MILLENNIUM (Descendants Saga) Read online

  Wishful thinking, he thought.

  He had decided not to argue with them this early in their mutual venture. It would have proved unproductive. Still, he began to formulate a plan. They would have to arrange some way of taking another host body. This was more difficult than it seemed.

  Ishbe had been a prime specimen of virility and prowess. As a Lycan, he had possessed regenerative gifts that sped healing, and he could perform a ferocious animal transformation that was highly valuable. Ideally, he should search for some manner of Descendant to inhabit. Of course, getting from this body to a proper host would require at least one intermediate jump to a host in close proximity. Being bound to a mortal form did have its limitations in that Black could not simply roam around free of it.

  Since he had to make that leap from one lily pad to another, he might as well do so as few times as possible. He considered one of the policemen who was on the scene. Law enforcement personnel would have access to areas and information that might prove useful to him. However, the new host would have to touch him long enough for the jump to be made.

  Repairs to this body commencing, the cherubim said to his consciousness. We expect to regain physical consciousness within twenty-four hours.

  Balderdash! Black answered.

  Silence reigned for a moment, until he figured out that they had not understood his reply.

  Can you seriously repair this body, despite the damage that’s been done? he asked.

  Of course, they replied.

  Black would have smiled if he had possessed functioning facial muscles. However, since his host was currently incapacitated, he settled for a pleasant thought toward the cherubim. He had made a wise decision to employ them in his schemes.

  He considered how useful it would be to have a different looking host. The last thing Black wanted was to be recognized. The Descendants and Lucifer had all known him in his incarnation as Ishbe.

  Shall we change the appearance of the host? the cherubim asked, intercepting his thoughts on the matter.

  You can do that also?

  Of course, came the reply. We have the ability to change this host’s appearance at will. You may guide the process, if you wish.

  I’ll think upon it, Black said to them.

  It had taken hours for Ishbe’s body to be removed from the scene and then transported across town. With no identification, or next of kin, it had been decided that the corpse would be buried quickly in an unmarked grave. The shooting would be reported. The Assassin would never be identified. The case would forever remain unsolved by the authorities. The name of the unfortunate and unidentified victim had been left as John Doe.

  The wagon bearing Black’s host, made its lumbering way along the cobble lane in the shadow of the Tower of London, heading toward Newham’s City of London Cemetery. A mass grave for debtors and suicides remained open and awaited the body. Tomorrow, the whole mess would be covered over in expectation of the next layer of dead.

  The man driving the wagon was not the caretaker, only a hired hand. Though only thirty years old, Brutus Haymaker had the body of a fifty-year-old and the health of someone age eighty-five. Overweight with lungs full of soot from years as a sweep, Brutus labored for every breath these days. His hair had mostly fallen out. Still, he refused to cut the few stray strands he had left, allowing them to trail down over his neck.

  He let the horse pulling the wagon handle the majority of the navigation. Bessie, a tired old white mare, knew the way back to the cemetery as well as anyone. Only occasionally was Brutus required to correct her—mostly because she wanted more frequent rests than he was willing to allow.

  By the time the wagon pulled through the gate of the City of London Cemetery, the sun had been down for a full half hour. There was no need of hurrying as far as Brutus and Bessie were concerned. The dead had no more appointments to keep. As for unloading the body, the caretaker had sent Brutus with the wagon because this unidentified victim would receive no proper burial.

  The coffin had actually been incorporated into the construction of the wagon. A wooden flap on a well-oiled hinge served as the foot of the casket. The bed of the wagon had a crank and gear assembly, allowing Brutus to hoist the front end up into the air, placing it at nearly a seventy degree angle. The casket had been lined with a smattering of pea gravel onto which the body had been placed. Gravity did the rest of the work.

  Rolling through the graveyard on a full moon like tonight did not bother Brutus in the least. A thick carpet of fog blanketed the ground below the wagon. Headstones rose through the gathering mist. Yet, Brutus barely noticed. These sights, which caused most men’s hearts to fear, were normal for him and Bessie.

