Echoes of a Shattered Age Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  About the Author

  R. J. Terrell

  Book Description

  Technology exists in human history. The gun has fallen. The sword has arisen. The world grows wild and dangerous. An ancient evil bridges the earth plane and the abyss, bringing a massive horde of the most feared monsters in all the five hells—The Children of the Gene: Warriors blessed by the Gods. Kenyatta and his friends stand against the denizens of the abyss while on the path to discovering their unique abilities. Through light and darkness, destruction and chaos, the Children of the Gene battle towering demons to defend their world against everlasting darkness.

  ***

  Smashwords Edition –2015

  WordFire Press

  wordfirepress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61475-312-4

  Copyright © 2006, 2011 Ramon Terrell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover painting by Martin Maceovic

  Cover design by Janet McDonald

  Art Director Kevin J. Anderson

  Book Design by RuneWright, LLC

  www.RuneWright.com

  Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers

  Published by

  WordFire Press, an imprint of

  WordFire, Inc.

  PO Box 1840

  Monument, CO 80132

  ***

  Dedication

  To Moms, unconditionally loving and always willing to give her last.

  And Pops, who is now among the ancestors.

  What do you say when “I love you both” is not enough?

  ***

  Chapter One

  “Is the octagon complete?” Zreal rasped. “It must be perfect for this to work, or we are doomed.”

  “Do what you do best and leave the octagon to me,” Brit scolded.

  “We have never tried something this big before, my lord! The octagon must be perfect or we will beg to perish for our folly.”

  “Quiet, idiot.” Brit hissed. “I created the octagon with my own power. Do you not think I know how to manipulate it, and what the cost is for failure? Be silent.”

  “As you wish,” Zreal replied. He looked upon his superior with fear and admiration. Brit was powerful, standing at eight feet tall with long, powerful arms that looked as if they could strangle an elephant. His hands were rough and gnarled, an indication of how he drew the earth’s energy and twisted it to his will. His fiery orange hair lay in stark contrast with his burgundy skin. His massive legs were as large around as Zreal’s entire body. His face was wide and rock-like, as if he could split a boulder with his forehead.

  The most intimidating feature about Brit, Zreal thought, was his eyes. A wicked blend of red and blue, those burning orbs looked as if a simple angry stare could cause an agonizing death. Zreal knew not how old Brit was, but if the tales of the Drek’s battle with a Daurak were true, that would make him several thousand years old. It seemed inconceivable.

  The prehistoric-looking animal was said to be more vicious than any living predator of modern times, and its appearance resembled the two-legged dinosaur predators from this world’s ancient years.

  Remembering this, Zreal did not bother his master any longer. He didn’t dare to doubt Brit’s abilities, but dealing with Quentranzi demons was another affair altogether.

  Long after Zreal left the circular room, Brit continued perfecting the octagon. Human practitioners of the darker arts would use a circle or five point portal to summon a denizen of the lower planes. Brit used methods that did not originate from this world. The octagon was Brit’s own creation, and a more effective tool for summoning the more powerful demons of the abyss. In summoning fiends, one must have a powerful circle to produce an effective hold. If the demon happened to be a particularly powerful one, the circle would have to be perfect, which was a rare ability amongst humans.

  Zreal smirked when he thought back to the whispers amongst humans, of a sorcerer who summoned a major demon using an imperfect circle. Once summoned, the demon inspected and destroyed the circle within seconds, slaughtering the sorcerer, and ravaging everything in sight. It took the combined effort of ten sorcerers to bring the fiend under control and banish it back to the lower planes.

  Quentranzi demons were altogether different in nature and motivation than any other in the abyss. The most powerful and arrogant of sorcerers shuddered at the thought of trying to summon a Quentranzi. Some rare sorcerers’ tomes and books of the Secret Order described these monsters as super-demons, capable of unspeakable turmoil and devastation. They possessed the power to will their summoner to release the hold on them, even if the seal was perfect. According to these ancient tomes, even major demons feared and avoided Quentranzi. To summon such a creature would require an indomitable mind, an unbreakable will, and an internal strength alien to this world and its weakling inhabitants.

  Brit was well aware of the many potential dangers of summoning such a terrible creature, but he needed power in the right places, and knowledge beyond his own. He needed otherworldly knowledge that a Quentranzi could provide. “It is finished,” Brit said. He stood back from the octagon and inspected it. The octagon was far more effective than the circular seal because of its otherworldly nature. Each corner of the octagon could pierce the summoned fiend if need be, cowing it.

