Retribution, Devotion Page 3

  Both foes stood panting waiting for the other to move. The Reaper’s eyes focused on a gye nyame symbol necklace that suddenly appeared resting against his cousin’s heart before fading away. He had no idea why that appeared to him as it did, but he slowly flashed a knowing smile. He was very familiar with that necklace. He wondered if she remembered that her brother still wore his, too.

  An opening of a side door caused music to spill in the alley. The atmosphere filled with static, making both women pant faster for air then quickly clutch their chests at the same time. Pain centered in their torsos and a deep jerk resonated around their hearts. The Dark Lady glanced at the Medusa and she glanced at her mistress. Both women clearly understood that they were now staring their deaths in the face. That survival to eliminate a man they had underestimated was now on the back burner.

  “Try something different to use as a play against my mental next time, cousin,” the Reaper coolly replied. He clutched both fists at his sides then reached deep within his spirit. What he collected from within himself was then casted outward at both women. As if time had slowed down, he sent both women flying into a brick wall in front them. Pulsing lights spilled into the dark alley, the drifting singsong voice of Azealia Banks rhyming about the “212” drew his attention. A public domain, he needed to be careful.

  The Reaper stepped over strewn bricks and debris with a smirk, cracking his knuckles. Both women lay unconscious against a booth in the building. Bricks, debris, and dust covered them. As he made his descent into what seemed to be a club, clueless humans, random Nephilim civilians, and Cursed entities danced while the music pumped. The Reaper made note of the many humans and Nephilim who were not of the fighting castes as was evident by their auras and insignias glowing on various parts of their flesh.

  Back in his past, he had once wished he were just a civilian Nephilim, one whose only concern was the general Society meetings and keeping an eye out for mundane vices. Not hunting down hardcore sinners or demons, as he was doing now. But, that was then and this was now. He accepted what he was born to do now and right now. Music made him bob to the beat and pull out his sword. Everything would be done on the low but to a soundtrack, he could dig.

  While he scanned the club, a deep voice interrupted his musings behind him, to tell him that whoever it was had his flank covered. Dr. Eammon Toure stepped from the cloud of soot. The elder stepped over crumbled bricks with a gun in his left hand and his right clapped on the Reaper’s broad shoulder. That look in the man’s eyes matched his own. Wrongs were about to be settled tonight and both men moved as one. They separated to flank a set of stairways that led to the waking women. The music seemed to feed the Reaper by giving him energy. That signature vibe let him know his boy Calvin was there, fusing the music into his team and innocents within the club. Much respect, filtered through his mind.

  The Reaper lifted his blade, ready to battle. He rammed it down onto the Dark Lady hitting nothing but the club floor. Bullshit! He let out a roar of frustration. Had he been totally blinded by his rage, he would not have noticed his target’s unconscious form sliding across the floor by an invisible rope. A tether, which ended up connected to the now–red haired Winter, the Dark Lady’s personal Witch. She stood with a sad expression in her gaze that let him know she was sorry. However, for good measure, he guessed, she thought by sending the urgently psychic plead over the music, “You can’t!” would help matters.

  Pillars and equipment began to shake. He was furious and that was an understatement. The Reaper was over the games. A blast of power flew toward the Dark Lady and Winter. He saw the shock in Winter’s eyes and then the feel of a boot slamming into his temple, knocking him to the floor. Pain echoed through him. Then the quick flash of a female’s shadow passed by his peripheral. He knew who it was before she opened her mouth. His own nails scraped at the dance floor under his chest. He glared upward at the Medusa.

  “Touch my mistress and you die. You understand?” the Medusa snarled.

  Spitting out blood, the Reaper, astonished, bobbed his head, and then pushed up on both hands. Chick has to be out of her damn mind. All he could do was study her from the side of his face, ready to battle. “Yes. I understand. Touch your mistress, then you die.”

  Swift with purpose, he tiger-clutched the Medusa’s chest and dropped her to her knees in astonishment. The sound of her scream in terror made him laugh. A flicker of calm scurried over her features, almost softening them the moment her gaze fell on Calvin, who now stood behind a DJ booth watching them closely.