  Spending all of your quality time around the dead had desensitized him of any superstitious horror concerning mortality. Bodies with gunshot wounds, like this one, or those with broken necks, or worse, had all been seen by him hundreds of times. For Brutus, the macabre was all in a day’s work.

  Behind a far stand of trees, in the most distant area of the cemetery, Bessie slowed and came to a stop by the mass grave. A field of decaying corpses beneath a layer of white lime stretched before them. Brutus urged the old mare on to some final adjustments, gently backing the wagon near the edge of the pit.

  Brutus descended from his perch, making his way toward the back. He stood beside the crank and began to turn it over and over. The gear set worked in unison, lifting the front end of the wagon bed higher and higher. The body shifted in the coffin and slid rearward on the pea gravel.

  He cranked the handle over and over until the bed reached its highest position. Normally, he didn’t have to go this far before the body slipped out the end of the makeshift coffin and tumbled into the pit with the others. This one, however, appeared to be a stubborn one.

  Reaching into the back of the wagon, Brutus removed a metal hook fashioned for just such an occasion when the dead weren’t in a cooperative mood. He walked to the back corner, looking to see if a foot might be sticking out. He was in luck. A laced leather shoe hung out past the wooden trap door. The other might have jammed inside, bending the knee and fouling the process.

  Brutus reached around the back of the wagon, snagging his hook inside the shoe. He gave a hard yank on the man’s foot. Success! The corpse began to slide again. Then, all at once, the coffin box exploded.

  Thrown to the ground, Brutus groaned in pain. He had been cast a dozen feet from the wagon. Bessie screamed in terror, trying to flee. However, as Brutus turned back, he saw a man standing with his feet on the ground and his body through a hole blown in the bed of the wagon. Try as she might, Bessie did not have the strength to overpower the man and pull away with the wagon.

  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This couldn’t be the dead man. Brutus had seen the condition of the body while laborers loaded him into the wagon from the crime scene near Hyde Park. If anyone was dead, it was this man. And the dead did not rise. How could this be?

  Yet, when he looked into the man’s face in the moonlight and saw the blood stain covering his once white shirt, Brutus knew he was wrong. The corpse began to smash the wagon to kindling in his anger. He wanted free as much as Bessie did.

  Brutus clawed the ground, trying to get back to his feet. He had to get away before the dead man got free of the wagon. If stories of such things were true—and Brutus had never believed they were—then this ghoul would come for his living flesh to make a meal of him.

  The entire wagon burst into flames. Another explosion finished it off, scattering burning debris across the bodies lying in decay within the pit. Bessie screamed in agony as the old mare was tossed across the lawn. She lay on the ground, struggling with freshly broken bones and internal organ damage.

  Brutus squealed in terror as the dead man walked out of the flames, his bloodstained clothing now on fire. The ghoul did not seem the least bit worried. Still, the animated corpse had spotted Brutus attempting to get away. This would not be allowed.

  At once, the groun
d fell away beneath Brutus. He was lifted into the air, turning toward the dead man’s outstretched hand as he came involuntarily back to him. The corpse snatched him by the throat. Brutus couldn’t help but notice that the man appeared in much better condition now than he had been when he’d been loaded into the wagon.

  He actually looked alive again, forcing Brutus to wonder if he had ever really been dead. Had they somehow made a mistake? What had happened to him?

  Brutus gasped for air as the revived corpse regarded his own body. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” he said. Brutus was sure he wasn’t talking to him. After all, though he was practically choking him, holding him in the air with one arm, he hadn’t really looked at him.

  The risen corpse stretched his free arm and hand and then pulled away the stained front of his shirt where the bullet had gone through. To Brutus’s amazement, all that was left of the bullet hole was a small circular scar. Indeed this was the same man who had been shot and killed at Hyde Park.

