Armageddon's Son (HYBRID: The Ethereal War Book 1)
Armageddon's Son
Greg Ballan
Part 1 of HYBRID: The Ethereal War
Acknowledgments
Where to begin? This book is more than a story from my often-disturbed imagination. The idea, the story seed is mine, nurtured into reality on the pages of my beat up laptop, stored safely inside bytes on a hard drive. But writing the tale is only the beginning of a journey. Along this journey I’ve hounded friends and family to read my endless rewrites. I’ve trapped my patient son, bribing him with caramel iced coffee to discuss plot points and character development. I’ve met an incredible editor who worked to make the tale shine like a like a ruby and sharper than the edge of my prized katana. There wasn’t just wordsmithing, there was a fresh perspective on scenes that were too over the top or needed a bit more punch. The journey contained a talented cover artist adding her special magic creating the eye-catching packaging, the bow and wrapping holding the carefully edited tale. Then there’s the publisher; the entity coordinating all the aforementioned activities to bring the story to the public and mark one journey’s end and the beginning of another.
I owe all of these people a debt of gratitude. Without their efforts this would just be an idea unshared and a tale untold. David Lee Summers, my editor and publisher, you gave my work a chance and I will be forever grateful. But you’ve given me an even greater gift; a new friendship to treasure.
To my amazing, talented children,
Thomas. You taught me how to chase a dream and helped make that dream a reality. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself and gave me the confidence to keep pushing forward. No father could be blessed with a better son. I have had the joy of watching you grow into a wonderful, caring young man.
Rachel. Every day you inspire me with your tenacity and God given ability. Never stop reaching for the stars, there is a place for you among them. The world is a stage, and you, my daughter, are in the center spotlight.
Chrisite. You are the rainbows in a dreary, gray world. Your inner light shines like a beacon providing illumination and warmth for those around you. Never lose that quality. I am truly blessed to be your father.
Prologue
Vatican City, Rome. St. Martha's Chapel
Burning pain scalded bone-white flesh as the hooded specter crept through the seldom used catacombs below the chapel. He'd been to St. Peter's Basilica several hundred years ago, as a man, and remembered celebrating Mass at the large open courtyard. Time had changed the church—more security, more politics and more deviation from the basic tenets. Like with everything else over time, the church had been infiltrated and even partially corrupted by the fetid stench of politics. Change was a product of Man. Eternity was of God. The rules set down by Peter, Paul, and the Apostles were being supplanted by a more secular teaching. Change drove it from the faith and into the darkness. There was no more purity in the church. The time for cleansing had come.
He heard footsteps and leapt an inhuman fifteen feet straight up. Sharp bone claws dug into the soft mortar while nimble feet took firm hold of suspended pipe.
"There should be no souls here!" Silent curses left purple lips as four men in rough brown robes walked into the large adjoining chamber.
The specter crawled along the ceiling, finding footholds, ever wary of the crumbling rubble overhead. Two-inch black nails sunk into the soft ceiling and support timbers. Each movement drew it closer to the opening and intensified the scalding agony inside his body. He dropped from the ceiling landing silently, then glided wraith-like toward the dull glow of the chamber. The specter hissed as he spied the large crucifix suspended from several heavy chains. The being looked up at the Son of God's image and cursed violently. The four men turned and screamed. Angry hands grabbed the eight-inch thick steel doors slamming them closed. The chamber echoed as the heavy doors crashed against the cast-iron frame and jamb. There would be no escape from judgment for these souls.
The men stood frozen in fear staring at the black-hooded specter walking toward them. He stumbled as pain pierced his dead heart. "You are not worthy!" Four claws dug into nearby wooden benches gouging out shards of hundred-year-old oak. "You must be cleansed!"
One of the four approached. "Friend, there can be no violence in this consecrated place. How did you get here?" Terror lingered on every spoken syllable.
The man's fear was a cancer contaminating his whole being. Even through the protection of its robe, the sickening palsy of compassion swept through heightened senses. The specter felt the ambient warmth of life and the flow of sustenance surging with each rapid heartbeat. The sweet smell of blood drove him to react. Clawed hands grabbed and held the mortal man's shoulder, clamping down like an inhuman vice. The sound of cracking bone and the gasp of shock and pain fed the specter's dark desire. Hungry fangs punctured pale pink flesh. The creature savored the salty, scarlet warmth of human nectar.
He slurped two large gulps then, with a vicious, clawed slap, severed the throat and jugular veins of his victim. Blood sprayed from the wounds staining his black garment and momentarily covering his eyes. He slowly wiped the blood from his face, licking his claws with a long, forked tongue savoring the stray droplets which dulled the burning and pushed him forward. The next man shouted a prayer for protection before the enraged entity plunged his right hand through the terrified man's rib cage tearing out his heart. The man's last sight before eternal judgment would be his own heart, grasped by the being, still beating and spraying blood.
"Give my regards to the Father!" With a nonchalant toss, the entity heaved the heartless corpse twenty feet across the chamber, decorating the wooden benches and stone tile with more scarlet fluid.
