The Anointed One
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!
A Catholic Chapel several miles from New York
Jezebel Tibbs exited the Chapel with the rest of her congregation as the bells tolled, signalling the end of the Mass. Nodding in a friendly manner to some of her parish, she made her way to the cemetery. She walked for several minutes along the rows of tombstones before coming to the one she was looking for. It was made of black marble and had a cross on the top. Emblazoned in golden letters were the words:
Here lies Lennox Connor Mac Duff Beloved humanitarian and teacher 1943-1999 May he rest in peace forever
She sighed deeply.
He had died in vain. Demona was alive again, binded in immortality to Brooklyn by the will of the King of the Third Race. When Brooklyn had revealed this to her, she had went to her room and cried for several hours in private. She had loved him, and he her back, but they never expressed it to each other, it would be impossible for them to. Macbeth had been immortal, he watched far too many people that he cared about grow old and die before him. She would never have put him through that. So they had remained close on a professional level.
She stood before the grave of her dear friend, rosary beads in hand, as she prayed for his immortal soul. When she was done, she walked over to a nearby bench and sat herself down.
She looked around at the cemetery and smiled serenely to herself. This was one of her favourite places in the world. It was so peaceful here that she almost forgot all the problems in the world, all the hypocrisy, bigotry, hatred, wars, all were non-existent here. There was only peace. The only sounds were those of the birds and the occasional rustle of the leaves as the wind blew through numerous trees that sat around the cemetery walls.
"Mind if I join you?"
Jezebel turned her head and smiled.
"Of course Brooklyn," she replied, shuffling over to give him room. Brooklyn smiled at her, before sitting down. He was in human form, wearing a black pair of slacks, a midnight blue shirt, black boots and his black leather coat that fell to his ankles. His long white hair was tied back in a ponytail.
"This place is beautiful," he said as he leaned back on the old bench and regarded the rows of white or black tombstones, "It's so peaceful."
"I come here to think sometimes," replied Jezebel, as she carefully looked him over. He looked a little uncomfortable about something. Several minutes of silence elapsed between them, each lost in their own thoughts.
"I didn't see you in the chapel," remarked Jezebel, hoping to coax something out of the young gargoyle turned human.
"I.I'm not very religious."
"I see."
Several more minutes of rather uncomfortable silence elapsed between Jezebel and Brooklyn before Jezebel tried again.
"Are you here to pay respects to Macbeth then?"
"Not really."
"There something on your mind then?"
"More like my soul."
"Ah, you mean the Codicium."
Brooklyn turned to face her, his eyes wide in shock, "You.you knew?"
"Of course I knew. I'm a witch," replied Jezebel patiently, "I could sense the very moment you touched it three weeks ago."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Why didn't you?"
Brooklyn's head sunk in shame, "I.I didn't know how you'd react."
"You assumed I'd be angry didn't you?"
Brooklyn turned his head to her, "Are you?"
"Just a little," replied Jezebel, standing up, "I'd appreciate it if you could just trust me more."
"I'm sorry Jezebel."
"That's alright.what's it like?"
Brooklyn looked up at her, a little surprised at the witch's curiosity, "The Codicium?"
"Yes. I don't even know what it looks like."
"Would you like to see it Jezebel?" asked Brooklyn, rising from the bench.
"You carry it with you?"
"Um.yeah, it sort of makes me feel better," replied Brooklyn as he fumbled in his leather coat, after a few seconds, he pulled out a small, black leather bound book, a little thicker than his wrist. He handed it to Jezebel, who took it and examined the cover, but didn't open it. After barely thirty seconds of looking at the cover, she handed it back.
"You know if I were you Brooklyn. I'd destroy it."
"Why?"
"I can sense it's evil."
"Don't tell me you think it's alive aswell."
"Maybe not in the way you and I would define life. But there is a consciousness there of some form. When you grow a little stronger with your own magic, you'll feel it too."
Brooklyn looked at the book, which had caused all the trouble in his life in recent months. His face, hardened in determination.
"I will destroy it Jezebel. But only after I have used it to complete one task."
"To destroy Oberon?"
"Yes. It was he who made Macbeth's sacrifice in vain. He deserves to die for what he did."
"I agree."
Brooklyn looked at her, eyes widened, "You do?"
"I agree Oberon has to be punished," replied Jezebel carefully, "However, do you think you can handle that book's power?"
"Yes," he replied instantly.
"So sure? Demona couldn't handle it."
"She was evil. And insane," replied Brooklyn.
"Yes. And you are not?"
Brooklyn stared at her in total shock, "Of course I'm not evil! How can you even ask that?"
Jezebel smiled kindly at him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I know deep down that you are good Brooklyn. But I can see so much anger and pain in your eyes that I fear for your soul. If the three of us had not been there for you when you were banished. You would have lost control. Who knows what you would have done in time." She placed her other hand on his other shoulder and looked deeply into his hazel eyes.
"If you know, not think mind you, but know that you can handle the book's evil. If you know that you will use it only to punish Oberon. If you can tell me to my face that it will not manipulate the anger in your heart, and that you will destroy it after you are done. Then I shall help you to the best of my ability."
"I swear to you Jezebel. I will punish Oberon, I will avenge Macbeth and myself, and then I will destroy this book," replied Brooklyn, never breaking eye contact with her. For a brief moment, she felt an odd feeling come over her.
"Then I shall follow you Brooklyn. I will help and protect you to the best of my ability," said Jezebel solemnly, "What do you need?"
"I need you to find an engineer or weapons smith who won't ask questions," replied Brooklyn, "If I'm going to take on Oberon, I'm going to need a staff to amplify the book's power, and a very special type of sword if I'm going to kill him. I will give you the specifications later on after I figure out the proper runes that have to be placed on them."
"Runes? What type?"
Brooklyn smiled, "Daemonic."
"You mean you can read the book?" asked Jezebel.
"Yes. It's in Latin you see, a very old form of the language but I can understand almost all of it."
"When did you learn Latin?"
"I taught myself a few years before the massacre," Brooklyn explained, "I was hoping to become the Magus' apprentice. But when I asked he just laughed in my face and said my kind couldn't be trusted with magic." His eyes filled with bitter hatred for the briefest of moments, but Jezebel noticed none the less.
She felt sorry for him. He was more like Demona in some ways than he realised.
"When will you need the sword and staff?" she asked, returning to business.
"I want them ready for when we head out for Vienna," answered Brooklyn.
"Vienna?"
"Yes. I want you to book us tickets to Vienna for about a month from now," explained Brooklyn, "It will take me that long to fully understand how to properly conduct the ceremony."
"Ceremony?"
Brooklyn gave her a wry smile, "I need to know all of Oberon's weaknesses. That will require wrenching the information out of somewhere, or someone. Oberon's bound to have sent someone to Hell that knew his weaknesses and tried to exploit them. All I have to do is offer them the chance to see him destroyed."
"Your planning to steal the rod aren't you?"
"Yes. I tried to find out how much the museum would be willing to accept to part with it but the curator was adamant that it was not for sale."
"Very well," said Jezebel, a little bemused that she would have a part to play in a robbery, "What are you doing now?"
"I'm going back to the estate on my Harley," replied Brooklyn, "I'm going to be very busy with some of the passages in the book I need to translate into English to understand better. I'll see you later tonight Jezebel." With that he turned and left the cemetery.
Jezebel watched him go. She was concerned for him, for his soul. If he couldn't handle that book, then he ran the risk of damnation. She knew that if he could just control his anger, he'd be fine; the book wouldn't contaminate him then. She headed back for the chapel to offer a rosary for her young master, hoping she was doing the right thing by helping him.
Vienna, Austria: One month later
The Vienna "Museum of the Medieval" was an enormous building, being three storeys tall and a block wide with magnificent pillars all along the front wall. Within it lay over two thousand historical artefacts, some relating as far back as the eleven hundreds.
