Apocalypse Rising Book 1: Descendant Read online

  Apocalypse Rising Book 1: Descendant

  By Mychael Black

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 Mychael Black

  ISBN 9781634868877

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Apocalypse Rising Book 1: Descendant

  By Mychael Black

  Caeli, the realm between Heaven and Earth

  Mikhail grimaced at the images in the cloudy mirror. Andrew Blackwell. The young man wasn’t quite what Mikhail had hoped to find. Then again, after the last world war nearly wiped humanity off the map, there wasn’t much left of belief and hope. Society struggled on, people merely surviving.

  Mikhail grunted as he observed the young man’s life in flashes—the death of Andrew’s parents; the emotionless trysts with nameless men; the casual, almost routine, sidestep to avoid the bag-lady he passed every day.

  This was their savior?

  “Why me?” Mikhail grumbled.

  “Aside from a direct order?”

  Mikhail tried to ignore the man in the doorway. “I have Caeli. Why send me down to fetch such a prime example of humanity?”

  If Gabriel sensed the sarcasm, he paid it no mind. “Michael has his reasons, Mikhail. As his voice at times, it is my duty to ensure his commands are followed. You have your orders: find the man, and protect him.”

  “Where do I find him? New York City, even now, is huge. I don’t have infinite sight, remember?”

  “Madam LeMay will know.”

  Mikhail glanced over at the archangel. “The old fortune teller? Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell me now?”

  Gabriel smiled. “Some things you must do on your own.”

  Turning back to the mirror, which now reflected his own face instead of Andrew Blackwell’s life, Mikhail sighed. Sometimes, being low on the angelic totem pole just sucked.

  * * * *

  New York City

  “Seek him out in the city.” Madam LeMay, with her gnarled, wrinkled hands and near-sightless gray eyes, flipped another card onto the table. Her brow creased, adding yet more lines to an already withered face. “He is young, successful. He surrounds himself with only the best, the latest in technology.”

  Mikhail studied the card face-up before him. Under normal circumstances, the Knight of Pentacles represented a man of diligence, thorough and hard-working. In its reverse, as it appeared now, the card represented a man who was pessimistic, who cared more about structure and safe choices than taking a chance on life.

  “Thank you for your time, madam.” Mikhail placed several folded bills on the table. The amount would cover her living expenses for the next two months at least, but to him, it was of no consequence.

  The woman inclined her head in what Mikhail assumed was some sort of thank you. She gathered up her cards but left the Knight. Much to Mikhail’s surprise, she slid the card across the table to him. “You will find him. Do not let him deny his heritage.”

  Mikhail blinked. The woman gave him an unassuming smile as she once again spread and gathered her cards. Had he imagined it? Dumbfounded, he watched her. The last card left on the table this time was not the Knight, but the Tower—the fall. What was the connection? There was always a connection with Madam LeMay. The Knight of Pentacles—the man he sought. Mikhail wondered what sort of human John the Baptist’s descendant really was. The card wasn’t entirely heartening, especially when followed, more or less, by the Tower.

  Without another word, Mikhail left the woman’s home and stepped out into the warm July day. He shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking. In the city, the teller had said. At his current pace, Mikhail figured it would take him all day to get from the suburban outskirts where he was, to the heart of the metropolis—what had once been New York City.

  He grumbled to himself and plodded on, ignoring the urge to go against orders to save some time. The blaring of a horn startled him before he realized it came from a nearby house. Through the broken window, he caught sight of something golden in color. Then a figure stepped into sight, the trumpet’s mouthpiece pressed to an old man’s lips. Mikhail scowled up at the sky.

  “I only thought about it,” he muttered. The rumble of distant thunder let him know he’d been heard.

  Mikhail was reminded of how much he detested Earth cities a hundred times before he reached the outer limits of Manhattan. Humans had managed to bounce back after the war, to a degree. Many had gone back to some semblance of normality, which seemed to mean shouting at each other and crowds of them filling the cracked sidewalks. There were very few automobiles left but judging by the unrelenting noise of traffic—human and mechanical—Mikhail had a sneaking suspicion that every car, truck, and motorcycle remaining on Earth was flying down the haphazard streets of this damnable hub of urban decay.

  To top off his already foul mood, he had no idea where he was going. How would he know the descendant of John from all the other bland faces in this place?

  ::You will know.::

  “Oh, there you are. You could have been more forthcoming with details, you know.” Mikhail tried to ignore the stares of those around him. Didn’t everyone speak telepathically with their boss?

  ::This mission serves several purposes. You will find your charge in due time. Trust your instincts, Mikhail—they will not lead you astray.::

  With a sigh, Mikhail followed the flock as it migrated across the street during a lull between madcap motorists. He merged into the crowd, gliding effortlessly through it as people passed him in both directions. He didn’t stop or slow down to see if anyone noticed that his boots didn’t quite touch the pavement. Then again, from all he’d heard about this place, he had a feeling no one here would care.

  ::Can you feel him? You are close.::

  “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Mikhail grimaced and quickened his pace.

