, revealing the seven heads of the golden dragon. Its fourteen emerald eyes flashed, and Arthur knew his master was in the room somewhere.

  He leaped from his perch on the side of the bed to the floor where he prostrated himself. “Lord Natas, I beg your forgiveness,” he said frantically. “Please allow me to live, so that I may serve you with this frail body.”

  Arthur had been found, caught on the run all the way across the Atlantic. There was no escaping Lord Natas. He kicked himself mentally for his reluctance to make amends earlier. Why had he not done the right thing before now?

  The hotel room vibrated like a railway station with a heavy locomotive barreling through at full speed. The gas lamps dimmed, and the air sparked at random with static electricity. Arthur wondered if the arrival of his master meant his doom at long last.

  The room door slowly opened on its own. The hall beyond was empty. The door closed again. There were no footsteps into the room. Arthur wasn’t sure what to think.

  “Arthur Craven,” his master’s voice boomed within the room.

  “I am here, my lord,” he responded. “What is thy bidding?”

  “For your cowardice in London, I should burn you to ash,” the voice threatened.

  Arthur prepared for the worst, quivering with fear upon the floor. There would be no running from his master. He could not get away no matter where he fled.

  “However, I will pardon your transgression in London on one condition,” Lord Natas said.

  “Anything, my lord,” Arthur replied.

  “You will bind your mortal life to the will of my son, Grayson Stone.”

  Arthur raised himself from the floor, finding Lord Stone already in the room with him.

  “My lord, I had not realized you were in America,” Arthur said.

  “My father has plans for this nation,” Grayson said. “We have joined to become one in body and spirit. You can be a part of those plans, if you will now obey.”

  Arthur remained on his knees before Grayson. “I will indeed, my lord,” he said. “Thank you for pardoning my transgression.”

  Grayson laid his palm upon Arthur’s forehead, exerting his power upon the man. However, in this case, he did not take his life. Since Arthur was consenting, he drew upon his life force, binding the mortal man to him. At the same time he became a portal through which Lucifer could bring one of his own out of the prison of Tartarus.

  The process had been explained to Grayson already, though admittedly it was complex. Grayson was blood-bonded to Lucifer as his son. In turn, Lucifer was spiritually linked to his kindred, the Fallen, many of whom resided in Tartarus as prisoners of the Almighty.

  However, while they were still imprisoned in their natural forms, they could extend themselves to the mortal plane, if they had a means. Lucifer had concocted a means for them, as well as providing physical bodies they could utilize. Arthur would now be the second, following the union between Lucifer and his son.

  Craven shook under Grayson’s touch and then fell backward onto the floor. He could feel the overwhelming power of his master coursing through Grayson’s human body and into him. Seizures ran through his body while the process took hold, removing his self will and giving it to another. He screamed madly, over and over again.

  Grayson watched it all unfold. Lucifer had hinted that the event would be unpleasant. He had not lied in his description.

  Arthur’s veins bulged. His eyes became bloodshot, opening and closing at random. His muscles convulsed sporadically for nearly ten minutes.

  Finally, Arthur Craven grew quiet and still. His labored breathing began to calm and become natural. He leaped to his feet, laughing. When he opened his eyes, Grayson understood. Arthur Craven was no longer Arthur Craven.

  Dr. James Williams followed the police lieutenant into Philadelphia’s Ninth Police Precinct. As a psychologist, he was fascinated by the prospect of interviewing the man police had arrested in connection with the murders of over a dozen people yesterday and the fire that had destroyed the Ambassador Hotel.

  He passed through a narrow corridor and was escorted through several locked gates intended to keep dangerous prisoners in check. He found the smells emanating from this end of the building to be a bit overbearing. However, he had seen some bad cases before, so this would be nothing new.

  “Can you give me your observations about him before I go in?” James asked the officer escorting him.

  “All I know is, better you than me,” the officer said. “I’ve seen some crazies in my day, but nothing like this guy. He’s been pretty docile since we picked him up, but what he did to those poor people was beyond belief.”

  James had read the preliminary report already. Among the victims were found several women and children. Some had been bludgeoned to death. Others he had disemboweled with his bare hands. The detailed account was gruesome reading at best.

