Immortal Legacy

by Jonathan Yanez

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Humorous Fantasy; Paranormal; Urban Fantasy; Occult & Supernatural

Synopsis

A past written in blood.

A future in question.

Time corrodes truth.

Over the centuries fact turns to myth.

This is no truer than in a small county where stories surrounding Wakan Canyon have pushed their way to the surface.

The death of a young girl triggers reporter Marshall Montgomery. The events surrounding her demise hit too close to home.

But following the white rabbit down this hole means uncovering an ancient supernatural sect that would prefer to be left buried.

Can Marshall trust his gut to break this story without losing his life?

Release date: October 22, 2020

Publisher: Archimedes Books

Sample

Agent Lees sat on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. He was trying to reload his weapon and failing. 

“I could hear you two coming a mile away, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb,” Lees gasped. “You don’t belong here. Go get help.”

“We are the help,” Samantha said, leaning down to inspect his wounds.
 
Marshall did the same, seeing a deep slice that ran from Agent Lees’ stomach to his left pec. Marshall wasn’t a doctor by any stretch of the imagination, but Lees looked pretty bad. Crimson red soaked his shirt and this was after being shot by Agent Briggs earlier that night. A wail came from somewhere close, an off-shooting tunnel to their left. Marshall peeked around the corner to see light dancing somewhere farther down. 

“They have Bentall,” Lees hissed, struggling to his feet. 

“You need to relax, we can handle it,” Samantha told him. 

“You’ll need all the help you can get,” Lees said with a grimace as he fought his way to his feet. “They shrug off any kind of normal rounds like it’s nothing. We had a few agents carrying incendiary rounds, but they were taken out quickly in the ambush. It was just supposed to be Abraham down here, not the entire cult

“Here,” Samantha said, offering the wounded SOAP agent her Winchester. She also motioned for Marshall to give Lees the extra ammunition. “It’s loaded with incendiary rounds and here’s a bandolier of more. I have my sidearm I can make use of.”

Agent Lees examined the weapon with gratitude, although he didn’t say anything. 

More screams came from down the tunnel. 

“Let’s go,” Marshall said, feeling the need to go help despite the dread he felt creeping up his spine. 

Agent Lees grimaced as he moved beside the two and they traveled down the tunnel. Wet slaps met their feet. The stink of algae and mold forced its way into their noses. They headed toward the sounds of havoc deeper in the sewer system below the city. 

Not just the sounds, but the faint glow of the lights ahead added to the idea they were headed in the right direction. 

“You know, I’ve never really liked you,” Agent Lees murmured to Marshall as they moved forward. “Not a whole lot of non-SOAP agents would willingly run in the dark toward screaming. Heck, not a whole lot of SOAP agents would want to do that either. For the record, I still don’t like you.”

Marshall understood this was as much appreciation as Lees was ever going to be able to give. Even now it looked like the man was pained saying this much. Marshall had seen Lees take a bullet and now a severe sword strike. Still, admitting his gratitude caused him more pain than the wounds. 

“It’s all right, Lees,” Marshall answered. “I don’t really like you either.”

In the dark lighting of the shadow, Marshall caught the big SOAP agent’s lips twitch for a moment, almost like a smile, almost.  The trio traveled the rest of the way through the tunnel and toward the sound until they reached a sharp corner. The light was coming from a large room around the corner. Marshall and the others inched forward to take a look. A large circular spillway connected another half dozen tunnels shooting off in various directions. 

Dead SOAP agents littered the floor with one still on his feet. Agent Bentall was bleeding from a leg wound and multiple cuts across his face. Hands behind his back, he was held securely by two individuals in dark robes. Marshall had seen the robes before in Wakan Canyon during his first run-in with the Family. There were more of them here now, at least twenty of the figures all carrying some kind of bladed weapon. Mostly swords, but Marshall caught sight of a few daggers and even an axe or two. 

“Our intel tells us SOAP is in the process of removing the altar from Wakan Canyon,” a female voice that Marshall didn’t recognize stated from underneath one of the dark hoods. “Where are they taking it?”