On the other side of the street of this magnificent building, was a small café. There wasn't anything remarkable about it, which made it stand out from other hundred plus cafés that seem to litter most major cities on the European continent, or for that matter, any city. About a dozen designer circular steel tables sat outside the café with similarly designed chairs placed at them. Around one of these tables, sat four people.
There were two young men, obviously twins. Each having long white hair, both tied back in ponytails, and both were quite handsome, tall and fairly well built. That was were the similarities ended. One was slightly paler than the other and had grey eyes. He wore a dazzlingly bright red short sleeve shirt, blue jeans, black shoes and a black leather bomber jacket.
The other twin, who's skin was slight shade darker, had hazel eyes, which were currently being covered by a trendy pair of black sunglasses, despite the fact that the sky was quite cloudy and dark, meaning rain was imminent. He wore a long sleeve black shirt, black chinos, black shoes, and a black leather coat, which fell to his ankles.
Another man also sat with them. He was tall and very well built; he had short, untidy chestnut brown hair and emerald green eyes. He wore a pair of sand coloured trousers, a black T-shirt, black shoes, and a blue denim jacket.
The fourth and final member of this group was a sweet little old lady. She looked like the two younger men's' grandmother. She had a kind face and short, neat white hair She wore a white blouse with frills, a dark green dress, a pair of sensible black shoes and a red woollen coat which came down to her ankles.
A waiter came over to them carrying a tray containing a café mocha deluxe, a black coffee, a glass of red wine, and a banana split. After serving the refreshments, the waiter waited for a tip until the young man in black tipped his shades and looked the man right in the face. The waiter suddenly remembered something extremely important he had to do on the other side of town and headed off as quickly as he could.
"I love doing that," said Brooklyn as he sipped his mocha.
"You're such a God damn poser Brook," said Mal as he dug into his ice cream.
Brook put down his coffee and smiled back at his clone, "Couldn't help myself. Sorry."
"We don't need to attract unnecessary attention," snapped Fang as he sipped his coffee. "So just quit making your eyes glow."
"Spoilsport," muttered Brooklyn.
"At least he doesn't look like he fell out of "The Matrix," retorted Mal, giggling. "Just why the Hell are you wearing so much black anyway?"
"I like black. It looks good on me."
"Black looks good on anyone," said Fang. "And no offence Mal. But you kinda stand out like a sore thumb as well. Could you perhaps have picked a brighter coloured shirt?" he added sarcastically.
Mal ignored him, returning to his ice cream while Jezebel shook her head. "Would the three of you please just grow up?" she said. She turned to Brooklyn. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"I haven't spent all this time plotting revenge to back out now Jezebel," replied the gargoyle turned human as he adjusted his shades.
"Are you sure you can trust the book's information?" asked Fang, "Some of the info in it might be inaccurate or obsolete by now."
"All that I have been told is totally accurate," replied Brooklyn as he finished his mocha. He looked up to see his three companions staring at him. "What?"
"You just said from what you were told," answered Mal, "I thought the Codicium was a book?"
"It is," replied Brooklyn quickly, mentally slapping himself, "I meant from what I learned the information is totally accurate. What I seek is in that museum."
"You mean the "Rod of Control?" asked Jezebel, her face unreadable.
Brooklyn smiled nervously at her, before calling a different waiter over to order another mocha while his friends gave each other worried glances.
Two-0-clock in the morning
The streets of Vienna were totally deserted apart from some of the homeless, hard core partiers coming home drunk or a little drugged up, and of course the ladies and gentlemen of ill repute who serviced men and women's' secret needs in the red light district.
Which meant that although there was a minimal chance of being spotted, Brooklyn, Fang and Malibu took no chances, gliding high above the streetlights, making false turns every now and then and landing against the rear wall of the museum where deliveries were made and climbing up it to the roof.
Fang, being experienced in questionable activities, led the way across the roof to the skylight they had ear marked as the one closest to the "Rod of Control" when they had visited the exhibit right after having their coffee. They would have actually arrived an hour earlier except Brooklyn had had one of his "Jolts" as he called them. He had gotten a shooting pain up and down his spine for several seconds, causing temporary paralysis and almost knocking him unconscious. Despite the spell Oberon had cast on Brooklyn and Demona, linking them in immortality, he seemed to let Brooklyn keep the wound Goliath had given him as a permanent reminder that none were immune from "justice." Fang had suggested that they abort until tomorrow night when Brooklyn might be feeling better, but the red gargoyle had insisted they do it tonight.
"I won't let a little pain get in the way of my destiny," he had said quite adamantly. "It's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to them in return."
Fang was clad completely in black like Brook and Mal were. Brooklyn and Mal were armed in case it might be necessary to deal with the guards.
Mal had a single shot dart pistol that was small enough to be stuffed into the pocket of his black combat slacks as well as a dozen extra darts, which contained a very powerful sedative that would knock out it's victim in a matter of seconds. He also had a steel pair of tonfa that he had spent almost two months practicing with on a daily basis.
Brooklyn on the other hand was a walking armoury.
He had cut two deep cuts into his leather coat so he could use his wings without removing it. He was equipped with a pair of .50 Desert Eagle pistols on shoulder-mounted holsters while his belt contained pouches containing extra clips, knives, and if Fang suspected correctly, a handful of low-yield grenades. His sword also hung on his belt. It was a black and gold hilted Katana, with an iron blade that had been folded and beaten upon itself one and a quarter million times, along each side of the entire twenty-seven inch curved blade, were seven runes that had been cut in with a diamond tipped drill that hurt Fang's eyes to look at, spaced evenly at three inch intervals. In Brooklyn's hands was his staff. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Two meters long, with a silver cap piece in the shape of a raven with its wings outstretched, the haft itself had a titanium core surrounded by a reinforced steel sleeve covered by an iron jacket, in which one hundred and forty-four runes had been carved with precision cutting tools to a nanometer of Brooklyn's specifications.
Fang looked at the staff in wonder.
He didn't even want to hazard a guess as to how much both had cost.
What he really wanted to know was why Brooklyn had thought it necessary to arm himself so heavily.
The trio snuck up to the skylight and waited while Fang produced his "tool kit" from his belt and began to undo the alarm systems covering the window. After barely five minutes, Fang was finished and the window was lying wide open with a rope tied to a nearby chimneystack going down into the open hole.
The trio carefully negotiated the exhibits, moving in silence and being careful not to be caught by security cameras or the occasional night watchmen. After roughly eight minutes they arrived at their goal.
"At last," whispered Brooklyn to himself, "The Rod of Control."
The "Rod of Control" was a two feet long iron rod, one inch in diameter and covered with sixty-six daemonic runes, it was held in a glass case with a plaque beneath it, giving its history and background. A background, which the red gargoyle knew all about.
Fang checked for alarms along the casing while Brooklyn stared at his prize, his hands fidgeting in excitement. Mal was acting as lookout several meters away. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Fang was finished checking the casing. It didn't have any alarms. Fang carefully lifted the casing while Brooklyn stared on, transfixed by the rod. When the casing was removed, Brooklyn suddenly seemed to come out of his daydreaming state. He brushed past Fang and grabbed the rod very quickly, like a child who has been waiting too long a time to play with a toy that means a lot to them.
He stared at it for several minutes in his enclosed fist, totally ignoring Fang when he asked him if they should be going now. A long, cruel smile spread across his lips as his eyes began to flare pale blue.
Much to Fang's surprise, he began to speak to it.
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Come through Abaddon's gate. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Bypass Cerberus on your way. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Come from Lucifer's side. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Arise from the throne room of Perdition. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Past the Hell Fire and Sulphur Lakes. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. It is the Anointed One, who speaks."
The rod began to glow the same disturbing shade of pale blue that Brooklyn's eyes were. The light changed to brilliant white as the rod buckled in his hand violently as Brooklyn began to speak in strangest language Fang had ever heard.