  Calvin had taken over for a DJ he had persuaded into going on a break. A huge smile flashed across his face. He gripped the sides of his jacket, pulled it forward, and then whipped it backward as if he were Michael Jackson performing “Smooth Criminal.” One hand lifted in the air, cueing a bass-thumping interlude to his next track. Adjusting his Beat by Dre headphones on his head, Cal used his own Mystic power to jolt it into the Medusa all while pumping up the crowd to keep her off balance.

  The Reaper used that moment to do what he always did best. He reached out to twist her heart cavity. A pumping activated against his palm causing him to flinch in angry perplexity. The feel of that unnatural pulse, suddenly coming from a creature such as her, made him push her away. An odd sensation hit him.

  Strange crap was going on, because her body instantly lit up in thousands of tiny airy lights before fading away.

  “Now that is interesting. It should be a husk in there and light should not be within you. Hmm. Shit!” Another blast of Witch fire hit him hard, causing him to turn his back to cover himself.

  In that same moment, the Reaper felt Lenox come to his side. His brother-in-arms hunkered down near where he stood bent over coughing. His brother-in-arms locked his ice-blue gaze on him in concern. No words were needed between them. Nox’s eyes glowed with an ethereal wisdom. His boy turned slightly to the side pointing his favorite silver Glocks. Two rounds let off toward Winter without breaking eye contact with the Reaper.

  “Marco and Kali are with Sanna. Bro, she’s breathing but barely and she needs you,” Nox said in warmth and concern.

  “Do you see me working, man? I have shit to do here, bro. Let me handle mine. Let me get holy retribution!” the Reaper yelled in blind anger.

  Lenox curtly nodded, then let his twin silver fighting sticks slide from the sleeves of his black leather jacket and hoodie. “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee, this is our Templar creed. As you wish, bro, but remember, I’m here to oversee and keep your objective. All right?”

  The Reaper gave a curt nod in response.

  “Indeed. Time to take down a witch. I’ll catch you on the other side,” Nox said with a salute.

  Khamun hated that he had to blast his boy like that, but he was in battle and he was working the Witch fire off him. The Reaper turned to observe a man whom he called his “Conscious” disappear in the dancing crowd to go after Winter.

  Nox moved as if he were lighter than a feather. He flipped his fighting sticks in both hands and made contact with his prey. Each stick swung inward then impaled a demon through its chest. Appealingly satisfied with the sizzling and popping of its charring flesh, he regarded the area around him and saw a tall stereo amp. Climbing it, Nox kicked another demon that suddenly showed its true nature from its guise as a drunken college clubgoer and he tucked his sticks back within the sleeves of his hoodie.

  A smile played around his chiseled face, one that had many women in the club gazing his way. He regarded Calvin and signaled with a tilt of his chin to repeat the track so that he could dance to the music. Nox moved his feet to the music and the tempo pumped faster. His footwork and hand movements distracted the demon. He bent low and lifted his body in the air on one hand. Lenox suavely balanced his muscled frame and used his other hand to pull out a gun from his harness. Blasts of a round of bullets ricocheted into the skull of the watching and reaching demon. Dropping into a back
flip off the amp, the Reaper saw Nox run forward and chase after Winter while unaware that she shook the Dark Lady awake.

  Simultaneously, Winter’s head tilted to the side catching Lenox in her view. Her hand flung forward releasing several ebon currents Lenox’s way. Her movements appeared calculated but Khamun soon realized it was erratic as to not hurt Nox. The woman, the Reaper knew to be the Dark Lady’s personal healer and crafter of any form of dark mystic power pressed her well-manicured nails together and threw up a wall that flew toward Lenox.

  Forever the skilled warrior Nox dodged each charge. Effectively he dropped into a roll, whipping out ninja stars. Winter averted each one with a dropping windmill. Quick as a sprite, she ducked behind a nearby bar, pushing a clueless human to the side. She lifted a hand and bottles went flying. While the music, persistently droned in the background, to the human eye, what Winter casted into the air seemed to be nothing but moving rave lights. But, Khamun and his team knew better.