Agent Bentall looked at the woman, smiling through blood stained teeth. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Azrial? Don’t think I don’t know who you are wrapped up in that glorified bathrobe of yours.”

A figure stepped forward, throwing a fist into Steve’s stomach and another across his face. The acts were so violent, the hood of the man sending the blows fell off. Abraham’s scarred face shone in the light of the battery-powered floodlights set up in the room. Apparently, immortality had its limits. Damage done by fire was not healed, unlike being stabbed or shot. Melted flesh hung off the left side of his face as though it were trying to slip off his skull. 

“He’s not going to tell us anything,” Abraham raged. “We should kill him now and go to the altar before SOAP excavates it. That’s our best chance.”

One of the figures approached Abraham and took off her hood. She was slender and elegant, with pronounced features, her red hair falling down her shoulders and deeper into her robe. 

“SOAP has the canyon locked down tight. Our best chance is to secure the altar once it’s in transport because when it arrives wherever it’s going, it’ll be too late,” the woman said condescendingly as if she were talking to a misbehaving child. “Abraham, you’ve caused the Family enough issues with your impetuousness. Leave this to the adults.”

Abraham opened his mouth then thought better of whatever he was going to say and closed it again. 

“Listen to your masters, Abraham,” Agent Bentall said, spitting out a loose tooth. “Also you hit like a bi—”

“Agent Bentall, Steve,” the woman said with a sigh, getting closer to the man. “May I call you Steve?”

“Azrial, you can call me ‘warden’ once we get you to the sphere,” Agent Bentall answered. “Your time is coming. If it’s not me that gets you, then it’ll be someone like me. SOAP’s going to come after you with everything they’ve got after this.”

“Maybe,” Azrial said with a smirk. She ran a thin finger over Agent Bentall’s face, smearing his blood in patterns. “Or maybe not. You’re too much of a true believer to tell me what I want to know. No torture is going to get what I want out of you, but what if I tortured another in your place?”

Agent Bentall gave her a sneer but didn’t say anything. 

“This one,” Azrial said, pointing to the ground to her left where a SOAP agent lay unmoving. “This one’s still got some life left in her.”

A trio of robed figures moved to obey. Grabbing the female SOAP agent, they forced her to her knees. The woman was barely coherent. She wobbled on her knees, unable to even support herself. Blood came down a long gash in her forehead. 

“No—” she gasped. “P—please no.”

Marshall moved forward, ready to act. Already, he thought they waited long enough and were wasting too much time. A heavy hand pulled him back. Agent Lees shook his head. 

“What are you talking about?” Marshall hissed. “They’re going to kill them both. We need to help them.”

“Not without a plan,” Agent Lees replied barely above a whisper. “We get Agent Bentall free, we have another gun on our side. I’ll draw their attention. You two get Bentall and put a gun in his hand.”

“You’re going to need more than that cannon to do serious damage,” Samantha said. “Two shots and you’ll have to reload. They’ll be on top of you by then. Here.”

Samantha traded her revolver with Marshall’s shotgun. She also shrugged off the sword she carried and gave it to Marshall. “You’ll need something to cut Bentall free with. Chesha said he did something special to this blade.”

Marshall nodded along with the plan. Out of the three of them, he was the one least equipped to talk weaponry.

“And if you have the sword, I’ll take that other blade,” Lees said, eyeing the machete at Marshall’s hip. “Once I run dry, it’ll be nice to be able to put them down with something other than my fists. Although I wouldn’t mind strangling some of them and seeing their evil eyes pop out of their head.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Marshall whispered, handing over the machete. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Lees was about to respond when a scream brought the three back to the moment at hand. Marshall looked over in time to see Azrial pressing her thumb into the female SOAP agent’s wound. The woman wailed in pain, barely conscious as it was. 

“This can all stop if you tell me where the altar’s going,” Azrial said to Agent Bentall. “You think pressing on her little cut is where this ends? I’ll take her apart piece by piece in front of you until you tell me.”

Azrial took a step back, allowing the woman to gasp and feebly struggle in front of Agent Bentall. The leader of the Family took a thin dagger from the folds of her cloak, spinning the blade in her palm. 