Like a small sun dawning, the enslaved daemon poured out of the head of the tainted iron rod. Its radiance lighting up the entire third floor of the museum.
"Oh my God," stuttered Fang in horror. He looked at Brooklyn. The gargoyle's face was contorted in intense concentration. His eyes were still glowing that creepy shade of pale blue.
He looked back at the daemon. All he saw was white light.
Light that was so brilliant that it was almost painful to look at. He couldn't make out the true form of the daemon, although he wasn't too sure that he wanted to. He had always regarded white light to be pure somehow, chaste to be noble and good. But this whiteness was unutterably malevolent, chilling; its purity was an abomination.
-Oh my God!-thought Fang as he started to tremble. -Oh my holy God! What has he done?-
Brooklyn strode up to the daemon, confidence seeping off him. Fang thought he could hear Mal screaming something behind him. He didn't look to see though. He was too scared and fascinated by what was transpiring before him.
"You are Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo?" said Brooklyn. It wasn't a question.
Yes, came the reply. The daemon's voice sounded twisted and cruel, sending chills down Fang's spine. He could have sworn that he heard that voice echo inside his head.
"You are the guide? He who shall lead the true anointed one to the weapons of Lucifer?"
Yes.
"My name is Brooklyn Wyvern," stated the red skinned gargoyle, his eyes blazing a pale blue. "And I hereby declare that it is I who is the Anointed One."
You have proof. I presume?
"What? You mean apart from the fact that I summoned you here without the aid of a host body or a sacrificial victim? That I know your true name? That I know your purpose? That I have this." on the last part, Brooklyn pulled the Malus Codicium out of an inside pocket in his coat, letting his staff lean against him while his other hand remained firmly on the rod. The daemon seemed to study the book for a moment before replying.
If you are the Anointed. Then you will know it's true name.
"Bel'akor," replied the gargoyle, grinning.
The light around the daemon faded and it's true form was revealed.
Fang gasped in horror.
The daemon floated several inches from the floor. A nightmare brought into reality. Its glowing red eyes regarded the gargoyle curiously. It is true that you have the book and the knowledge, it said. It then pointed to Fang and Mal, who had come up beside him without the mutate even noticing. But what is their purpose?
"They're my friends," replied Brooklyn flatly, "You will not touch them. Do you understand?"
You dare to order me around insect?
"Dolore adficere," said Brooklyn. The daemon howled and began to writhe in agony in the air as the rod began to glow again. "I hold the rod you fool. I am your master. You will do everything I command you to do or I shall take great pleasure in torturing you." The daemon continued to scream while Fang and Malibu continued to watch in horror at what their friend was doing.
Forgive me my master, whined the daemon, I shall not question you again.
"Desinere," said Brooklyn. The glow of the rod faded and the daemon stopped its writhing.
"Brooklyn. What the Hell are you doing?" yelled Mal, "What's this shit about Lucifer?"
Brooklyn turned and smiled at the pair to reassure them. Thanks to the weird glow in his eyes however, all he succeeded in doing was give them the creeps.
"I am very sorry that I didn't tell you about this earlier Mal," started Brooklyn. "You see, there's this prophecy in the Codicium. About a red gargoyle being chosen to wield the weapons of Lucifer. He acts sort of like an angel of vengance and kills all those whom he believes truly deserve it."
"Your insane," replied the clone. He took a step back at the look Brooklyn gave him. His eyes flared even more so as snarl appeared across his face.
"I am perfectly sane Mal," he replied coldly, "Why the Hell would you, think otherwise?"
"Your talking about deals with the fucking Devil here Brook!" Fang found himself shouting.
Brooklyn turned on him, "I AM NOT MAKING A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL! I am just going to be borrowing a few pieces of the equipment he used in his war against heaven so I can have my revenge."
"How'd you find out about this stuff anyway?" asked Mal, "I thought that damn thing was in another language or something?"
"It told me," snapped Brooklyn, getting angry. His eyes suddenly widened as he realised his mistake. "I mean.I.I read it," he stuttered quickly, realising how lame that was.
There was a flash of amber coloured light and Jezebel Tibbs stood beside Fan and Malibu. Her shotgun was in her hands.
"Brooklyn! Listen to me! The book is manipulating you! You have to get rid of it!" she yelled.
"I knew you were watching me," Brooklyn hissed, placing the book back in his pocket and grabbing his staff. "You don't trust me do you?"
"Brooklyn, I think Jezebel's right," replied Mal, starting slowly towards his friend, palms open, "I think you should get rid of the book and send that.thing back to wherever it came from."
Brooklyn looked confusedly between the daemon and his friends. "It was right all along," he muttered. His face became stern; he gave Jez, Fang and Mal a look that could kill.
"IT WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG! YOU GUYS ARE AGAINST ME!" he suddenly roared. Tears of rage began to fill his glowing eyes. The staff and rod began to glow the same pale blue of his eyes. "You backstabbing BASTARDS!"
Before he could do anything however, Jezebel shot him in the stomach. Brooklyn stared at her in complete shock before he doubled over and crumpled to the floor. The daemon came towards the trio menacingly.
"Fulminous Vinite," screamed Jezebel, extending a hand that shot out lightning. The daemon howled as the destructive magical energy enveloped its incorporeal body. Sheathing her shotgun, Jezebel placed a hand on Fang and Malibu's shoulders. "Deflagrate muri intervallia!"
In an instant, a ball of amber flame surrounded Jezebel, Fang and Malibu. In the next, they were gone.
Brooklyn's corpse shuddered before it began breathing again. Clutching his stomach, he forced himself on his knees. He was breathing very heavily. He felt like the inside of his gut had been set on fire. Slowly the pain began to recede as he regained strength. He looked at the spot where his three friends had been.
"She shot me," he whispered through clenched teeth, "She fucking shot me." He stood up, making sure he had a firm grip on the rod at all times. He would have to find a host for the daemon before he ever let his guard down around it. It was at its most powerful now, totally free and unrestricted by a body. If he had let go of the rod it would have torn him to shreds and probably have went on an unstoppable killing spree around the city.
"Probably why she didn't shoot me in the crotch," he muttered to himself. He could hear an awful lot of police sirens in the distance. "So much for stealth."
Undoubtedly security personnel who sensibly thought that this was a job for the slightly better paid and armed police force noticed the light show they had had.
Brooklyn turned his head to the daemon, "From now on you will answer to the name of "Sin." Do you understand?"
Yes master.
"Then let's get the Hell out of here."
A Penthouse rented by the gang: somewhere in Vienna
A ball of amber flame lit up the room for a brief instant before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. In its place stood three very worried creatures.
"What the Hell did you do that for?" yelled Fang.
"You shot him Jez! What the fuck is the matter with you?" screamed Mal, "I might have reached him dammit!"
"Were either of you two paying attention?" replied Jezebel, her eyes were a pair of flaming amber orbs. "That damn book has corrupted him. We have to figure a way to get it off him and banish that daemon back to Hell before he does something he might regret later on if his sanity ever returns."
"What makes you think he'll become sane again if we get the book off him?" asked Mal.
"He's been keeping it in his pocket whenever he hasn't been reading it," explained Jezebel. "He even admitted that it told him things. It probably whispers stuff in his head whenever he's asleep. Which explains how he knew what he needed to translate for that summoning he performed aswell as the two weapons he wanted made to exact specifications." She slapped her forehead violently, "Why did I believe him when he said he could handle the damn thing?"
Her eyes snapped open when she remembered the odd feeling she had gotten when he had looked into her eyes a month ago.
No. It wasn't possible. Was it? He couldn't become that powerful already.
Could he?
She suddenly understood why Macbeth had been so freaked out by the book. And why he insisted that it be locked away forever. She understood that perfectly well.