  Reassured of the octagon’s perfection, Brit summoned Zreal back to the room and began making the customary preparations for a summoning. When Zreal arrived, he was amazed at the level of detail at which everything had been prepared. The octagon was perfect, the light sourcing was just right, and the figure was charged with twisted earth energy to shiel
d against any attempts by a demon to use their innate abilities to extinguish the lights and break the seal.

  “You summoned me, my lord?” Zreal asked.

  “You would not be here if I had not,” came the retort.

  “Do you wish my help in summoning the Quentranzi?” Zreal asked, wanting nothing to do with this business.

  “I do not necessarily require your help, but I do wish to further justify your presence here by incorporating some of your limited talents into my plans … of course, if you don’t mind.”

  Zreal knew better than to take that last statement as a request rather than the intended sarcasm. “Of course, my lord. Whatever you wish of me. Quentranzi are well known for their ability to project power outside of the barrier even while physically restrained within, as well as their particularly strong and cunning psychic attacks. You wish me to help in fending off these attacks?”

  “Quite perceptive Zreal. I would spend my undivided attention on the Quentranzi without troubling over its games.” Brit moved to stand in front of the figure while Zreal stood in the shadows to the right. As the summoning began, Zreal steeled his nerves. He had never actually seen a Quentranzi before, but if the power and horror that the lesser major demons were capable of was any indication, the octagon had better be perfect.

  Brit softly chanted in a language Zreal did not understand, and a dull green light began to pulsate in the lines of the octagon. Brit repeatedly chanted the name “Kabriza” with increased intensity.

  * * *

  In the lower planes of the abyss, a large gray demon was devouring a smaller fiend. It raised its massive, horned head at a distant call. The call was coming from one of the higher planes, but the thing had never heard of such power coming from there. The rage caused from hearing its name gave way to curiosity, and thus Kabriza heeded the call.

  * * *

  The lines of the octagon began to glow wildly, pulsating between green and blue. To Zreal’s surprise, the octagon expanded to accommodate the large abysmal denizen. Foot-high flames appeared at each corner of the octagon seal that also flickered in hues of green and blue. The center of the seal was distorted with haze, and the wall nearest the seal began to blur. A sickening sense of wrongness crept into the room that was so strong, Zreal thought he might choke. It was as though the air he breathed was becoming tainted.

  After a few moments that seemed like hours to Zreal, the seal darkened until it was pitch black, and through that blackness stepped Kabriza. If it were not for the strict instructions by Brit to remain hidden, and the fear of disappointing the Drek, Zreal would have cried out at the sight of the monstrosity. His eyes widened in amazement at the sight of the thing.

  It stood fourteen feet tall, and its arms were so long that its clawed hands hung merely two feet from the floor. Its huge gaping maw was littered with sharp zigzagging teeth that resembled a pile of broken daggers. Two horns protruded from the bottom of its forehead, pointing straight out and curling upward like long hooks. The spikes protruding from its back looked as if they could cut through the strongest armor, and its legs were as thick as the branch of a great oak. It narrowed its glowing red eyes at Brit. For a time it stood there, arms hanging in front of its torso, tapping the sixth toe on its left foot. Brit faced the fiend, unmoved and calm.

  ***

  Chapter Two

  Kenjiro’s robe-like yoroi and hakama ruffled in the morning breeze as he sat, eyes closed, legs crossed, and body erect in his daily morning meditation at the base of his favorite oak atop Mount Yamanake. A frown creased his forehead, and his eyes snapped open.

  He took several steadying breaths while he reoriented himself. Something dark and incredibly evil had thrown him from his meditation, and the effect was jarring. What was that?

  He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the house he shared with his younger sister. Had she felt it? Kenjiro figured she must have. He doubted whatever that evil was that had snatched him from his serenity could be anything from this world.

  He took his time, stretching out his legs and arms, then stood. He took a deep breath of the cool morning air and blew it out in a mist in front of his face. This wouldn’t be good.

  * * *

  West of the hill where Kenjiro sat in meditation, a small house was nestled at the base of yet another hill that was covered in grass and towering, moss-covered trees. The exterior of the house was unremarkable, yet the interior was decorated with immaculately polished wood paneled floors, and rice paper sliding doors connecting the various rooms throughout the house.

  Akemi stood at the window of the living room, admiring the nightingale that lived in a tree outside her room. Although it usually sang to her at night, it sometimes perched outside the living room window, and she would sometimes throw a few bits of food to it in exchange for a morning song.