The burning agony increased, almost intolerable. Something smashed against the top of his head. The sound of his own skull bones cracking and jawbone breaking echoed inside his enraged mind. He staggered back falling against the cold flagstones. His own poisoned blood mingled with those now dead. The man facing him held a large cross, covered in dark purple blood, mounted on a pole. An angry bubbling hiss filled the air as the fluid boiled and burned off the holy object.
"Run Brother Peter! Get help! I'll hold it off as long as I can. The cardinals must know what happened here!"
Jaw reset and skull bones refused, the entity stood up and howled angrily at the puny thing that dared defend itself. There was no fear in the man, only a sense of moral duty. In some warped way he admired that, a quality he too possessed several hundred years in the past. The specter rushed forward to attack only to be rebuked by the searing pain. The protective garment had been torn and he felt and smelled the stench of burning flesh. He picked up a large oak bench and hurled the twelve-foot object like a missile. The weak man was pinned, desperately struggling to free himself. He really shouldn't take the time, but he wanted to make this victim pay for what it had done. The doors rattled and creaked as the fourth man struggled to open them.
The being took one single claw and cut the entire length of the pinned man's torso, then another slice across the midsection opening up the man's belly. The cries of pain and agony echoed pleasingly off the stone and masonry.
It took the man fifteen minutes to finally expire. Intestines and internal organs littered the floor drenched in a sea of warm blood. The being looked up and realized his fourth victim had escaped. The doors were still sealed but there must be another doorway unknown to those that sent him. He had to move swiftly now. The frenzy of the torture was gone and the burning pain returned. His flesh once again began to sizzle and burn. He walked toward the tabernacle, painfully ascending the three stairs. He tore off the linens spilling a small golden goblet o
f sacramental wine. The pain increased as his hand reached under the most holy table. Scalded, desperate claws found the hidden button and depressed it. The large chains that suspended the large crucifix were drawn back into the far wall raising the cross. A heavy stone panel slid open exposing a formidable safe.
The being grabbed the handle of the safe and tugged applying more and more inhuman effort. The sound of shearing, tortured metal echoed through the chamber. The specter reached inside a pocket freeing a heavy black cloth. He took another moment to carefully pull the ebony monk's hood on the enchanted garment further over his head. He opened the safe and was bathed in a white light. The pure white light enveloped the being and he shrieked in agony while his flesh cooked despite the unholy shielding. Burning hands reached inside the glowing safe wrapping the object in the charcoal-black fabric. He stepped away, staggering like a drunkard struggling to recover from the crippling pain while his body healed. The being still felt pain and realized his hands were still scalding and smoking. Another wave of pure agony rippled through his arms. In sheer panic he tossed the prize onto the crimson carpeting. The being toppled over shivering, his body smoked and broiled enduring the effects of holding an object only one being in the entire universe could ever control. Even shielded by dark power, the object still made its true nature felt.
The specter lay unmoving for five minutes then struggled to his feet.
"Damn them! They said the sack cloth would contain it!" He looked around desperately. Time was running out. He spotted the white linen tossed away earlier. He covered the black cloth within the linen and spied a dirty burlap sack in the corner filled with trash. He emptied the garbage and stuffed the twice-wrapped object into the sack. He held the sack in his arms and waited. The object still scaled his skin, but he could bear it now. Satisfied with the improvised containment vessel, the battered entity painfully limped toward the doors. He looked back at the massive image of Christ and laughed holding up the stolen prize.
"You see, Prince of Light? Your time has passed. Your creatures are corrupted and will become our own servants. The age of Mankind will cease and the Lords of Light can now only watch in dismay as their eternal plan comes unwound." With the last bits of its remaining strength he opened the doors and moved through the stone labyrinth, each step further from the chamber seemed to rejuvenate palsied flesh. He could hear shouts as men finally entered the chamber from the hidden passageway and discovered the theft. The creature's masters would reward him well if he could escape Vatican City with his prize.
Chapter 1. For Friendship's Sake
Milford, MA
Shanda stared at the small plastic indicator. Erik struggled to find the right words. There were only so many ways to give the same encouraging speech he'd been giving for almost three years now. Shanda's composure cracked and her tears fell freely. In despair she hurled the pregnancy test across the kitchen. The plastic indicator bounced off a cabinet and landed on the floor, the "Negative" indicator face up as if fate attempted to mock her further.
Erik picked up the device, wrapped it in a paper towel, and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket.
"We'll keep trying Hon. It'll happen for us."
She looked up. "When, Erik? When?"
Erik walked over and wrapped his arms around her. "Soon, baby. I gotta believe it'll be soon. Until then we'll just keep trying and living our lives and loving the son we already have."
Shanda sniffed, wiped her nose and nodded. "I know. But, a part of me has always wanted a baby girl, a daughter to dress up in pretty pink bows and tiny leopard print jackets and baby boots." She leaned up and kissed him then moved toward the large picture window staring out at the woodlands behind their home.
Erik smiled. His wife broadcast her thoughts loud and clear. She desperately wanted a large family and feared getting too old to bear children. They were in their mid-thirties and it was an understatement to say Shanda felt her biological clock ticking. To her, it was more like a raging alarm clock constantly ringing in her ears. Erik had no real objections against his wife's desire for a large family, but he wondered if the world was ready for multiple hybrid offspring. He wasn't totally human and neither was their son. Any other children they had would share his Human/Esper lineage.