  The man smiled and then, finally, considered the heavy oaf he was holding before him. Brutus struggled, clutching at the corpse’s hand around his throat. The undead man set his feet down on the ground again, but did release him. Brutus felt the grip on his throat relax a little, also.

  “What is your name?” the revived man asked him.

  “B-B-Brutus,” he answered, trying to fight the stutter that afflicted him anytime he became afraid.

  “Well, Brutus,” he said, “It would appear that you are the only one to witness my resurrection.”

  Brutus nodded uncertainly. Nightfall had already come, and they were standing in a graveyard. Of course, there was no one else.

  “That is unfortunate,” the undead man said, smiling, “For you.”

  *Bonus Preview:

  THE CHRONICLES OF SOONE: WARRIOR RISING

  ASSASSIN

  From his perch high above the public square, Vale scanned the identifying features of Castillian faces as the people congregated and moved through the area. The android had still not been able to locate his Barudii target. It was unclear who these humans were. The city was reported abandoned. However, their presence here, and apparent aid to the governor’s target, made them accomplices and therefore expendable under the governor’s guidelines. However, firing upon them now would be tactically unsound, as it would alert his primary target to his presence. Patience was the key.

  The carved stone balcony he crouched upon had been easy to access and provided a superior targeting position from which to shoot. Person after person, feature after feature was scanned and rejected as negative matches. But wait, now one face continued to match as the features blinked into place like puzzle pieces. One of the men walking below matched all parameters. Only the garment had been changed from the image on the data clips. Vale had to act.

  The android hoisted the pulse cannon up so it would clear the stone balustrade. Vale quickly shifted into the best targeting approximation possible for such a cumbersome weapon. Fortunately, its dispersal pattern was complimentary to the inability to precisely aim the weapon. He tapped the arming switch, causing the weapon to hum.

  ☼

  “Look out!” someone yelled.

  Many in the square turned toward the direction where one woman pointed. Tiet also looked and found a familiar looking Barudii man, with a large weapon aiming into the city center. A wave of pulse laser fire showered down around them as Tiet turned to shield Dorian from harm. He caught her around the torso and pushed her toward the ground. Dorian’s electromagnetic shield pulsed several times intercepting laser blasts meant to take their lives. Rock sprayed away from the walls around them in great chunks.

  As soon as Dorian was down, Tiet leaped away from her. If he was the target, then he wanted to draw the fire away from the girl. The strafing trail of pulse fire followed him as he evaded—leaping and twirling from object to ground to wall and away again.

  Then the cannon fire ceased a moment as some of the Aolene men attempted to engage the culprit. Tiet saw the Aolene warriors firing blaster pistols at the balcony and hurling spicor discs toward the assailant. The android dodged the discs letting them explode on the walls nearby—each leaving behind a smooth semicircular cavity in the rock. Vale took several blasts to the torso and the arms as he repositioned the pulse cannon and began to spray the Aolene combatants with laser fire. Tiet used this brief respite to study their attacker. He had no explanation for the man’s appearance—he might be a clone.

  Tiet saw an opportunity and quickly shattered what remained of the embattled stone balustrade with a concentrated blast of power from his mind. The heavy stone erupted upward against the man, catching his body between the large fragments of rock and the chamber ceiling. It all dropped down to the public square below becoming a heap of smoldering rubble.

  The assassin tangled within the shattered stone like a discarded rag-doll. Tiet wondered why no blood could be seen on the body as it hung limply out of the rock. Orin appeared with Estall on the other side of the fountain. No one understood what had just happened.

  “Tiet!” Dorian cried behind him. She pointed toward the heap of rubble. As he turned, Tiet heard the sound of stone tumbling. From beneath the heap of stones, Orin Vale’s doppelganger emerged. Orin saw it as well, but he couldn’t believe who he was seeing. Whatever this monster was, it was far too powerful to be human.

