The Descendants (Evolution of Angels Book 2) Read online

  “We can do this together,” he said, turning her head up. He wiped a stream of tears from her face and his fingers changed color, reflecting the absorption. He slowly leaned toward her, closing his eyes and wanting to press his lips to hers, but kissed her forehead instead. “You’re not alone in this.”

  The ground above them split open and the dirt shoved them apart. Oreios was buried deeper into the ground as Emma was pulled to the surface. Covered in dirt, she pushed herself up. She noticed the unconscious members of the Descendants lying all around her. In the center of a carved pentagram, her father and Madame Patricia lay next to each other with a stone hovering in place above them.

  Athos hovered toward the ground, lifting his hand. The ground beneath her rippled and carried her to his feet.

  “Look at this beautiful place,” he said, pointing at the destruction. “Look at what you did. Even more still, you’re messing with my brother’s heartstrings. It took him eons to get over the last slut.”

  Athos walked over to the gem and knelt down to grab her father. Water sprouted from his fingers and shot up Mr. Brighton’s nose.

  “You’ve made me weak, Emma,” Athos screamed at her, stomping his foot. “I have to do this shit again.”

  Daddy, Emma thought, crawling at a snail’s pace toward her father. I’m coming.

  Athos chanted and the gem hovering in the air began to shine brighter. A white light spread out in a wave, engulfing Athos and his two passed-out participants. Emma pushed up to her hands and knees and shoved through the surging light. It stabbed at her like a thousand knives, piercing her body and soul. Still, she pushed on.

  “Give it up, Emma. Turn back now.” Athos looked at her. “It’s almost done. The closer you get, the more damage you’ll do to yourself.”

  Madame Patricia moaned as her life force merged with Mr. Brighton’s soul. Athos’ stream reversed, drawing her power in. He could feel everything take form, once and for good. Emma stood to her feet and reached for the gem. Athos tried to pull the energy in faster, but her fingers curled around the burning diamond.

  Her free hand slid into her pocket and she grabbed her favorite coin. Squeezing it tightly, she placed the happiness of the coin in the forefront of her mind. With small trickles of blood seeping from her eyes, she grabbed hold of the gem. She yanked it down and a forceful shockwave blew both of them back. The diamond bounced off the ground, landing near Madame Patricia. Emma’s father began breathing once more.

  Oreios emerged from the ground in a roar. He saw the destruction all around. His eyes first fell on Madame Patricia. Her aura was faded, but still intact. Emma’s father was on the brink of death, but still alive. His worry then fell on Emma.

  “She was too late.” Athos flew into the sky, shooting around like a missile. The gem soared up and was absorbed into his chest. “It’s been done.”

  “Where is she?” Oreios stared at Athos. With his angelic vision, he could tell the soul burning inside his brother was raging, but still frail. “What’d you do to her?”

  “I spared you from having to watch her grow old.” Athos hovered in place. His hands caught fire as he smeared the flame into the edges of a growing tornado. Athos yelled with all his might. “I wanted you here by my side, but now it’s obvious that all you ever wanted was to be a real boy. Why couldn’t you just accept that you are an Ourea? An Elemental Knight?”

  The flaming tornado barreled down toward Oreios. He shifted the ground into a large shield, building a curved wall between him and Athos, but the heat of the flames quickly turned the outer edges of the dirt into liquid form. Oreios tried to fight back as hard as he could, but the molten shell began to bend over him and seal him in. His hands and feet were scorched.

  “We could have rebuilt everything the way we wanted,” Athos screamed, forcing the flaming wind down harder. He pulled back the two elements of wind and fire and manifested another. Rain poured down, turning the molten dirt into glass. Underneath the transparent shell, he could see Oreios. “You can’t hide.”

  He crossed his arms and crashed through the glass, landing on top of Oreios. Athos grabbed his brother by the shirt and placed his smoldering hot right hand to Oreios’ face. The burn caused Oreios to scream like he never had before. He allowed the pain to continue, noticing the stolen aura inside Athos fade.

  “Now you know what I feel having to look at you?” Athos asked, whispering.