  Behind him, Calvin mixed and spun tunes that connected via an illuminating airwave to demons. The swirling illuminating threads ripped them in half, sending the demons’ dark matter toward the Reaper’s so that he may have fed and retched from his body. Prior, he had felt his body tiring out from the previous battle and his current chase. Now, the delectable taste of his enemy filled his palate and fueled his body. He was definitely thankful for the food. Movement made him cast an eye around the club. The Medusa, who now stood dazed, rested her good hand over her vibrating chest. The Reaper noticed that the Dark Lady now had a human attached to her mouth. Her plush lips were ruddy with blood and her steel irises glared at him before she threw the casualty to the side at the Medusa.

  He knew she had grabbed the mortal, not just to feed, but to break the cloaking barrier that Calvin was crafting through his music to keep the people clueless. Now that she had brought the battle into the human world and to the attention of civilian Nephilim, he knew the club was going to erupt in chaos. As if on cue, chaos was exactly what occurred. Humans went running. Those civilian Nephilim, who could see everyone, before the humans could, tried to help however they could, but they were also too scared to be of any true help.

  Random humans began to twist and contort into demons at the will of the Dark Lady. They moved in his team’s ways as opponents and obstacles to distract them, but where there is Dark there is Light. He and his team saw a few brave humans step up, climbing over strewn tables, chairs, and debris to fight against the possessed zombie-like humans. Their auras and pupils shone bright with white Light, making them gifted with small strains of Nephilim DNA. They worked with the civilian Nephilims and pushed back whoever they could who got in Khamun and his team’s way, making an opening for them to get through.

  The Medusa venomously dropped down over the human to rip the heart out from the male’s concaved chest with her tail. She gluttonously fed on it herself before casting a panicky glance his way. Yes, she knew he wasn’t done with her or her mistress but while he pushed his way through the crowd it was Dr. Toure who caught his attention. The man calmly walked behind the Dark Lady and gripped her by her neck, bringing her down on his knee. The elder then stooped down to hover over her, whispering against her ear.

  Whatever it was Dr. Toure whispered had the Dark Lady thrashing and screaming in the old tongue. The elder’s eyes appeared to emit a source of potency that took the Reaper back. He could smell and taste old magic. No. The Reaper felt as if he was in the presence of an Old one and his father was the only Old one he knew, so he had to be tripping. Shockingly, when the Dark Lady went flying across the club without Dr. Toure laying a hand on her, the Reaper knew something was under the surface of the man he had once assumed was only a Guardian Disciple. Guardian Disciples were a group of immortal humans with no power, but who carried the angelic DNA strains of the Nephilim race.

  “Your father ended my light but you will never have my child. Not in this life or the next. Now it’s your turn to die,” the Reaper swore he heard the good doctor’s accented booming voice say.

  Those words and the conviction behind them had the Reaper thinking before it disappeared from his mind. It wasn’t time to get invested into something else. Several long strides then a leap in the air had him chasing after the Dark Lady again. The Medusa battled to get to her mistress and Winter threw herself over the bar to kick Lenox to the side all while she slid across the bar surface.

  The Reaper heard Winter whisper on a coded psychic link that she was sorry. She hopped off the bar, ran, and grabbed the Medusa by her uninjured hand. Both women sprinted in their heeled boots seeking out their Mistress and trying to catch up to her before he did.

  The Reaper enjoyed that. “Run faster,” he purred, appearing at their side during their run. He then shifted to move behind them just to toy with them.

  Winter pleaded with her eyes before pressing her wrists together. Her red hair returned to its dark hue, a jewel around her neck hummed then pulsed outward to cover the women in a shield. She dropped her head back chanting in the old dark tongue with various dialects fused into it.