She also had a horrible feeling she now knew why Macbeth had had that dream a few weeks prior to his death. Why at that precise time he had had the dream.
Odd, that Brook had shown up the next day, carrying Mal over his shoulders, bleeding and unconscious. Two recruits right there whenever Macbeth was about to go hunting for Demona again. One who hated her as much as Macbeth had.
"It planted the dream in his head," she said to no one in particular, still trying to understand the incredible truth herself.
"That doesn't make sense," said Fang, a little calmer now that he'd emptied a small bottle of brandy from the fridge in one go. "How the Hell does a book plant something in someone's head?"
"It's alive," replied Jezebel as she approached a phone that lay on a nearby table.
"Jezebel. What are you doing?" asked Mal.
"We can't beat him on our own. We will have to get.assistance."
"Assistance? From who?"
Jezebel sighed, "Goliath's clan."
"Are you nuts?" yelled Fang. "They aren't going to help us."
"That is why I shall speak to Demona and tell her that Brooklyn has the Codicium. She knows what it's capable of doing. If she is as reformed as she claims to be then she will convince the others."
"And if she isn't?" inquired Fang.
"Then we are extremely screwed," volunteered Mal.
"Exactly," replied Jezebel, picking up the receiver and asking the desk to connect a long distance call to Manhattan.
The Eyrie Building: Manhattan
The intercom beeped on the desk, a slender hand moved and pressed the flashing button.
"Yes?"
"Miss Destine. There is an urgent call awaiting you on line 4."
Dominique Destine, joint CEO of the now merged "Xanatos Enterprises and Nightstone Unlimited" sat back in her chair.
"Just how urgent is it Rebecca? It will be sunset quite soon. I don't want to keep the clan waiting."
"Something about a book that you might be interested in Miss Destine."
Dominique's eyes narrowed, "What kind of book?"
"A book called the Malus Codicium," answered Rebecca.
Dominique's eyes widened open as she shot her hand out to grab the receiver on the phone as her other one hit number 4 on the dial.
"Hello?" she snapped, "Who are you and what do you know about the Codicium?"
There was a calm response on the phone.
"Tibbs? Never heard of you. What has this got to do with the book?"
The caller remained calm and told Dominique everything.
It was several minutes later when Dominique was able to speak again, she looked a little frightened.
"Are you totally sure about this?"
The caller answered a positive.
Dominique Destine sat in silence for several minutes, looking out at the Manhattan skyline as the sun shone through the gaps of the skyscrapers through her Two foot thick titanium reinforced floor to ceiling windows. It was unlikely that what happened a little under three months ago would ever happen again, but she wasn't going to take any chances. She swung her chair back around to her desk.
"Alright, I believe you. Tell me where you are and I will be there by tomorrow."
The caller asked a question.
"The clan? Even if Goliath won't help I am sure that Angela, Broadway and Lexington will. He may have betrayed their trust but he's still their brother. What hotel are you staying in?"
Dominique scribbled something down on a notepad with a pencil.
"Okay. I will see you tomorrow Miss Tibbs. Until then do not go after him, contact him or attempt to ascertain his location until I am there to assist. Goodbye."
Dominique hung up the phone and pressed the intercom.
"Rebecca."
"Yes Miss Destine?"
"Cancel all my appointments for the next.three weeks and have my staff at the airport prepare my personal plane."
"Yes Miss Destine. Anything else?"
"Yes. I am going to give you keys to my estate in the in the Rockies. I want you take a plane there with your family and stay there until I call you. I will hire a plane out and send as many of my personal staff with families there aswell. You should all be safe there. It can accommodate about a hundred people for about a decade and its built into the mountain."
"Safe? What's happening Demona?"
Dominique let that go. Most of her closest co-workers knew her secret. It was quite hard to keep in some of those ridiculously long board meetings that could last into the small hours. She'd met all their families at the annual Christmas parties held before sunset. They were some of the few humans that she didn't hate anymore. They had made her determined to make it work with Angela after she saw how happy the others were with their families.
They were good people, most of them. She felt obligated to protect them as they had protected her secret.
"Just do as I say Rebecca. Don't question me."
"Yes Miss Destine. I am sorry. I shall make the preparations."
The intercom switched off, leaving Dominique alone with her thoughts. She turned to face the window and watched the sun begin its slow descent across the landscape. When it was close to setting, she rose and strode over to a closet and changed into a different outfit. A black body glove with holes to accommodate where her wings and tail would soon be. She then slid on titanium shin guards, a breast and shoulder plate designed for her alter ego's considerably greater cleavege, and a pair of wrist guards that enclosed most of her fore arms and had several experimental devices her and Xanatos' company were building for the military and the C.I.A. The entire body glove was designed exclusively for the clan; it could make them invisible to radar and, in Lexington's opinion, made them look pretty cool. None of the others had used them except Lexington and herself. Preferring their loincloths for some unfathomable reason, "tradition" or some similar rubbish like that. She would get them into them eventually, them, or at least something less revealing than a damn loincloth.
When the sunset came, she wrapped her arms around herself and screamed in agony as the transformation began, she could feel her wings begin to rise from her hunched back, bones the human body didn't have forming out of nowhere and slotting themselves into prepared positions. Her tail shot out of the base of her spine while fangs grew in her mouth and her skin colour changed from healthy white to azure blue. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
Demona went over to another closet on the other side of her room and tapped a code into a computerised lock. The device buzzed and the door swung open, revealing several racks of weapons from throwing knives and a garrotte, to a AK-47 and a the new laser bazooka model that she had exclusive access to.
If she was really going to patrol with her clan again, she was damn sure she was not going to be outgunned like the rest of the clan usually were.
She selected a single edged short sword and attached it to the sheath sown into her left hip. A laser pistol with extra cells, a 9mm-berretta pistol with some extra clips, an assortment of knives of varying sizes. The garrotte, and finally, an army issue combat shotgun, which she slid into a sheath on her back before putting a belt containing almost fifty extra shells lined in two rows around her waist. She looked at the rest of her weapons and made a mental note to have them all sent to her plane.
She then walked over to yet another closet in her room which held the many magical artefacts she had collected over the ages and selected several old tomes and headed upstairs to inform Goliath and the rest of the clan that Brooklyn was in Europe and about to begin the Apocalypse.
Several miles outside of Vienna
Sin floated up to his new master as he stood atop a hill looking over Vienna.
"It's quite beautiful. Isn't it?" asked Brooklyn.
It can never be beautiful Master. The humans have tainted it.
"You remind me of Demona," said Brookyn as he sighed, "Where are the weapons Sin?"
They are scattered over this land Master.
"Do you mean Austria specifically or do you mean Europe?"
Europe.
Brooklyn turned from the view of the city, "Where is the first?"
The daemon rose into the air and scanned the horizon before pointing south.
The first can be found in Graz, to the south of here Master.
"How far?"
I.don't know Master.
Brooklyn rolled his eyes.
"Typical!" he yelled, "In that case we are going to the nearest bus depot to find out." He started to head down the hill when he stopped suddenly and looked at his unearthly travelling companion. "But first. We shall go to the morgue. Can't have you floating around, attracting unwanted attention to us can we?"
Yes Master. Where is this morgue?
"Why its.near the hospital I imagine."
Yes Master. Where is this hospital?
"I.don't actually know," confessed the gargoyle, looking out at the huge city before him, "I don't suppose you can read German Sin?"
No Master.
Brooklyn rubbed his chin for a moment.
"Bugger."
To be continued.
Not as well written as some parts of the series I'm afraid but I haven't been feeling a hundred percent the last few days. Big thanks to Storyseeker for helping me with the idea for this episode as well being my beta reader. Big thanks to Caboose and anyone else who for one reason or the other, seems to like my work. I shall try my best to get the next instalment out as soon as possible. Until then, all suggestions and comments are greatly welcome. You all know my address!
The Emperor Protects!
Darkness
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!