Erik wondered how the government would react to three or four additional Esper hybrids running around Massachusetts. He knew several intelligence agencies still surveilled them, but they did keep a respectful distance. Since the aftermath of the Observer Incident the clandestine intelligence agency known only as 'the firm' kept him at arm's length, calling upon his special talents just twice in the last three years. Erik understood he was being punished for violating the firm's confidentiality agreement. He'd leaked sensitive documents to a news reporter, Eunice Kim. The reporter wrote a devastating expose on the Hopedale Mountain incident and Pendelcorp's involvement in corrupt defense contracting. His old handler, Martin Denton, pulled some strings allowing the ex-cooler to still work cases in the firm's small private clients' agency. Martin had recruited him into the agency and had a fondness for the promising agent, but even the Senor Bureau Chief was unable to protect Erik's position. Erik got what he wanted—his nemesis, Richard Pendelton behind bars. The cost was his career as a CIA operative.
Erik ran a hand through his long hair absently shaking his head. He looked back over at Shanda as she gazed out the kitchen window. He could still feel her pain; the waves of hurt were palpable to his Esper senses. Sadly he could do nothing to ease this particular burden.
"Why don't we see if Alissa feels like babysitting tonight? We haven't had a Friday night out in months. With the hours you're putting in at the store, my case list, and getting the gym running we've barely had a moment to ourselves. Let's just go out for an evening—the two of us. We can have an early dinner at The Blue Dog and then catch a double feature at the Mendon Drive In. You always said how much you loved the Mendon's ambiance. How about it?"
Shanda kept staring out the window. "Can we sit at Dave's Tiki Bar?"
Erik laughed. "Indeed we can. It's a date then?"
She turned and smiled. "It's a date." She grinned wickedly. "We have 45 minutes until I have to get EJ from pre-school. Shall we make the most of this time, Mr. Knight?"
Erik laughed, "Hell yeah, lead the way!"
The phone rang interrupting their moment. "It could be the store. Meet you in the bedroom?"
Erik nodded, walking down the hall. He stopped short when he heard Shanda utter a name he hadn't heard in several months: 'Martin Denton.'
"…Yes Martin, I'm fine. EJ is growing like a weed … Erik's right here, hang on a sec and I'll put him on for you." She covered the receiver. "Why would Martin be calling you now?"
Erik shrugged as he reached for the phone. "Let's find out." He put the phone to his ear. "Good afternoon, Counselor. It's been a long time."
Erik nodded and grunted a few times. His brow furrowed. "Multiple homicides! Where?"
The detective's demeanor immediately shifted. His warm blue eyes turned frosty while his face adopted an analytical squint forming a partial wrinkle in his forehead.
Erik held his hand over the phone and glanced up at Shanda. "What time are you leaving for the store?"
"I'm working the five to closing tonight. This sounds serious, Erik. I can take EJ with me. Lisa will be on with me and EJ loves to play with her. It seems like you and Martin need to get reacquainted."
Erik nodded and put the phone back up to his face. "I'll meet you at Dawkens' Gym off route 16. I assume you can find the place?"
His shoulders slumped as he took a deep breath. Martin had asked the hard question.
"Madame's is gone, Martin. So is Jeff. He passed away last year." Erik closed his eyes momentarily. "Thanks, he was a good man. I'll see you there at six o'clock, we can talk in my office. A lot has changed, Counselor."
Erik hung up the phone, reliving the loss again in his mind, broadcasting the emptiness through his psychic connection.
Erik nodded. "Yeah, I'll be okay. It's just that I have this feeling in my gut that things are about to get crazy. I've had this hunch for the last few days, like something big happened only I don't know what. Martin calling me and being cryptic like he just was only confirms my worst fears."
◆◆◆
Shanda nervously twirled the purple streak in her long hair. If Erik sensed trouble then some kind of storm was brewing. Her husband's hybrid senses were acute to all types of physical and metaphysical disruptions. Even after five years of marriage she wasn't really sure of the full extent of his powers; and she knew her husband had been reluctant to explore the exponential increase in his capabilities after his battle with the Observers. The feats he'd performed during that conflict were beyond anything she'd ever imagined possible. Her husband was the equivalent of a god capable of commanding the elements by sheer will and possessing physical strength that exceeded any comic book superhero. The fact that Erik was able to keep his myriad powers in such check amazed her. A lesser man would have used such talents to achieve wealth, power, and influence, perhaps even total world domination. Erik simply wanted to be a regular man with regular problems and everyday issues.
She took her husband's hand and led him to the bedroom. "We're running out of time, babe, and I assume you'll be busy most of the evening catching up with Martin. I assume our date night will be postponed for a bit so let's make the most of the time we have."
Erik chuckled and pulled her to him. He kissed her deeply, kicking the door closed with his foot.
◆◆◆
Erik parked his truck at the far end of the parking lot. The gym was busy this evening and there were sparse open spaces. "We may finally start turning a profit if this keeps up."