  The Reaper noticed her look his way while she pleaded. Her café au lait skin glowed like honey before paling into a ghostly sheen with her valor. Her words floated over him in a psychic mist: “You can’t, please understand. This is not just because she is my mistress. It’s more to this then her being who she is. I can’t explain yet and ears are listening, I must go ; forgive me, but I play the game to survive for you all.”

  With that, he watched her dissolve into a miasmic mist leaving the club empty of all demons while humans stood shocked and Nephilim civilians appeared just as confused. One gaze at Dr. Toure made the Reaper uncertain again. The man was glancing around as if he didn’t know why he was there. The doctor stepped over strewn equipment, bricks, and other items in the club then pulled out his medic bag to help those who were hurt in the fight. “I’m a doctor, please let me help.”

  The Reaper didn’t understand it and he didn’t have time to question his Elder about what was really going on with the man. For now, he was pissed from this loss. Heads needed to be chopped off. Not only did his team suffer loss, but now some innocent human and Nephilim corpses lay strewn around the club floor. Their blood mixed with that of demon ash still floating in the wind. Fist connecting into a nearby wall had the Reaper sending a blast throughout the club making lights flicker off and on.

  “Two shots to the head and a Hail Mary, then poof, bitch, you’re dust! Next time, I got you!” the Reaper roared, pacing in a circle. His balled fist created a crater on its smooth surface. He stepped back then ran both of his large hands down his face with a deep exhale.

  Lenox’s presence at his side and deep mutter for him to remember that the fight wasn’t over had him slightly annoyed but grateful. He gave his brother-in-arms a warrior’s clasp before walking off frustrated. Too much information just happened in such a short span but, most importantly, his prey had gotten away. The Reaper clasped his hands over the back of his neck then inwardly cursed, “Wipe the innocents’ minds and call in the cleaning crew to fix this bullshit. I’m out.”

  Shit is cray, flicked in the Reaper’s mind. Exiting the club through the back alleyway, he took to the sky and sought out a place of solace within to ease his mind. His massive dark wings lifted him into the sky. He headed back to the rooftop for his soul mate whom he knew lay in a comatose state. He needed her to be okay, to be alive.

  Chapter 2

  Her dreams were tormenting her. She remembered an incident back in college with a student whose death devastated the campus community and her. His name was Lance. No one could understand how he had been attacked, but now she knew the truth of it. Her beloved Khamun had been around her always, even that far back with Lance.

  However, her spirit whispered that there was something more to that memory, whatever it was. Spasms of piercing agony ricocheted throughout her body. Each crescendo of pain pulsed, and slashed through her. She then saw sparked flicker
s of golden white light behind her closed eyelids that guided her to a new dream, a past life, and memory. Triggered impressions so crisp, so real, that if she reached out then she could feel, smell, and taste each action. It all played for her as if she were in a movie. Burning tightness clutched at her lungs and throat, causing her to seize. The sensory world she was in swallowed her with hits, making her recall how bad her migraines used to be. But this was more. This was pain from her mind, soul, heart, and body. This was knowledge and she rent the air with a scream as she saw her family fall around her.

  Fury filled her spirit. It claimed her in its own righteous indignation when she saw the man who came to her only months before as her protector then later as her soul mate die in front of her.

  This is not going down on my watch, her mind screamed. But what could she really do?

  Yes, she was still new to her role in all of this of understanding exactly what she could do. But from her time with her mate, the man she would go to the bowels of hell for, she innately knew that the power within her could feed him and vice versa. So she reached out pushing at the blinding pain. She cried in dismay at the images before her, shifting under her feet like quicksand.

  What gave the impression of her standing in WWIII now shifted to an ancient battle reminiscent of Desert Storm but only in the deserts of Egypt. Men dressed in robes and women adorned in caftans flew in the air. Illuminating wings of various hues shined with a radiance so magnificent that it sparked calmness within her. A calmness that let her know they were on her side the moment they threw flames of holy fire at approaching monsters. Each monster resembled men and women with deteriorating dark wings of innumerable hues. Putrid entities that seemed to step out of the newest horror film fought back, throwing bolts of currents, willing shadows to shallow whatever got in their way.