A Catholic Chapel several miles from New York
Jezebel Tibbs exited the Chapel with the rest of her congregation as the bells tolled, signalling the end of the Mass. Nodding in a friendly manner to some of her parish, she made her way to the cemetery. She walked for several minutes along the rows of tombstones before coming to the one she was looking for. It was made of black marble and had a cross on the top. Emblazoned in golden letters were the words:
Here lies Lennox Connor Mac Duff Beloved humanitarian and teacher 1943-1999 May he rest in peace forever
She sighed deeply.
He had died in vain. Demona was alive again, binded in immortality to Brooklyn by the will of the King of the Third Race. When Brooklyn had revealed this to her, she had went to her room and cried for several hours in private. She had loved him, and he her back, but they never expressed it to each other, it would be impossible for them to. Macbeth had been immortal, he watched far too many people that he cared about grow old and die before him. She would never have put him through that. So they had remained close on a professional level.
She stood before the grave of her dear friend, rosary beads in hand, as she prayed for his immortal soul. When she was done, she walked over to a nearby bench and sat herself down.
She looked around at the cemetery and smiled serenely to herself. This was one of her favourite places in the world. It was so peaceful here that she almost forgot all the problems in the world, all the hypocrisy, bigotry, hatred, wars, all were non-existent here. There was only peace. The only sounds were those of the birds and the occasional rustle of the leaves as the wind blew through numerous trees that sat around the cemetery walls.
"Mind if I join you?"
Jezebel turned her head and smiled.
"Of course Brooklyn," she replied, shuffling over to give him room. Brooklyn smiled at her, before sitting down. He was in human form, wearing a black pair of slacks, a midnight blue shirt, black boots and his black leather coat that fell to his ankles. His long white hair was tied back in a ponytail.
"This place is beautiful," he said as he leaned back on the old bench and regarded the rows of white or black tombstones, "It's so peaceful."
"I come here to think sometimes," replied Jezebel, as she carefully looked him over. He looked a little uncomfortable about something. Several minutes of silence elapsed between them, each lost in their own thoughts.
"I didn't see you in the chapel," remarked Jezebel, hoping to coax something out of the young gargoyle turned human.
"I.I'm not very religious."
"I see."
Several more minutes of rather uncomfortable silence elapsed between Jezebel and Brooklyn before Jezebel tried again.
"Are you here to pay respects to Macbeth then?"
"Not really."
"There something on your mind then?"
"More like my soul."
"Ah, you mean the Codicium."
Brooklyn turned to face her, his eyes wide in shock, "You.you knew?"
"Of course I knew. I'm a witch," replied Jezebel patiently, "I could sense the very moment you touched it three weeks ago."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Why didn't you?"
Brooklyn's head sunk in shame, "I.I didn't know how you'd react."
"You assumed I'd be angry didn't you?"
Brooklyn turned his head to her, "Are you?"
"Just a little," replied Jezebel, standing up, "I'd appreciate it if you could just trust me more."
"I'm sorry Jezebel."
"That's alright.what's it like?"
Brooklyn looked up at her, a little surprised at the witch's curiosity, "The Codicium?"
"Yes. I don't even know what it looks like."
"Would you like to see it Jezebel?" asked Brooklyn, rising from the bench.
"You carry it with you?"
"Um.yeah, it sort of makes me feel better," replied Brooklyn as he fumbled in his leather coat, after a few seconds, he pulled out a small, black leather bound book, a little thicker than his wrist. He handed it to Jezebel, who took it and examined the cover, but didn't open it. After barely thirty seconds of looking at the cover, she handed it back.
"You know if I were you Brooklyn. I'd destroy it."
"Why?"
"I can sense it's evil."
"Don't tell me you think it's alive aswell."
"Maybe not in the way you and I would define life. But there is a consciousness there of some form. When you grow a little stronger with your own magic, you'll feel it too."
Brooklyn looked at the book, which had caused all the trouble in his life in recent months. His face, hardened in determination.
"I will destroy it Jezebel. But only after I have used it to complete one task."
"To destroy Oberon?"
"Yes. It was he who made Macbeth's sacrifice in vain. He deserves to die for what he did."
"I agree."
Brooklyn looked at her, eyes widened, "You do?"
"I agree Oberon has to be punished," replied Jezebel carefully, "However, do you think you can handle that book's power?"
"Yes," he replied instantly.
"So sure? Demona couldn't handle it."
"She was evil. And insane," replied Brooklyn.
"Yes. And you are not?"
Brooklyn stared at her in total shock, "Of course I'm not evil! How can you even ask that?"
Jezebel smiled kindly at him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I know deep down that you are good Brooklyn. But I can see so much anger and pain in your eyes that I fear for your soul. If the three of us had not been there for you when you were banished. You would have lost control. Who knows what you would have done in time." She placed her other hand on his other shoulder and looked deeply into his hazel eyes.
"If you know, not think mind you, but know that you can handle the book's evil. If you know that you will use it only to punish Oberon. If you can tell me to my face that it will not manipulate the anger in your heart, and that you will destroy it after you are done. Then I shall help you to the best of my ability."
"I swear to you Jezebel. I will punish Oberon, I will avenge Macbeth and myself, and then I will destroy this book," replied Brooklyn, never breaking eye contact with her. For a brief moment, she felt an odd feeling come over her.
"Then I shall follow you Brooklyn. I will help and protect you to the best of my ability," said Jezebel solemnly, "What do you need?"
"I need you to find an engineer or weapons smith who won't ask questions," replied Brooklyn, "If I'm going to take on Oberon, I'm going to need a staff to amplify the book's power, and a very special type of sword if I'm going to kill him. I will give you the specifications later on after I figure out the proper runes that have to be placed on them."
"Runes? What type?"
Brooklyn smiled, "Daemonic."
"You mean you can read the book?" asked Jezebel.
"Yes. It's in Latin you see, a very old form of the language but I can understand almost all of it."
"When did you learn Latin?"
"I taught myself a few years before the massacre," Brooklyn explained, "I was hoping to become the Magus' apprentice. But when I asked he just laughed in my face and said my kind couldn't be trusted with magic." His eyes filled with bitter hatred for the briefest of moments, but Jezebel noticed none the less.
She felt sorry for him. He was more like Demona in some ways than he realised.
"When will you need the sword and staff?" she asked, returning to business.
"I want them ready for when we head out for Vienna," answered Brooklyn.
"Vienna?"
"Yes. I want you to book us tickets to Vienna for about a month from now," explained Brooklyn, "It will take me that long to fully understand how to properly conduct the ceremony."
"Ceremony?"
Brooklyn gave her a wry smile, "I need to know all of Oberon's weaknesses. That will require wrenching the information out of somewhere, or someone. Oberon's bound to have sent someone to Hell that knew his weaknesses and tried to exploit them. All I have to do is offer them the chance to see him destroyed."
"Your planning to steal the rod aren't you?"
"Yes. I tried to find out how much the museum would be willing to accept to part with it but the curator was adamant that it was not for sale."
"Very well," said Jezebel, a little bemused that she would have a part to play in a robbery, "What are you doing now?"
"I'm going back to the estate on my Harley," replied Brooklyn, "I'm going to be very busy with some of the passages in the book I need to translate into English to understand better. I'll see you later tonight Jezebel." With that he turned and left the cemetery.
Jezebel watched him go. She was concerned for him, for his soul. If he couldn't handle that book, then he ran the risk of damnation. She knew that if he could just control his anger, he'd be fine; the book wouldn't contaminate him then. She headed back for the chapel to offer a rosary for her young master, hoping she was doing the right thing by helping him.
Vienna, Austria: One month later
The Vienna "Museum of the Medieval" was an enormous building, being three storeys tall and a block wide with magnificent pillars all along the front wall. Within it lay over two thousand historical artefacts, some relating as far back as the eleven hundreds.