  “I don’t care. Never did,” Oreios grunted. He transformed his right hand into a spear and drove it through Athos’ head. His brother pulled back the burning hand, stunned. Oreios turned his other arm into a dagger and drove it into Athos’ chest. He picked Athos up, spun him around, and then slammed him to the ground. Oreios looked at his left fist, now holding the gem.

  The diamond was beaming and Oreios could feel the energy inside of it. He thought about absorbing it as his own, but his thoughts were promised elsewhere. He glared at Athos.

  “What are you g-going to d-do?” Athos shivered as the other elements fled his body. His skin and bones were once again constructed of only water. “We’re the last. Alone.”

  “No. I’m the last,” Oreios said, clenching the stone and absorbing it into his body in order to hide it away. “And I’m not alone.”

  The ground slowly covered Athos as the grass sprouted through his skin. The ground beneath Oreios’ feet absorbed Athos’ moisture and a large tree sprouted up where Athos was lying.

  Oreios opened his eyes, his body quivering from commanding the earth. He turned around and ran toward Madame Patricia. Her skin was pruned and her hair completely white. Her liver-spotted hand rose up to reach Oreios as the living members of the Progeny Lounge stood and looked on.

  “My child,” she said. “The power of the gem. Restore me.”

  “You’ll live,” he said to her, ignoring her hand as he stepped over her body.

  “I’m weak,” she cried. “I need you.”

  “You’re not the only person who ever needed someone,” he said as he walked away.

  Rob stumbled over to her, carrying Harold in one arm, and scooped her up. The Descendants vanished in a pink glow.

  Chapter 15

  Oreios walked up a small hill, spotting Emma sitting upright against a tree. The sun poked through the clouds in the sky, quickly burning them up. The rays of maize and marigold marked a new dawn, and held the uncertainty of what laid before them. It wasn’t until he was kneeling at her feet that the state of Emma’s condition became obvious. The gray once again overtook the blue above. She smiled at him faintly, her broken and exhausted body not hindering the rambunctious, and sometimes overbearing, spirit Oreios came to regard as an equal. He grabbed her foot, playfully squeezing the big toe in a game of “this little piggy.”

  “I promise you I feel worse than I look,” she groaned, unable to open one eye and smiling out the side of her mouth.

  “You’re still beautiful,” Oreios smiled, sitting next to her. His arms enveloped her like a protective shield, keeping up the appearance that he was rigid inside, and not crumbling to pieces. He gently combed his fingers through her hair, as if reassuring a child it’s safe to fall asleep. His lips graced her forehead before he turned away and closed his eyes to keep from crying. He coped the best way he knew how: with a joke. “You must feel like a million dollars.”

  “You’re not only selfish, but you’re a liar too,” she giggled, and then groaned from the pain. “And a little dumb. The pound is the currency here. Much more valuable than dollars.”

  “Old habits, I suppose.”

  She looked up at him, running her fingers over the glassy portion of his face. It was incredibly smooth and reflected her swollen body.

  “I like it.” Her hand collapsed onto his lap and she rested her head on his chest.

  “I’m thinking of getting an earring next. I never went through the rebellious teenager phase.”

  “It’s overrated.”

  He put his hand down and the gem protruded through
his palm. He could see the energy inside and knew it could save her. He went to place it over her body—to use the energy to heal her instead of reviving Zeus, but then she spoke.

  “At least I don’t have to die with no one left to understand me,” she said under her breath. She could feel that he was upset. “Here you are, trying to act like something you’re not.”

  She coughed and little chunks of blood sat on the tip of her lips. Oreios rubbed it off her face with the back of his hand. She continued to speak, her voice growing fainter.

  “When I asked you where you’d stand when you’re face-to-face with your own flesh and blood, you said you didn’t bleed.”

  “I don’t.” He held her tightly. He could feel the thump in her chest slowing down. The diamond was ready in his hand.

  “Yet, the callous response you gave me seems nothing like you.”

  “Just because I don’t bleed doesn’t mean I don’t hurt.”