  “When we picked him up, he was stark naked and covered in the blood of his victims,” the officer said as they arrived outside his cell. “The Ambassador Hotel going up in flames behind him—I’ve nev
er seen the like. He’s the Devil himself, if you ask me.”

  “Thank you, officer,” James said. “I’ll take it from here.”

  The door was made of metal with a fixed glass window and steel bars behind. The alleged murderer and arsonist, Arthur Craven, was seated inside wearing shackles while two police officers stood apart in the corners of the room watching him. Their guns were already unholstered, as though they were expecting the worst at any moment.

  James peered inside when his escort unlocked and opened the door for him. He walked inside, and the officer escorting him locked the door behind him. Admittedly, James felt a bit uncomfortable with that fact—being locked in the room with a cold blooded killer—but the two policemen standing in the room with him provided some comfort. He glanced at their revolvers again and then took the only seat available at the small table provided. Arthur Craven sat in the other with his head down and his eyes closed.

  When the man did not seem to notice his arrival, James cleared his throat. Still, no response. He said, “Excuse me—”

  “Welcome, Doctor,” Arthur Craven said. He had not yet raised his head.

  “Well, yes, I am a doctor,” James began.

  Craven interrupted him again. “Dr. James Williams.”

  James tried not to smile at the recognition. “I see you’ve heard of me then?”

  “We know you and all of your kind,” Craven said with a little laugh. He slowly raised his head to look at James. The officers became tense.

  James tried to relax, but seeing the bloodshot eyes peering at him and the clear delight with his murderous actions residing there, he began to tremble. Now that Craven was looking at him, James found that he could not turn away. Some unknown force seemed to hold his gaze upon the man’s face.

  Craven’s hair was going gray and thinning. Some of it may have even been pulled out recently. Blood from his victims still matted it in places, though the police had clearly tried to clean him up. His teeth were nicer than he might have expected. In all, he didn’t have the appearance of someone who had been living on the street. Still, a higher station in life did not mean a person couldn’t go mad.

  “I’m sorry,” James said, “did you say, we know you?”

  “My brothers and I,” Craven said. “Our kind made men like you what you are.”

  Now, James was quite intrigued. This was what he had come for. It was always thrilling when they began to spell out their delusions of grandeur in detail. Perhaps, this Arthur Craven thought of himself as a king, or some such.

  “Who are your kind?” James asked.

  “The Fallen,” Craven said, leaning back in his chair.

  “The Fallen?” James asked, unsure of the reference. “Who are the Fallen?”

  “Mithrial beings….Angels, if you like”

  This was even better than James might have supposed. Craven didn’t even consider himself human. The religious psychosis were never dull to learn about. The greater the patient saw himself, the more likely he would tell you anything you wanted to know.

  “Are you an angel, Arthur?”

  “I am not Arthur Craven,” he replied.

  “Of course you’re not,” James said, trying not to smirk. “You’re an angel.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is your name, what should I call you?” James asked.

  “Southresh is my name,” Craven said, his voice growing more menacing. He smiled darkly at James. “Though, I am known by many names.”

  “What names?” James asked, opening his paper pad. He began to scrawl down what Craven had said.

  “The mad god,” he said. “Bringer of pain, or simply terror.”

  “Interesting,” James said, looking up from his notes. “And why would an angel want to kill all of those innocent people?”

  “Because their suffering pleased me,” Craven said.

  James felt a chill run through him.

  “They were not innocent,” Craven said.

  “You killed women and children,” James said, trying to distance his own loathing for the man from this interview.

  Craven laughed heartily. “Your kind does not understand the guilt you bear before Heaven.”

  “And these Fallen do?” James shot back.

  Craven lost his smile then. “We do not care about the guilt we bear before Heaven.”

  James noticed sweat running down his forehead and the back of his shirt. The room was getting hotter. He was letting his anger get the better of him—bad form for a man in his profession.

  He sat back in his chair, letting his emotions drain away. He had to take control of the conversation again, lead it in the direction he wanted. Craven was smiling again.

  “If you’re an angel, then surely you have some greater purpose here than murdering women and children,” James said.

  “We do.”

  “What would that be?”

  “This nation will be ours….My master will free more of my brothers soon,” Craven said.

  “And who is your master?” James asked.