On the other side of the street of this magnificent building, was a small café. There wasn't anything remarkable about it, which made it stand out from other hundred plus cafés that seem to litter most major cities on the European continent, or for that matter, any city. About a dozen designer circular steel tables sat outside the café with similarly designed chairs placed at them. Around one of these tables, sat four people.
There were two young men, obviously twins. Each having long white hair, both tied back in ponytails, and both were quite handsome, tall and fairly well built. That was were the similarities ended. One was slightly paler than the other and had grey eyes. He wore a dazzlingly bright red short sleeve shirt, blue jeans, black shoes and a black leather bomber jacket.
The other twin, who's skin was slight shade darker, had hazel eyes, which were currently being covered by a trendy pair of black sunglasses, despite the fact that the sky was quite cloudy and dark, meaning rain was imminent. He wore a long sleeve black shirt, black chinos, black shoes, and a black leather coat, which fell to his ankles.
Another man also sat with them. He was tall and very well built; he had short, untidy chestnut brown hair and emerald green eyes. He wore a pair of sand coloured trousers, a black T-shirt, black shoes, and a blue denim jacket.
The fourth and final member of this group was a sweet little old lady. She looked like the two younger men's' grandmother. She had a kind face and short, neat white hair She wore a white blouse with frills, a dark green dress, a pair of sensible black shoes and a red woollen coat which came down to her ankles.
A waiter came over to them carrying a tray containing a café mocha deluxe, a black coffee, a glass of red wine, and a banana split. After serving the refreshments, the waiter waited for a tip until the young man in black tipped his shades and looked the man right in the face. The waiter suddenly remembered something extremely important he had to do on the other side of town and headed off as quickly as he could.
"I love doing that," said Brooklyn as he sipped his mocha.
"You're such a God damn poser Brook," said Mal as he dug into his ice cream.
Brook put down his coffee and smiled back at his clone, "Couldn't help myself. Sorry."
"We don't need to attract unnecessary attention," snapped Fang as he sipped his coffee. "So just quit making your eyes glow."
"Spoilsport," muttered Brooklyn.
"At least he doesn't look like he fell out of "The Matrix," retorted Mal, giggling. "Just why the Hell are you wearing so much black anyway?"
"I like black. It looks good on me."
"Black looks good on anyone," said Fang. "And no offence Mal. But you kinda stand out like a sore thumb as well. Could you perhaps have picked a brighter coloured shirt?" he added sarcastically.
Mal ignored him, returning to his ice cream while Jezebel shook her head. "Would the three of you please just grow up?" she said. She turned to Brooklyn. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"I haven't spent all this time plotting revenge to back out now Jezebel," replied the gargoyle turned human as he adjusted his shades.
"Are you sure you can trust the book's information?" asked Fang, "Some of the info in it might be inaccurate or obsolete by now."
"All that I have been told is totally accurate," replied Brooklyn as he finished his mocha. He looked up to see his three companions staring at him. "What?"
"You just said from what you were told," answered Mal, "I thought the Codicium was a book?"
"It is," replied Brooklyn quickly, mentally slapping himself, "I meant from what I learned the information is totally accurate. What I seek is in that museum."
"You mean the "Rod of Control?" asked Jezebel, her face unreadable.
Brooklyn smiled nervously at her, before calling a different waiter over to order another mocha while his friends gave each other worried glances.
Two-0-clock in the morning
The streets of Vienna were totally deserted apart from some of the homeless, hard core partiers coming home drunk or a little drugged up, and of course the ladies and gentlemen of ill repute who serviced men and women's' secret needs in the red light district.
Which meant that although there was a minimal chance of being spotted, Brooklyn, Fang and Malibu took no chances, gliding high above the streetlights, making false turns every now and then and landing against the rear wall of the museum where deliveries were made and climbing up it to the roof.
Fang, being experienced in questionable activities, led the way across the roof to the skylight they had ear marked as the one closest to the "Rod of Control" when they had visited the exhibit right after having their coffee. They would have actually arrived an hour earlier except Brooklyn had had one of his "Jolts" as he called them. He had gotten a shooting pain up and down his spine for several seconds, causing temporary paralysis and almost knocking him unconscious. Despite the spell Oberon had cast on Brooklyn and Demona, linking them in immortality, he seemed to let Brooklyn keep the wound Goliath had given him as a permanent reminder that none were immune from "justice." Fang had suggested that they abort until tomorrow night when Brooklyn might be feeling better, but the red gargoyle had insisted they do it tonight.
"I won't let a little pain get in the way of my destiny," he had said quite adamantly. "It's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to them in return."
Fang was clad completely in black like Brook and Mal were. Brooklyn and Mal were armed in case it might be necessary to deal with the guards.
Mal had a single shot dart pistol that was small enough to be stuffed into the pocket of his black combat slacks as well as a dozen extra darts, which contained a very powerful sedative that would knock out it's victim in a matter of seconds. He also had a steel pair of tonfa that he had spent almost two months practicing with on a daily basis.
Brooklyn on the other hand was a walking armoury.
He had cut two deep cuts into his leather coat so he could use his wings without removing it. He was equipped with a pair of .50 Desert Eagle pistols on shoulder-mounted holsters while his belt contained pouches containing extra clips, knives, and if Fang suspected correctly, a handful of low-yield grenades. His sword also hung on his belt. It was a black and gold hilted Katana, with an iron blade that had been folded and beaten upon itself one and a quarter million times, along each side of the entire twenty-seven inch curved blade, were seven runes that had been cut in with a diamond tipped drill that hurt Fang's eyes to look at, spaced evenly at three inch intervals. In Brooklyn's hands was his staff. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Two meters long, with a silver cap piece in the shape of a raven with its wings outstretched, the haft itself had a titanium core surrounded by a reinforced steel sleeve covered by an iron jacket, in which one hundred and forty-four runes had been carved with precision cutting tools to a nanometer of Brooklyn's specifications.
Fang looked at the staff in wonder.
He didn't even want to hazard a guess as to how much both had cost.
What he really wanted to know was why Brooklyn had thought it necessary to arm himself so heavily.
The trio snuck up to the skylight and waited while Fang produced his "tool kit" from his belt and began to undo the alarm systems covering the window. After barely five minutes, Fang was finished and the window was lying wide open with a rope tied to a nearby chimneystack going down into the open hole.
The trio carefully negotiated the exhibits, moving in silence and being careful not to be caught by security cameras or the occasional night watchmen. After roughly eight minutes they arrived at their goal.
"At last," whispered Brooklyn to himself, "The Rod of Control."
The "Rod of Control" was a two feet long iron rod, one inch in diameter and covered with sixty-six daemonic runes, it was held in a glass case with a plaque beneath it, giving its history and background. A background, which the red gargoyle knew all about.
Fang checked for alarms along the casing while Brooklyn stared at his prize, his hands fidgeting in excitement. Mal was acting as lookout several meters away. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Fang was finished checking the casing. It didn't have any alarms. Fang carefully lifted the casing while Brooklyn stared on, transfixed by the rod. When the casing was removed, Brooklyn suddenly seemed to come out of his daydreaming state. He brushed past Fang and grabbed the rod very quickly, like a child who has been waiting too long a time to play with a toy that means a lot to them.
He stared at it for several minutes in his enclosed fist, totally ignoring Fang when he asked him if they should be going now. A long, cruel smile spread across his lips as his eyes began to flare pale blue.
Much to Fang's surprise, he began to speak to it.
"Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Come through Abaddon's gate. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Bypass Cerberus on your way. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Come from Lucifer's side. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Arise from the throne room of Perdition. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. I call you. Past the Hell Fire and Sulphur Lakes. Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo. It is the Anointed One, who speaks."
The rod began to glow the same disturbing shade of pale blue that Brooklyn's eyes were. The light changed to brilliant white as the rod buckled in his hand violently as Brooklyn began to speak in strangest language Fang had ever heard.