  “How’s Daddy?”

  “He’s alive. I can take you to see him.”

  He laid her back and put the gem to her forehead. She wrapped her hands around his wrist and pulled the gem away from her face, trying to see him as she spoke.

  “He wouldn’t remember me,” she coughed, looking up at him. “Promise me...”

  Her grip went limp and the life behind her eyes vanished. His fist slowly curled up and a fissure in the land split open, creating a fracture in the earth several miles long that echoed the agony in his chest.

  “Promise you what…?” he asked, but he knew she couldn’t answer. Not even the gem in his possession could save her now. “I hesitated. I didn’t mean to...”

  He stepped away from her and pulled at his hair. He paced back and forth, finally dropping to his knees.

  “Promise you what?” he yelled at her, his breathing labored. His face swelled up and he shook his head, refusing to give his emotions an ounce of satisfaction. “I don’t know.”

  Promise me... Promise me…

  The words, spoken in her tender accent, kept echoing in his mind. He crawled over to her. His hands trembled as he moved his fingers over her face and through her hair. Those words kept ringing in his head.

  “I don’t care…” The words choked him as he pronounced them. He snatched his hand back and curled his arms into his gut, hunching over. His nostrils flared with rage. “This is all stupid, anyway. It always has been. I’m tired of it. You’re stupid. Just another dumb mortal.”

  He stood up and walked several yards away from her before stopping in his tracks. He looked back, seeing something glimmering in her hand.

  “I didn’t mean to...” He put his face in the palms of his hands, muffling the words. He moved back toward her, trying to get a better look at what was curled in her grasp. Cradled in the fingers of her left hand was the Turkish coin. He took it from her and placed it in his pocket. From that same pocket, he removed his lighter and placed it in her grasp. “I promise… Whatever it may be.”

  ***

  Oreios emerged from the rift, stepping into the dark, cold hallways of New Troy. They were empty and he wondered where everyone had gone. He marched toward the throne room and could hear the ruckus slowly build. He could hear Niko’s trepidatious voice struggling.

  “We need our answer,” Khali demanded, holding Niko around the throat. She pinned him to his knees. Her silver-plated armor shone delicately in the faint light, spreading over her chest and back up her neck and around her face. The swirling portions of her navy blue aurascales formed a second pair of arms, imitating the look of her Legion head, Vishnu. She held a steel blade to Niko’s throat. “If you can’t give it to me, then I will plow through this place until I find someone who can.”

  “I can,” Oreios said.

  She turned around and he formed his hands into giant rock mallets. He crushed them together over her face and then drove the ball of his foot into her chest, knocking her into the stone wall. She bounced off and the wall cracked all the way up to the roof.

  She looked at him, her armor repairing its own damage. Those who came with her drew their swords, but she held her hand up. She could tell something was different about Oreios, but wasn’t sure what. She knew Vishnu’s more discerning eyes would be able to tell.

  “Come on, you assholes,” Oreios said, his hands morphing into blades. “I was created to kill angels. You lower-level Cherubs would be a walk in the park.”

  “You’re a fool.” Khali walked toward him, her facial armor retracting. Her radiant blue eyes contrasted her dark brown skin.

  “Not as foolish as I’ll make you look if you don’t leave.” Oreios stepped between her and Niko. “Now go.”

  “We will return,” Khali shouted, nodding at her counterparts. “And your head will be mine.”

  “I look forward to it.” Oreios smiled.

  A pinkish beam spread out from the center of the three angels, carrying them away. Oreios offered his hand to Niko and he accepted.

  “I trust no one bothered him?” Oreios asked.

  Niko nodded.

  “Bothered who?” one of the voices called out.

  Oreios turned to see several people walking from the shadows. They looked on, eagerly awaiting a reply. He wanted to tell them—to give them hope—but he wasn’t sure the energy from Durga’s gem could fully revive Zeus’ star. As he opened his lips to speak, the door to Maya’s private chamber opened. All, except Oreios, bowed when Zeus exited.