  Truth was, he did feel. Something prickled his skin, the sensation foreign and somewhat annoying. All around him loomed the ruins of New York’s once-proud skyline, threatening to topple over onto the peons below. Then he stopped and stared up at what was left of a high-rise towering above him. This was it.

  “Good afternoon,” said the armed gorilla who was acting as doorman. He gave Mikhail a not-so-pleasant smirk. “Can I help you?”

  “A little help would be nice right about now, Gabriel.” Mikhail heard the archangel’s chuckle in his head, then Mr. Pleasant-and-Pumped stepped to the side and pulled the door open without another word.

  On the inside, the
building wasn’t nearly as bad. Someone had actually made an effort with this one and fixed it up. Light from a single, bright, candle chandelier reflected off the cracked but polished gray marble floor. Antique gold sconces—some broken, some holding more candles—lined the walls in irregular intervals. Oversized stone urns sat on the floor in-between the sconces, although there was not a single speck of anything green in them.

  In the center of the lobby stood a circular desk. A security guard, a little more genteel-looking than the primate at the door, looked up from where he sat. His expression combined disdain with a touch of suspicion.

  “Yes?”

  Good day to you, too, asshole.

  Mikhail gave the man his most charming smile. It didn’t seem to make a bit of difference. “I’m looking for Andrew Blackwell.”

  “And you are…?”

  “A friend of the family.” Hey, at least it wasn’t a total lie.

  Gaze narrowed, the guard didn’t appear to be convinced. “Name?”

  Mikhail sighed. ::Gabriel…::

  The guard blinked and motioned toward a set of stairs. “Number twenty-three. Nothing but three floors left.” He turned back to whatever he’d been doing before.

  Taking that as his cue, Mikhail left the man to his work and headed upstairs.

  * * * *

  Andrew nudged the man beside him with his foot. “Dude, get up. I gotta go to work.” When all he got in response was a grumble, Andrew got up out of bed and yanked the covers off. “Dale!”

  “Goddamn it!” Dale scowled up at him from under tousled hair. “What time is it?”

  “Eight. Now get up.” Andrew dropped the blanket on the floor. “I’m getting in the shower. Lock the door when you leave.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dale sat on the edge of the bed and yawned. “Can’t you take a day off or somethin’?”

  Andrew rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom. “Uh, right. All this shit takes money, remember? Still an economy. Gotta have the good stuff.”

  The thrum of the water soon drowned out Dale’s bitching, but Andrew thought he heard a “later” in there somewhere. He washed quickly, not wanting to overdo it on the water usage. Talk of clean water shortages was prevalent in even his social circle, and he tried to remain on the conservative end of the scale while maintaining a lifestyle of at least semi-luxury. He wondered if other cities that had rebuilt had similar issues, or if it was just a New York thing.

  Turning the water off, he grabbed a towel from what used to be a functional warming rack. Now, though, it simply served as a chrome towel bar. He dried and wrapped the towel around his waist, then went back into the bedroom.

  “Holy fuck!” He slammed back against the wall, heart going ninety miles an hour.

  The stranger seated on the bed looked amused, one dark eyebrow lifting. “Interesting way to put it, but I suppose if you swing that way—”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Andrew remained plastered to the wall, wishing he could merge with it and become invisible. His only route of escape would involve passing the man. “How the hell did you get in here?” Oh, he was so going to kick Dale’s ass…if he made it out of here.

  “Who I am depends on who you ask.”

  “Huh?” Andrew shook his head to clear the fog of panic from his brain. “If Dale let you in, I swear I’ll beat the motherfucker’s—”

  “Whoa, easy,” the man interrupted. “I don’t know anyone named Dale, so don’t get bent out of shape over him.”

  “Bent out of shape? I get out of the shower and find a strange man in my apartment, sitting on my bed, and you tell me not to get bent out of shape?”

  The man stood and Andrew tried desperately to flatten himself into the wall some more.

  Goddamn, this guy was tall. Like, giant-size, even compared to Andrew’s own six-foot-two. Broad shoulders, huge fucking arms and legs. He had to be at least seven and a half feet in height. He stepped closer until mere inches separated them.

  “My name is Mikhail.”

  Andrew knew he must have gone off the deep end when it took the man’s voice to tear his gaze from that body.

  “A-Andrew Spalding,” he stuttered. Shouldn’t he, like, call the cops, or…something…Oh, God, Mikhail smelled good. Unfortunately, the rest of Andrew thought so, too. He felt himself blush when his cock began to take interest.

  “You’re in danger, Andrew.” The words were breathed near Andrew’s lips, stealing his breath.

  “From who?” Andrew murmured, in a trance.

  The spell snapped as the front door flew off its hinges and splintered wood hurtled through the air at blinding speed.

  “From them.”

  Andrew didn’t have a chance to so much as blink before Mikhail jerked him close. White light flashed around them and it took all Andrew had not to scream as an unholy roar cut through the blinding brilliance.