Like a small sun dawning, the enslaved daemon poured out of the head of the tainted iron rod. Its radiance lighting up the entire third floor of the museum.
"Oh my God," stuttered Fang in horror. He looked at Brooklyn. The gargoyle's face was contorted in intense concentration. His eyes were still glowing that creepy shade of pale blue.
He looked back at the daemon. All he saw was white light.
Light that was so brilliant that it was almost painful to look at. He couldn't make out the true form of the daemon, although he wasn't too sure that he wanted to. He had always regarded white light to be pure somehow, chaste to be noble and good. But this whiteness was unutterably malevolent, chilling; its purity was an abomination.
-Oh my God!-thought Fang as he started to tremble. -Oh my holy God! What has he done?-
Brooklyn strode up to the daemon, confidence seeping off him. Fang thought he could hear Mal screaming something behind him. He didn't look to see though. He was too scared and fascinated by what was transpiring before him.
"You are Iieo'detl'bhadhr'hoo?" said Brooklyn. It wasn't a question.
Yes, came the reply. The daemon's voice sounded twisted and cruel, sending chills down Fang's spine. He could have sworn that he heard that voice echo inside his head.
"You are the guide? He who shall lead the true anointed one to the weapons of Lucifer?"
Yes.
"My name is Brooklyn Wyvern," stated the red skinned gargoyle, his eyes blazing a pale blue. "And I hereby declare that it is I who is the Anointed One."
You have proof. I presume?
"What? You mean apart from the fact that I summoned you here without the aid of a host body or a sacrificial victim? That I know your true name? That I know your purpose? That I have this." on the last part, Brooklyn pulled the Malus Codicium out of an inside pocket in his coat, letting his staff lean against him while his other hand remained firmly on the rod. The daemon seemed to study the book for a moment before replying.
If you are the Anointed. Then you will know it's true name.
"Bel'akor," replied the gargoyle, grinning.
The light around the daemon faded and it's true form was revealed.
Fang gasped in horror.
The daemon floated several inches from the floor. A nightmare brought into reality. Its glowing red eyes regarded the gargoyle curiously. It is true that you have the book and the knowledge, it said. It then pointed to Fang and Mal, who had come up beside him without the mutate even noticing. But what is their purpose?
"They're my friends," replied Brooklyn flatly, "You will not touch them. Do you understand?"
You dare to order me around insect?
"Dolore adficere," said Brooklyn. The daemon howled and began to writhe in agony in the air as the rod began to glow again. "I hold the rod you fool. I am your master. You will do everything I command you to do or I shall take great pleasure in torturing you." The daemon continued to scream while Fang and Malibu continued to watch in horror at what their friend was doing.
Forgive me my master, whined the daemon, I shall not question you again.
"Desinere," said Brooklyn. The glow of the rod faded and the daemon stopped its writhing.
"Brooklyn. What the Hell are you doing?" yelled Mal, "What's this shit about Lucifer?"
Brooklyn turned and smiled at the pair to reassure them. Thanks to the weird glow in his eyes however, all he succeeded in doing was give them the creeps.
"I am very sorry that I didn't tell you about this earlier Mal," started Brooklyn. "You see, there's this prophecy in the Codicium. About a red gargoyle being chosen to wield the weapons of Lucifer. He acts sort of like an angel of vengance and kills all those whom he believes truly deserve it."
"Your insane," replied the clone. He took a step back at the look Brooklyn gave him. His eyes flared even more so as snarl appeared across his face.
"I am perfectly sane Mal," he replied coldly, "Why the Hell would you, think otherwise?"
"Your talking about deals with the fucking Devil here Brook!" Fang found himself shouting.
Brooklyn turned on him, "I AM NOT MAKING A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL! I am just going to be borrowing a few pieces of the equipment he used in his war against heaven so I can have my revenge."
"How'd you find out about this stuff anyway?" asked Mal, "I thought that damn thing was in another language or something?"
"It told me," snapped Brooklyn, getting angry. His eyes suddenly widened as he realised his mistake. "I mean.I.I read it," he stuttered quickly, realising how lame that was.
There was a flash of amber coloured light and Jezebel Tibbs stood beside Fan and Malibu. Her shotgun was in her hands.
"Brooklyn! Listen to me! The book is manipulating you! You have to get rid of it!" she yelled.
"I knew you were watching me," Brooklyn hissed, placing the book back in his pocket and grabbing his staff. "You don't trust me do you?"
"Brooklyn, I think Jezebel's right," replied Mal, starting slowly towards his friend, palms open, "I think you should get rid of the book and send that.thing back to wherever it came from."
Brooklyn looked confusedly between the daemon and his friends. "It was right all along," he muttered. His face became stern; he gave Jez, Fang and Mal a look that could kill.
"IT WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG! YOU GUYS ARE AGAINST ME!" he suddenly roared. Tears of rage began to fill his glowing eyes. The staff and rod began to glow the same pale blue of his eyes. "You backstabbing BASTARDS!"
Before he could do anything however, Jezebel shot him in the stomach. Brooklyn stared at her in complete shock before he doubled over and crumpled to the floor. The daemon came towards the trio menacingly.
"Fulminous Vinite," screamed Jezebel, extending a hand that shot out lightning. The daemon howled as the destructive magical energy enveloped its incorporeal body. Sheathing her shotgun, Jezebel placed a hand on Fang and Malibu's shoulders. "Deflagrate muri intervallia!"
In an instant, a ball of amber flame surrounded Jezebel, Fang and Malibu. In the next, they were gone.
Brooklyn's corpse shuddered before it began breathing again. Clutching his stomach, he forced himself on his knees. He was breathing very heavily. He felt like the inside of his gut had been set on fire. Slowly the pain began to recede as he regained strength. He looked at the spot where his three friends had been.
"She shot me," he whispered through clenched teeth, "She fucking shot me." He stood up, making sure he had a firm grip on the rod at all times. He would have to find a host for the daemon before he ever let his guard down around it. It was at its most powerful now, totally free and unrestricted by a body. If he had let go of the rod it would have torn him to shreds and probably have went on an unstoppable killing spree around the city.
"Probably why she didn't shoot me in the crotch," he muttered to himself. He could hear an awful lot of police sirens in the distance. "So much for stealth."
Undoubtedly security personnel who sensibly thought that this was a job for the slightly better paid and armed police force noticed the light show they had had.
Brooklyn turned his head to the daemon, "From now on you will answer to the name of "Sin." Do you understand?"
Yes master.
"Then let's get the Hell out of here."
A Penthouse rented by the gang: somewhere in Vienna
A ball of amber flame lit up the room for a brief instant before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. In its place stood three very worried creatures.
"What the Hell did you do that for?" yelled Fang.
"You shot him Jez! What the fuck is the matter with you?" screamed Mal, "I might have reached him dammit!"
"Were either of you two paying attention?" replied Jezebel, her eyes were a pair of flaming amber orbs. "That damn book has corrupted him. We have to figure a way to get it off him and banish that daemon back to Hell before he does something he might regret later on if his sanity ever returns."
"What makes you think he'll become sane again if we get the book off him?" asked Mal.
"He's been keeping it in his pocket whenever he hasn't been reading it," explained Jezebel. "He even admitted that it told him things. It probably whispers stuff in his head whenever he's asleep. Which explains how he knew what he needed to translate for that summoning he performed aswell as the two weapons he wanted made to exact specifications." She slapped her forehead violently, "Why did I believe him when he said he could handle the damn thing?"
Her eyes snapped open when she remembered the odd feeling she had gotten when he had looked into her eyes a month ago.
No. It wasn't possible. Was it? He couldn't become that powerful already.
Could he?
She suddenly understood why Macbeth had been so freaked out by the book. And why he insisted that it be locked away forever. She understood that perfectly well.