  “I have returned,” Zeus said, leaning in the doorway. He looked at Oreios, understanding the energy which beamed from the gem to be the energy he needed to revive his star. He nodded at his Elemental Knight. “And those under the protection of my Corner will be safe.”

  Oreios walked through the kneeling crowd and handed Zeus the gem. Zeus placed a hand on Oreios’ shoulder and nodded with the affirmation of a proud father. It was only the second time Oreios felt such a connection to his creator. The emotion still felt strange, but good at the same time, almost as if he somehow felt more human. The energy from the gem surged through Zeus’ veins. Oreios held him up, but Zeus pushed himself away. After a few minutes of struggling, Zeus caught his breath.

  “My friend, Oreios...”

  Oreios smiled. His creator referred to him as a friend.

  “My friend,” Zeus said again, coughing. “I need you to do me one last favor.”

  “Anything.” Oreios knelt, turning his head down.

  “First, stand. I am with an equal now.” Zeus offered his hand and Oreios accepted. They stood toe-to-toe. “Second, find this Maya. Bring her back to me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Oreios nodded, turning to walk out of the chamber.

  “Oreios,” Zeus called out. The last Ourea turned around. “Not sir. Friend.”

  Epilogue

  Mr. Brighton’s fumbling fingers gripped tightly to the ribbon as he struggled to tie it around the clay ornament. His nails were longer than usual and his thick glasses had a smudge on the right lens. His white hair was a mess, jetting out wildly in all directions. It stood straight up without any sort of hair product.

  A fire burned beside him, anointing the room with a hint of oak and cherry. The lights were dimmed and the place was filled with elderly people sitting around, motionless as they stared either at the fire or at the flickering lights of the television.

  ...The best time of the year. I don’t know if there’ll be snow, but have a cup of cheer, the radio sang in the opposite corner of the room. Mr. Brighton hummed along, mumbling the lyrics in tune and rhythm every now and then.

  “Have a holly, jolly Christmas...” His singing tapered off as he looked up and squinted at the fellow helping him decorate the tree. He pondered briefly for a second about how he knew this man, but quickly his mind was off chasing another thought. “What comes next?”

  “And when you walk down the street, say hello to...”

  “… Friends you know and everyone you meet.” Mr. Brighton shimmied his hips and nodded as he lifted the ornamen
t and placed the looped ribbon around the fresh branch of the fir tree. He leaned in to take a deep breath and the scent jolted his memory. He looked at the man helping him, his best friend, and smiled. “Wait until my wife and daughter get home. Emma just turned six and... I once hiked through the Tibetan Himalayas and photographed... my wife was perched on this village well. She is stunning. You’ll love her.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  Mr. Brighton continued to shake his hips as he couldn’t keep his eyes off the top of the tree. The lights flashed in different colors and patterns and he felt like an infant, mesmerized by its wonders. Two pokes landed on his shoulder and this pale-faced, dark-haired stranger was trying to hand him a clay ornament.

  “What are you doing?” Mr. Brighton flinched and knocked the clay rocking horse to the floor, splitting in half. “Do I know you? Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m sorry,” the reply came, but was ignored by Mr. Brighton as he looked at the broken decoration.

  “Oh, Emma loved these. She’s going to be so sad...”

  The man knelt beside Mr. Brighton and scooped up the clay rocking horse. Mr. Brighton watched in amazement as the man pressed firmly onto the ornament and resealed it with mud that flowed from his fingers. He looked this stranger in the eyes and smiled as his mind once again told him the man was a friend.

  “Remarkable...”

  “Thank you,” his best friend—no—his brother-in-arms told him.

  “The raid is coming.” Mr. Brighton grabbed this guy—whose name he couldn’t recall—and tugged at his wrist. Mr. Brighton’s eyes cast up at the ceiling, scanning around as if he was hearing something. “I was supposed to do something when the sirens went off.”

  “I think you were supposed to get this to the tree.” The man gently placed a hand to Mr. Brighton’s back and lifted the mended rocking horse back into his field of view. Mr. Brighton’s eyes briefly crossed as he looked at the ornament and nodded, taking it into his grasp.