“What will we take first? An eye, an ear?” Azrial taunted, looking from the SOAP agent on her knees back to Agent Bentall. “A tongue? Last chance.”

“Please,” the wounded agent managed. “Please, tell her.”

“I’m sorry,” Agent Bentall said in such a low voice Marshall nearly missed it. “I can’t. Look at me. Look at me.”

“Yes, look at him.” Azrial laughed, going over to the agent and slowly running her blade up the woman’s left cheek. A line of blood followed the dagger’s course as it made its way to the woman’s eyes. “Look at him while you still can.”

The woman howled, a sound so primal, it sounded like a wild creature more than a human. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Agent Bentall snarled at Azrial. He strained against his bonds, but his hands were tied. The two cult members behind him wrestled him into submission. Bentall looked back at his agent. “You look at me, Agent Monzon. Hope always finds a way. I’ve seen it time and time again. The light will find a way to overcome the darkness. Do you understand? Do you hear me?”

Agent Monzon, to her credit, nodded and bit her lip. No more pleas would come out of her mouth. 

“Show time,” Agent Lees said, rising from his spot beside Marshall and Samantha and striding into view. 

“Be quick,” Samantha told Marshall with a kiss. “We’ve got one shot at this.”

“Hey!” Lees bellowed into the crowded room with Samantha at his side. The two walked to the left, capturing the attention of all those in the room and turning their attention further from where Marshall might be able to sneak around the corner. “This is what hope looks like, you mother—”

Fireworks, that was what it sounded like when Samantha and Agent Lees opened up with the shotguns. Glorious, righteous fireworks. Marshall saw a pair of Family immortals burst into flames almost at once. Screamed panic filled the room. Those that had been so confident and cocky a moment before now boiled in flames. 

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! 

It wasn’t until Agent Lees stopped to reload that Marshall realized he had no time to be watching. He had to move. Hugging the corner and heading to the right of the room opposite Samantha and Agent Lees, Marshall made his run. Not being seen by any of the cultists seemed to be a bit too much to ask as they ran in panic. It appeared half the cultists were content to remain and fight and the other half were seeking shelter in light of the combustible rounds being introduced into the equation. Marshall chose a path that would take him in a wide half circle to Agent Bentall and Monzon. He was halfway through his run, heart beating out of his chest, when the first cultist realized he didn’t belong. 

“Hey!” the man shouted, looking around for anyone else who might have seen Marshall. At the moment, everyone was either dying, running, or trying to reach Samantha and Agent Lees. 

Marshall was prepared to run around the man, but the cultist stepped in his path with a broadsword as long as his torso. Without a word, the man came at Marshall, swinging his weapon. Marshall pointed and fired. The round caught the man square in the chest. The incendiary round in the revolver did its job, erupting in an explosion of flames across the man’s center mass. 

The cultist who was so sure about taking off his head a moment before screamed in wild agony as flames licked his body like some kind of demonic entity hellbent on consuming his soul. All but one of the cultists securing the two agents fled. Agent Monzon was now unconscious and on her side. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest told Marshall she was still alive. The one immortal still remaining forced Agent Bentall to his knees. He drew a dagger from his belt, preparing to ram it into the older man’s neck. 

Agent Bentall wasn’t interested in dying on his knees. The man dropped and rolled to his side, arms tied behind his back. 

Marshall holstered his weapon, drawing the sword at his back. 

“Steve,” Marshall said, dropping to a knee as he cut the man’s bonds with a single move. He handed him the revolver. 

“I knew I saw something great in you, kid,” Agent Bentall said as he accepted the weapon and rose to his feet. He looked over at the immortal who had just about been ready to use his neck as a pin cushion. “As for you.”

Agent Bentall lifted, aimed, and pulled the trigger of the weapon in under a second. The cultist’s face erupted in a blaze of fiery madness. 

“Hmmm, they must be ready to pop when it comes to fire,” Agent Bentall mused, admiring the weapon in his hand. “I’ve used incendiary rounds before, but never like this.”