  She stepped outside the house and filled her lungs with the crisp mountain air. Her smile changed to a frown when she felt a darkness creeping on her. She looked to the sky, as though the infinite blue canopy sprinkled with puffy white clouds held the answer.

  “Evil energy,” she thought aloud. It had been some time since she’d hunted. Had that time come again?

  She stepped out of the trees to see the familiar mated pair of swans floating across the surface of the nearby lake. Her smile at the sight of the beautiful birds was tinged with regret. The world was such a beautiful place, but it was colored with such horrible darkness.

  She moved on, passing through the trees. The location of her home always left the opportunity to explore something new, for the mountains and hillsides of Yamanake were vast and plentiful. She came upon a large tree that looked to be at least thirty feet tall. Nice place to have a look around, she thought. The muscles in her legs tightened, and Akemi crouched and leaped atop the nearest branch. She continued to leap from branch to branch until she was at the very top of the tree, where she surveyed the miles of land below, stretching into the distance as far as she could see. There was a village not more than a few more hours that would be awake by now.

  “You can’t move quiet enough that I cannot hear you, brother,” Akemi said, not bothering to turn and face Kenjiro as she spoke.

  Kenjiro grunted. He’d spotted Akemi and pursued her until she had come to the tree. He’d waited for a more undetectable approach, slipping from branch to branch of the neighboring trees making little sound before he’d crept behind her. Just once, he wanted to catch her unaware. It was a game they’d played since they were children, and one he’d always lost.

  “Today is strange,” he said.

  “You feel it, too.”

  “There are strange energies everywhere,” Kenjiro said. “Evil energy. I have a feeling we will see a bit of excitement soon.”

  “Perhaps,” Akemi replied, and a heartbeat later, Kenjiro was gone as quickly and quietly as he’d come. The ninja smiled to herself. Samurai never traveled through the trees. As much as her brother claimed his disdain for the methods traditional to the ninja, some of Akemi’s methods had crept into his own, even if he wasn’t as proficient. She reached behind her back and drew out her sword, Sekimaru. “Perhaps,” she repeated as she analyzed her sword, remembering their past battles together.

  She slipped the sword back into its sheath and made her way home.

  ***

  Chapter Three

  Kenyatta stood on top of the jagged rocks overlooking the ocean. In Jamaica, the ocean water was a beautiful blend of blue with a slight hint of green. Through the clear water one could see the many exotic fish that were commonplace to the island, although lately he was seeing some specimens that were new to the place.

  The waves from the ocean collided with the rocks below, spraying Kenyatta’s clean-shaven face. He closed his eyes and basked in the wonder of the ocean. The wind seemed to blow in a soothing rhythm, and was just the right temperature between cool and warm. Kenyatta crouched on his rock and eyed a most colorful fish. It was a strange, almost diamond-shaped fish with
a black body and white dots and bits of yellow. It snapped at any fish that came too close. It reminded him of his grandfather, and Kenyatta smiled. He too was a snappy one.

  Kenyatta remembered once when he was a child and had gone into his grandfather’s room to look for some money to buy a snow cone with. He found some money, and quickly and quietly took what he needed and left. Just before he was able to turn the knob on the back door, he received a hard smack on the back of his head. He’d turned to see his grandfather staring down at him, arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

  “Grampa! I was jyas goin’ ta get me a cone.” Before the young Kenyatta could utter another word, his grandfather struck him across the back of the head again, gave him a long period of fussing and scolding, and told him not to do it again. Then he’d given Kenyatta extra money and told him to buy a cone for both of them. Kenyatta had wanted to smile but thought better of it and just took the money and did what he was told.

  Thoughts of his grandfather always brought a smile to Kenyatta’s face. Grandpa was a snappy old badger, but deep down he was as kind as the breeze of the ocean.

  His mind snapped back to the present, and he leaped backward in a back flip and landed in a skid behind the man who had just charged him from behind. The stranger spun and charged again, throwing a series of sideways kicks and straight angled punches. Kenyatta parried and dodged, then counterattacked.

  The attacker threw a wide left hook punch, which Kenyatta blocked with his forearm. The attacker anticipated the block and countered with a straight snap kick to the groin. Kenyatta threw his hips back, and the other man punched straight out, connecting with the top of Kenyatta’s forehead. Accepting the blow, Kenyatta returned it with a backward leaning sideways kick to the attacker’s chest.

  Both stumbled back, but recovered. For several heartbeats they studied each other. The attacker straightened and laughed.

  “I guess I can give you credit. You never would just take a hit and be done with it.”