  “Lucifer is our master,” Craven said.

  James had thought that he might say that. He was well versed in theology. The use of archetypes was a common trait among paranoid schizophrenics.

  “So, the Devil made you kill those people?”

  “As I told you, their suffering pleased me,” Craven replied.

  James felt his anger building again. “Aren’t you concerned about revealing your master’s plan to me?” he asked.

  “You do not believe me,” Craven answered. “But you will before you die.”

  James did not reply to that. It was common for these types to threaten him. Still, it was the conviction of this threat that made him afraid now.

  “I think our interview is over, Mr. Craven,” James said. He flipped his pad closed, stowing it inside his coat with his pencil. He stood up to go.

  Craven looked up at him. “Don’t you want to see what I’ve seen?” he said.

  James looked into the man’s eyes. He hadn’t intended to do so. There, within those windows to the soul, he saw a thousand horrors on display.

  He saw the murders of men, women and children at the Ambassador Hotel in vivid, terrifying detail. He witnessed a thousand unspeakable atrocities in a single moment. James saw glimpses of Heavenly glory and Hellish insanity. Last of all, he saw Southresh revealed in his true form and his own death at the hands of this fallen creature.

  James suddenly realized he was screaming.

  Craven was laughing maniacally.

  The guards moved in to stop their prisoner as the little table burst into flames. Craven snapped his chains with a single move, leaping toward the closest officer. Shots were fired, but he did not take notice of the wounds.

  As the first policeman fell to the floor with his neck broken, James turned for the door, wrenching the knob with both hands. It would not open. The guard outside was already attempting to get his key back into the lock. Somewhere behind, James heard the brief melee between Craven and the second policeman. A body hit the floor, and he knew it was not Craven’s.

  He was going to die, but he couldn’t bear to look back at Craven...not after what he had seen in the man’s eyes. The lock turned. The security door opened, and the other officer came into the room. James dared to hope that all was not lost. Then the police officer drew his gun and burst into flame.

  Dr. James Williams looked at the man, Arthur Craven, but he saw a nude angel with soiled wings in his place. The officer fell to the floor on fire, writhing in agony as Southresh turned his gaze toward the good doctor. “I said you would believe me before you died.”

  The flames from the police officer’s body cascaded across the floor, radiating unnaturally toward the walls. In seconds, the entire room was ablaze. Southresh grabbed James by the throat, hoisting him into the air with one arm. The good doctor was too busy choking to comment.

  “Don’t worry, Williams,” he said, “I’ll see you in eternity!”


  He cast the doctor behind him into the flames and then walked out. The inferno followed Southresh like an obedient dog, taking hold on the building. Officers had lined the hall outside, stationed behind the first gate. They ordered him to stop, none of them seeing anything more than Arthur Craven walking toward them with blood on his hands, wreathed in fire.

  Craven only laughed as he continued toward the gate. Nearly a dozen officers fired their revolvers. Bullets became molten droplets, scattering their metal across the walls. Craven remained unfazed.

  The officers continued to shoot uselessly at their escaping prisoner. The steel bars of the security gate began to glow bright red as Craven cackled delightedly. The policemen backed away as the heat became too much to remain near. One of the men with a key ran to the gate behind them and began working to unlock the door.

  The red hot first gate came away from its mounting hinges, flying toward the officers. The men screamed as the gate pinned them between the one behind. Their clothes ignited, creating a torturous conflagration of searing flesh and agony. Southresh looked on through Arthur Craven’s eyes.

  He turned his attention to the wall of the building. It was a basic block construction—paper walls holding back a rhinoceros. A single thought shattered the blocks, pushing them out into the lot next door to the police station. A number of coaches hitched to horse teams sat nearby. These became terrified as soon as Southresh exited the building through the hole he had created.

  He breathed in the air of the city, flexing his spirit through the body he had been provided. His mandate had been clear from Lucifer—pure unadulterated chaos. He smiled. The mad god was exactly the right person for the job.

  Besieged

  Once we had gone far enough away from Central London, I suggested that we utilize a portal that would deliver us directly into the elf city of Xandrea. There, Oliver and I could speak with Donatus and discover what had become of our friends. I was particularly concerned about Sophia, but I didn’t relay that to Oliver.