She also had a horrible feeling she now knew why Macbeth had had that dream a few weeks prior to his death. Why at that precise time he had had the dream.
Odd, that Brook had shown up the next day, carrying Mal over his shoulders, bleeding and unconscious. Two recruits right there whenever Macbeth was about to go hunting for Demona again. One who hated her as much as Macbeth had.
"It planted the dream in his head," she said to no one in particular, still trying to understand the incredible truth herself.
"That doesn't make sense," said Fang, a little calmer now that he'd emptied a small bottle of brandy from the fridge in one go. "How the Hell does a book plant something in someone's head?"
"It's alive," replied Jezebel as she approached a phone that lay on a nearby table.
"Jezebel. What are you doing?" asked Mal.
"We can't beat him on our own. We will have to get.assistance."
"Assistance? From who?"
Jezebel sighed, "Goliath's clan."
"Are you nuts?" yelled Fang. "They aren't going to help us."
"That is why I shall speak to Demona and tell her that Brooklyn has the Codicium. She knows what it's capable of doing. If she is as reformed as she claims to be then she will convince the others."
"And if she isn't?" inquired Fang.
"Then we are extremely screwed," volunteered Mal.
"Exactly," replied Jezebel, picking up the receiver and asking the desk to connect a long distance call to Manhattan.
The Eyrie Building: Manhattan
The intercom beeped on the desk, a slender hand moved and pressed the flashing button.
"Yes?"
"Miss Destine. There is an urgent call awaiting you on line 4."
Dominique Destine, joint CEO of the now merged "Xanatos Enterprises and Nightstone Unlimited" sat back in her chair.
"Just how urgent is it Rebecca? It will be sunset quite soon. I don't want to keep the clan waiting."
"Something about a book that you might be interested in Miss Destine."
Dominique's eyes narrowed, "What kind of book?"
"A book called the Malus Codicium," answered Rebecca.
Dominique's eyes widened open as she shot her hand out to grab the receiver on the phone as her other one hit number 4 on the dial.
"Hello?" she snapped, "Who are you and what do you know about the Codicium?"
There was a calm response on the phone.
"Tibbs? Never heard of you. What has this got to do with the book?"
The caller remained calm and told Dominique everything.
It was several minutes later when Dominique was able to speak again, she looked a little frightened.
"Are you totally sure about this?"
The caller answered a positive.
Dominique Destine sat in silence for several minutes, looking out at the Manhattan skyline as the sun shone through the gaps of the skyscrapers through her Two foot thick titanium reinforced floor to ceiling windows. It was unlikely that what happened a little under three months ago would ever happen again, but she wasn't going to take any chances. She swung her chair back around to her desk.
"Alright, I believe you. Tell me where you are and I will be there by tomorrow."
The caller asked a question.
"The clan? Even if Goliath won't help I am sure that Angela, Broadway and Lexington will. He may have betrayed their trust but he's still their brother. What hotel are you staying in?"
Dominique scribbled something down on a notepad with a pencil.
"Okay. I will see you tomorrow Miss Tibbs. Until then do not go after him, contact him or attempt to ascertain his location until I am there to assist. Goodbye."
Dominique hung up the phone and pressed the intercom.
"Rebecca."
"Yes Miss Destine?"
"Cancel all my appointments for the next.three weeks and have my staff at the airport prepare my personal plane."
"Yes Miss Destine. Anything else?"
"Yes. I am going to give you keys to my estate in the in the Rockies. I want you take a plane there with your family and stay there until I call you. I will hire a plane out and send as many of my personal staff with families there aswell. You should all be safe there. It can accommodate about a hundred people for about a decade and its built into the mountain."
"Safe? What's happening Demona?"
Dominique let that go. Most of her closest co-workers knew her secret. It was quite hard to keep in some of those ridiculously long board meetings that could last into the small hours. She'd met all their families at the annual Christmas parties held before sunset. They were some of the few humans that she didn't hate anymore. They had made her determined to make it work with Angela after she saw how happy the others were with their families.
They were good people, most of them. She felt obligated to protect them as they had protected her secret.
"Just do as I say Rebecca. Don't question me."
"Yes Miss Destine. I am sorry. I shall make the preparations."
The intercom switched off, leaving Dominique alone with her thoughts. She turned to face the window and watched the sun begin its slow descent across the landscape. When it was close to setting, she rose and strode over to a closet and changed into a different outfit. A black body glove with holes to accommodate where her wings and tail would soon be. She then slid on titanium shin guards, a breast and shoulder plate designed for her alter ego's considerably greater cleavege, and a pair of wrist guards that enclosed most of her fore arms and had several experimental devices her and Xanatos' company were building for the military and the C.I.A. The entire body glove was designed exclusively for the clan; it could make them invisible to radar and, in Lexington's opinion, made them look pretty cool. None of the others had used them except Lexington and herself. Preferring their loincloths for some unfathomable reason, "tradition" or some similar rubbish like that. She would get them into them eventually, them, or at least something less revealing than a damn loincloth.
When the sunset came, she wrapped her arms around herself and screamed in agony as the transformation began, she could feel her wings begin to rise from her hunched back, bones the human body didn't have forming out of nowhere and slotting themselves into prepared positions. Her tail shot out of the base of her spine while fangs grew in her mouth and her skin colour changed from healthy white to azure blue. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
Demona went over to another closet on the other side of her room and tapped a code into a computerised lock. The device buzzed and the door swung open, revealing several racks of weapons from throwing knives and a garrotte, to a AK-47 and a the new laser bazooka model that she had exclusive access to.
If she was really going to patrol with her clan again, she was damn sure she was not going to be outgunned like the rest of the clan usually were.
She selected a single edged short sword and attached it to the sheath sown into her left hip. A laser pistol with extra cells, a 9mm-berretta pistol with some extra clips, an assortment of knives of varying sizes. The garrotte, and finally, an army issue combat shotgun, which she slid into a sheath on her back before putting a belt containing almost fifty extra shells lined in two rows around her waist. She looked at the rest of her weapons and made a mental note to have them all sent to her plane.
She then walked over to yet another closet in her room which held the many magical artefacts she had collected over the ages and selected several old tomes and headed upstairs to inform Goliath and the rest of the clan that Brooklyn was in Europe and about to begin the Apocalypse.
Several miles outside of Vienna
Sin floated up to his new master as he stood atop a hill looking over Vienna.
"It's quite beautiful. Isn't it?" asked Brooklyn.
It can never be beautiful Master. The humans have tainted it.
"You remind me of Demona," said Brookyn as he sighed, "Where are the weapons Sin?"
They are scattered over this land Master.
"Do you mean Austria specifically or do you mean Europe?"
Europe.
Brooklyn turned from the view of the city, "Where is the first?"
The daemon rose into the air and scanned the horizon before pointing south.
The first can be found in Graz, to the south of here Master.
"How far?"
I.don't know Master.
Brooklyn rolled his eyes.
"Typical!" he yelled, "In that case we are going to the nearest bus depot to find out." He started to head down the hill when he stopped suddenly and looked at his unearthly travelling companion. "But first. We shall go to the morgue. Can't have you floating around, attracting unwanted attention to us can we?"
Yes Master. Where is this morgue?
"Why its.near the hospital I imagine."
Yes Master. Where is this hospital?
"I.don't actually know," confessed the gargoyle, looking out at the huge city before him, "I don't suppose you can read German Sin?"
No Master.
Brooklyn rubbed his chin for a moment.
"Bugger."
To be continued.
Not as well written as some parts of the series I'm afraid but I haven't been feeling a hundred percent the last few days. Big thanks to Storyseeker for helping me with the idea for this episode as well being my beta reader. Big thanks to Caboose and anyone else who for one reason or the other, seems to like my work. I shall try my best to get the next instalment out as soon as possible. Until then, all suggestions and comments are greatly welcome. You all know my address!
The Emperor Protects!
Darkness