  ☼

  Vale stood and quickly reassessed the situation. Tiet drew his blade as he ran toward the mysterious aggressor. Vale also drew a Barudii blade—part of his disguise as a Barudii warrior. The two engaged in fierce combat. Tiet tried to enhance his own speed and strength using the Way, but his opponent was still too strong.

  Vale blocked a thrust from Tiet, quickly pushing his blade away. A deadly mechanical hand plowed toward Tiet’s chest. Tiet anticipated the move, drawing a pistol first with his free hand to take advantage of Vale’s exposure. Tiet thrust the pulse weapon into his opponent’s face and fired without hesitation. Vale tried to correct and block the pistol as it came into position, but was not quite fast enough. The blast caught him in the side of the head and sent him reeling backward.

  After seeing this person climb out of a rocky grave, Tiet wasted no time following through with his blade. Vale, having only a fraction of a second to recover from the pulse shot, countered the blade strike and whirled around behind Tiet.

  Vale smashed Tiet in the back with an adomen packed elbow sending the young man to the ground gasping for breath. The android brought his sword to bear on Tiet, planning to deliver the deathblow. Dorian intercepted, attacking the android in order to draw his blade away from Tiet. Several fast strikes were countered by the mechanical man as she furiously tried to defend him. Vale’s blast-exposed cranium glistened in the available light as he parried blow after blow from the young woman.

  The android suddenly flew backwards away from Dorian, slamming into the wall, thrown by Orin’s mind. Orin raced to Tiet’s side to help him up. The boy had been dealt a fierce blow and needed assistance to stand.

  The Aolene took the initiative now with the android in the clear. They laid down a barrage of laser fire on him. Vale got up under fire, retreating down a passageway.

  “We have to go now and take the ship into the rift!” Orin shouted. “The Vorn obviously know we’re here. I don’t know what that thing was—some kind of robot—but there may be more of them.”

  “My people will take the transports we have and engage the main complex as you suggested!” Estall shouted over the din.

  ☼

  Some of the Aolene pursued the android, but no word had come back yet concerning its whereabouts. Estall gathered with his key warriors and noticed Dorian was not among them. He turned to find her at Tiet’s side helping to support the young man as the three of them walked down the passage leading to the hangar.

  Estall started to call out to Dorian then thought better of it—He knew what few did about his younger sister. She had long been infatuate
d with the young prince on the archive video files. Now, he was here alive. “Farewell, Sister,” he whispered as Dorian and the Barudii warriors disappeared down the corridor.

  ☼

  Vale watched, from a hidden position, as his primary target disappeared down a passageway. The android squeezed his hand until bone cracked beneath his fingers. One of the Aolene had been foolish enough to follow him into the half lit corridors. Unfortunately, for the Aolene man, he had also found the robot. Vale released the Aolene warrior’s neck, dropping the lifeless body to the ground.

  His auditory sensors picked up on their destination and their plan to leave in a ship from the hangar bay within the mountain. It was imperative he acquire his target before the boy escaped. The direct way would only draw more resistance from the Aolene preparing for battle below.

  Vale’s database lacked schematics of the city’s interior, but data on the mountain of Vaseer was available. There was only one place to launch a ship from the mountain and Vale realized he was not far from it. The android hurriedly retraced his path out of the mountain and headed back across the slope toward the lower western face. The terrain didn’t slow him at all. Now, he just had to cover the half mile distance in time to intercept the Barudii rebel before he escaped.

  *The Chronicle of Soone: Books One & Two

  Now Available on Amazon Kindle

  *Bonus Preview:

  PERDITION’S GATE INFERNO

  December 12th 2085

  What had he done? Jacob surveyed his handiwork—endless rows stretching into the distance of the underground German facility. Artificial sunlight bathed the muscular nude frames of his children—grown to maturity by specialized hormonal stimulation. The specified number—two hundred million housed in one thousand bunker labs here and abroad—lay slumbering day in and day out, waiting for the appointed time when the Master would make use of them in his grand scheme.