The sounds of thunder coming from Samantha and Agent Lees were waning now. Already a pile of burning corpses lay around them. It seemed as though most of the immortals were dead or had run off by now. Only those too stupid to make a run for it or too brainwashed that they thought they were actually immune to fire stayed behind. Lees had run out of ammunition and now used the machete to keep a pair of immortals at bay. Samantha used her shotgun as a handheld weapon, parrying Abraham’s attacks. 

“I’ve got Lees,” Bentall said without hesitation. “You go help Samantha.”

Marshall instinctively obeyed, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand and how natural it felt for the first time. He’d only ever held a sword before at a Renaissance Fair if he didn’t count the brief interaction with Chesha’s crescent blade. This one felt strange, somehow different in a way he couldn’t explain. The weapon was made from dark grey steel with a red pommel wrapped in leather. Ancient runes he didn’t understand ran the length of the blade. On the crossguard of the weapon was a white jewel. 

As Marshall approached, he heard Abraham and Samantha arguing. 

“Was it always a lie?” Samantha seethed. “Did you really adopt me because you wanted to kill me? Then what, your conscience got the best of you, so you kept me as some kind of pet?”

“You don’t understand,” Abraham said, circling her. “It started off like that, but I did learn to care for you. You did mean something to me.”

“Something?” Samantha repeated the word with venom. “Never enough to tell the truth. I don’t even know you. You killed all those people, all those children, and adults. You’re a monster.”

“You!” Abraham accused as Marshall approached. “You did this to her. You turned her against me.”

“You did that on your own,” Marshall answered, moving to stand beside Samantha. “This is your doing not mine.”

“Move aside, Sam,” Abraham ground out, trying to maneuver around his granddaughter. “Move aside. I don’t want to kill you. I want him.”

“No,” Samantha said, refusing to move. “No, no more. I won’t let you kill anyone else.”

“So be it,” Abraham spat. “I adopted you. I can adopt another just as easily.”

Abraham lunged forward with a short sword in his hand. Samantha moved to the side, parrying his weapon with her shotgun. That left Marshall open for a free swing. He brought the sword down in a short arc, digging deep into Abraham’s right shoulder just beside his head. Abraham stood upright without so much as a gasp of pain. 

“Did you forget?” Abraham laughed, smashing the handle of his sword into Marshall’s throat. “We’re immortal.”

In an instant, Marshall’s air supply was gone. Not so much pain as panic at the inability to breathe set in. Marshall crumbled to the ground, pulling his sword with him. 

“Certain truths still hold for us,” Abraham said with a wicked smile. The half of his face that was burned twisted in a ghastly grin that was the stuff nightmare fuel was made of. “Too bad you’ll never learn about them. You would have made a good addition to the Family.”

Abraham lifted his blade high over his head, ready to bring it down on Marshall’s face. 

Samantha crashed into him like a runaway train. She aimed the butt of her shotgun into Abraham’s neck, taking his advice. The full weight of her body followed after and Samantha was no dainty flower. She was a hard woman who worked in a hard industry and didn’t miss a meal. 

The two went down to the ground in a pile. Marshall was still wheezing as he struggled to rise. Come on, get up, Marshall told himself as air began to filter back into his repaired throat. She needs you. Get up. 

Marshall stood up, clumsily gripping the sword once more. His right hand pressed against the white jewel on the crossbar and the blade erupted in a sheet of flame. Marshall held the weapon at arm’s length, surprised and a bit worried at once. As far as he knew, he was just as susceptible to fire as the other immortals. What in Van Helsing’s name did Chesha do to this sword? Marshall thought. There was no time to dwell on the thought further. Abraham had recovered from the surprise attack and now grappled with Samantha. He was on top of her, both hands around her throat. 

“Hey, Abraham,” Marshall shouted to get the man’s attention. “Look at this goblin-made monstrosity.”

Abraham lifted his eyes to take in the flaming sword. Deep hues of orange and red licked at the blade as if made by pure magic. Heck, as far as Marshall knew, it was some kind of magic powering the blade. The glow danced in Abraham’s wide eyes as he took in the bane to his existence. 