  * * * *

  Andrew woke to the sound of two men, maybe three, arguing close by. He blinked his eyes open and sat up slowly. Wherever he was, he sure as hell wasn’t at home. He looked down at the bed and fingered the blanket beneath him. It was off-white, ultra-soft, and, much to his surprise, it warmed to his touch. He glanced around the room then, taking in the rest of his surroundings as he began to assess just what exactly happened.

  Focus, man, focus.

  Okay. Wild night of sex with Dale. Shower in the morning. Oh, yeah…hot but fucking weird dude sitting on his bed. Tall, sexy as sin. Andrew had been waiting for what he had stupidly hoped was going to be a kiss, but then light…and, goddamn, that roar. Andrew shuddered. It had been an unholy sound, and one he never wanted to hear again.

  And now, now he was here. But where the hell was here?

  The bed dominated the small space. In fact, he noticed, it was the only piece of furniture. There was one doorway, and it didn’t have a door—just an opening. Pale yellow light shone from the hallway outside, brighter to the right.

  Curiosity got the better of him and Andrew slipped out of bed. The floor, despite being stone, was warm on his bare feet. Only then did he realize he was no longer naked. He ran his hands down the white shirt, noting the way the smooth material shimmered in the dim light. The pants fitted perfectly and despite the rather lackluster shade of dark green, he wondered if maybe he could find some on Fifth Avenue. Well, if Fifth Avenue still existed as it once had been.

  Out in the hall, the voices were louder, and he thought he recognized one of them. Mikhail, huh? Interesting. Sounded…Russian, maybe? Were all Russian guys that tall? Andrew shook his head and made his way slowly down the stone hallway, following the light and the sound of arguing.

  He stopped in front of an open doorway, shock holding him right where he stood.

  Oh, Mikhail was there all right. But Andrew sure as fuck did not remember the wings. He would have remembered the wings. Big, black, feathered things, as long as Mikhail was tall. Holy…

  The argument died abruptly and Mikhail turned. “It seems we have company.”

  Andrew’s mouth opened. Nothing came out but a small, somewhat defeated, and thoroughly confused sound. One of the other men stepped around Mikhail and smiled. His hair was the same color as his wings, so black it was almost blue. He approached Andrew and held out a hand, like nothing was wrong.

  “We’ve been waiting for you, Andrew,” the man said. “I am Gabriel.”

  Andrew snapped his mouth shut and forced himself to shake the outstretched hand. “Andrew.”

  Gabriel nodded and didn’t let go. He drew Andrew into the room. “No doubt you are wondering where you are.”

  No shit, Sherlock. “Um. Yeah.” Among other things.

  Another man sat in a huge chair on the other side of a table. Well, sprawled in the chair, was more like it. His red hair hung loosely over his shoulders and although Andrew didn’t see any wings, he had the distinct feeling the man might indeed have them. Dark red eyes stared at him, much like a hawk watches its prey. Andrew instinctively stepped closer to Mikh
ail.

  “Andrew, you already know Mikhail,” Gabriel said. “This—” He gestured toward the quiet, predatory man in the chair “—is Uriel.”

  Mikhail’s arm went around Andrew. “You are safe, Andrew. For now, at least.”

  Pushing away, Andrew stepped back and glared at each one of them in turn. “Where am I? Why am I here?”

  Mikhail sighed and raked a hand through his dark brown hair, but it was Gabriel who answered.

  “Andrew, Mikhail brought you here to keep you safe. Trust us.”

  “Why should I trust you? You still haven’t answered my questions! Why was my front door blown off its hinges? Do you have any idea how much that’ll cost to fix? Shit like that’s hard to come by nowadays, ya know? And what’s this about my safety? I was perfectly damn fine until Mr. Tall, Dark, and Weird popped into my place.”

  “The Hounds are nipping at his heels and he’s worried about his front door. Pity.”

  Andrew shot what he hoped was a nasty look at Uriel. The man seemed to be completely unmoved. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Uriel stood slowly. He was nearly a foot taller than Mikhail. Wings the color of fire spread out behind Uriel, and Andrew swore to fucking God the man’s eyes burned. Andrew forced himself to stay put, to stand his ground—even if the creature before him was the most imposing thing he’d ever seen.

  “Make no mistake, Andrew Spalding,” Uriel said in a deceptively quiet tone. “The Hounds will never stop chasing you. If they find you, you will die. Perhaps a bit of gratitude is in order.”

  Andrew wanted to sink into the motherfucking floor, just seep through the stone right then and there.

  “Your belongings mean nothing,” Uriel continued, every word making Andrew feel smaller, less significant. “Your work is pointless, your possessions are trivial, useless.” He stepped closer and Andrew felt awesome heat flow from Uriel’s body. “Your faith is pathetic.”

  “What the fuck does my faith have to do with anything?”

  “It has everything to do with this,” Gabriel said.

  Andrew groaned and shook his head. He took a couple steps back, away from Uriel and toward Mikhail. “Okay. Just…stop.” He glared at each one of them in turn. “What is going on? Let’s start there.”