“Let her go,” Marshall ordered, stalking toward the man.

Abraham lifted his hands from around Samantha’s throat. She gasped and choked on fresh air. 

“Easy, easy there now,” Abraham implored, rising from on top of his granddaughter. “We can work something out. You want to know what it means to be immortal, right? I can show you. I can explain why you don’t feel pain anymore. I can tell you why fire kills us and how chopping off our heads will only debilitate us.”

Abraham knew what he wanted to hear. Marshall wanted answers now as to what he was more than anything else. Almost more than anything, Marshall was reminded as Samantha struggled to her feet. He could see tears racing down her cheeks, the pain at having someone so close betray you. Seeing the internal struggle in Marshall’s eyes, Abraham leaped forward, grabbing the hilt of the flaming sword as Marshall moved to bring it down on his head. 

“Raw!” Abraham roared as he used every muscle in his upper body to reverse the trajectory of the weapon and turn it on Marshall. 

He was stronger than Marshall thought. Abraham’s crazed melted face only inches from him, Marshall roared right back. The two were caught in a deadlock with the sword in both of their hands above their heads. Abraham drove his head forward, cracking Marshall across the nose and temporary blinding him. That split second was all the time Abraham needed to leverage the sword against Marshall. 

A heartbeat away from having the goblin-made sword splitting his head in two, Marshall felt strong calloused hands. Samantha’s mechanic hands covered his own as well as Abrahams on the hilt of the blade. Past the burning muscles in his hands, past the blood dripping from his nose, Marshall looked up to see hope incarnate. Samantha was a Valkyrie reborn. With a roar of her own that shook the very tunnel, she poured her hurt into tilting the sword toward Abraham. Abraham was no match for the pair. He gave ground, backtracking with his hands still on the sword hilt until there was no more room to go. 

Marshall and Samantha slammed him against the tunnel wall so hard, his teeth chattered. Slowly, the sword came down on Abraham. The blade was so hot, it ate through the tunnel wall of cement right above Abraham. Panic clear on his face, Abraham tried to bash his head into Marshall’s again. Marshall learned the first time and leaned away. Abraham kicked out, the blade inches from his head. Marshall absorbed the blows and pressed down harder. 

“Please, please, no,” Abraham begged. “I’ll give you anything. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“I want my sister back,” Marshall snarled through gritted teeth. 

There in the underground tunnel, Chesha’s sword ate through the top of Abraham’s skull like a wire through foam. It sliced him right between the eyes and down to his throat. It wasn’t until Abraham’s hands fell from the blade that Samantha released the handle of the weapon and Marshall pulled it free. 

“It’s done,” Samantha said, shaking. “It’s done.”

Marshall swallowed hard. He understood what this meant for both of them. 

“You did the right thing,” Agent Bentall said as he approached the pair. “You two did what had to be done. Sometimes it takes hard people doing hard things for hope to live on.”

“Did we get them all?” Marshall asked, searching the large room. Lees was helping Agent Monzon to her feet. All around them, charred corpses of the Family lay dead. “What about Azrial?”

“Put the sword down, son,” Agent Bentall cautioned. 

Marshall looked down at his hand to see the burning flame very much lit and hungry. He blinked a few times, pressing the clear crystal on the handle again. Immediately, the flames disappeared. 

“Azrial got away this time, but her time will come,” Agent Bentall said, clapping Marshall on the shoulder. “The Family’s power is cut to a fraction. She’ll resurface soon enough, and when she does, we’ll be there. Come on now; we have wounded to care for.”

Marshall nodded numbly. Samantha looked just as worn as she stared down at the dead body of her grandfather. Tears streaked her cheeks. 

“I hate that I still care,” Samantha mumbled as Marshall put his arm around her shoulder. “I hate that I’m sad he’s dead. I mean, how messed up am I? I helped kill him. He had to be stopped and I know I’ll still miss him. He was the only family I ever knew.”

“Adoption makes you related,” Marshall let the sword fall to the ground and took her in his arms. “Loyalty makes you family. I can think of a few canine friends, a goblin, and an owner of a newspaper that you can call family now.”