Adrienne Kama - The Nephilim War 03 - Resurrection.pdf - Adrienne Kama - widez2

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The Nephilim War:

Resurrection

Adrienne Kama

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Cover art by Jenny Dixon, April 2007

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s

imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or

events is merely coincidence.

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Chapter One

Raven paced. He knew his behavior would be a clear indicator to his interrogator

of his mental state, but he didn't care. The last thing he wanted to do was mess this up.

Too much time had passed and he had suffered too much to let this summons go to waste.

So much was at stake; his sanity, his happiness, his very existence hung in the balance.

He couldn’t sit quietly while so much was set against him.

He dragged his fingers through his hair, knowing it was far too wild and

bedraggled for his current surroundings. What he didn't know was why he had been sent

for. Whatever the reason, he would use the opportunity to finally free himself.

"You'll find your wait more pleasant if you relax, Raven. Sit. Enjoy the music. I

find there's nothing a good song can't remedy." The receptionist stared up at him, tapping

one silver clog to the beat and bobbing her head back and forth. Her glasses were perched

precariously at the tip of her nose and her voice was a perverse mix of Ethel Merman and

Grandma Moses. "Oh, I just love Wagner. He's my guilty pleasure. Ride of the Valkyries

is my favorite of all his compositions."

He glanced again at the tiny sentry behind the desk. "So the music artist was a

rebel." Raven could respect a rebel, someone who strayed from the norm. An individual

like he was. Though if things went his way today, his days of individuality were history.

"What did he do?"

"If you weren't German, he didn't much like you. He was a little too patriotic, and

as it would turn out, he became a major inspiration for Adolph Hitler."

Now that was a name Raven recognized and loathed. He paused to listen. The

melodic refrain dropped to a somber melody and teased. Slowly, exquisitely, it built,

gradually becoming louder. The notes fell faster, until finally it rose again in triumphant

exultation. It was a masterful composition. It made him feel like finding an old Viking

ship, hiring some Vikings, and riding out to pillage and ravish. "Sounds like a battle

song."

"I guess it does."

"Raven."

Raven turned to face the man filling the open doorway. He looked precisely as

Raven remembered, tall, with close-cropped black hair. His cherubic mouth and rounded

cheeks had always made him look serene, but today that serenity was marred by the deep

creases around his eyes.

It was like stepping back in time. "Michael."

"Please," Michael said, motioning Raven in. "Time is of the essence."

Raven walked to the door, stepped into the sterile space behind his host, crossed

to the lone piece of furniture in the room--an unadorned oak desk--and stood opposite

Michael, who had stationed himself behind the desk to wait.

Michael waved his hand absently. “Have a seat, Raven.”

Raven nearly emitted a gasp of surprise when he felt the pressure of solid wood

against the back of his leg. Twisting half way around, he saw an overstuffed armchair

now sat in what had been empty space a moment ago.

“Slick,” Raven muttered, as he settled his weight into the thick cushions.

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Michael had created a similar chair for himself, and now sat facing Raven, fingers

entwined and resting on the desk before him.

Raven decided to let Michael speak before he threw himself on Michael’s mercy.

He might as well maintain whatever dignity he could for as long as possible.

"I trust your journey here was comfortable?"

Raven folded his hands in his lap and focused all of his energy on maintaining a

calm façade. "I have no complaints in that regard."

"I will be to the point, Raven. Azriel has escaped."

Raven shook his head, thinking for a moment that he hadn’t heard correctly.

"What do you mean he escaped?"

"I don't know how he did it. He was bound in the outer darkness of Dudael.

Escape in any manner should have been impossible."

"I know well the skill of your binding men." Raven lifted his wrists to display the

healing red welts marring his skin. "And I know the difficulties inherent in existing far

below the earth in a place so old even time has forgotten it. If you have brought me here

to heap new accusations on me …." He swallowed the next words and forced his fists

into his lap. This was his one chance at freedom. He didn't want to be sent back to his

prison. Arguing with Michael would be the quickest way to see his plans ruined. "I don't

know how he escaped. He’s the only who has managed it. The rest of the Watchers

remain captive."

"I didn't bring you here to accuse you. I know you didn't have anything to do with

the escape. I brought you here because I need your help."

Loud, raucous laughter echoed off the cream-white walls of the office. Raven

couldn't help himself. "You come to me for help?" He threw his head back and laughed

again. "How very rich of you, old friend. You want me to come to your aid when you

refused to lift a finger to come to mine?"

"You made your own choices, Raven."

"You want me to round the rogue up and take him back to Dudael with me? You

forget, his prison was kept a secret from us. I wouldn't know where within Dudael to take

him. I suppose I could take him to be bound with the rest of us, but Azriel always thought

he was above us."

Lips drawn down into a scowl, Michael edged closer to the desk. "Things are

more serious than you think, Raven. The future of man …."

"And what do I care for the future of man, our Father's chosen few? Why do you

care what happens to man? They've never done anything for you." He rose from his seat

and paced. He’d been ready to throw himself on Michael's mercy. He would have done

anything to free himself from his unfair imprisonment, but he would not lower himself so

far as to become a patron of men.

"Hear me out, Raven. Are you so ready to return to your pit and your chains?"

"I am not playing the patsy for men. Or for you. What, do you propose, I help

them so you can pat me on the head then send me back to Dudael?"

"Hear me out. Please."

It was the please that got him. That one word told Raven more than anything else

Michael could have said. Against his better judgment, Raven settled back into his chair.

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Michael rose and went to a water cooler that had appeared sometime when Raven

wasn’t looking. Michael poured a cup of cold water for himself and one for Raven.

Returning, he handed Raven a cup and sat on the corner of his desk. "Azriel flies with the

wind. If he succeeds with his plans, a war unlike any you have ever seen will rage. Unlike

the first war that ripped the heavens into two factions. All manner of creatures will walk

the earth. Already the ghouls have come out of hiding. If Azriel has his way, evil will

reign. Blood will flow like water, and fire will pour from the heavens. Life as we know it

will come to an end, and the future of good will hang in the balance."

"Haven't lost your touch for the melodramatic, I see. Anyway, I've read the book.

Hell, I watched John write the book. Fire and brimstone and all the rest of it."

"This isn't revelation, Raven, and it's not Armageddon. As you know, that book

has been written, the end decided. What faces us now is the unknown. If Azriel succeeds,

anything is possible. Do you understand that? Anything."

"Even if such a thing were to happen, why should I care? It would mean my

freedom."

Michael set his cup down and stared levelly at Raven. "Come on, Raven, I know

you. I know you wouldn't want this any more than I would."

Raven turned from Michael and got to his feet again, pacing. "If it meant my

freedom, I wouldn't care. You don't know what it's been like for me. Millennia after

millennia pass, and I remain bound in that pit. You cannot know what it's like, you in

your lofty office. I have the stench of foul bodies as my air, and the heat of the earth

around me. I have my own desires to keep me company and no woman to ever fill them.

This human body I left the heavens to have has become a prison for me. Lust, Michael,

and want and need, that is what I've become. I want my freedom. If Azriel's little act of

treason sets me free, I won't stop it. No matter the cost."

"Raven."

He stopped pacing to face Michael. "What Michael?"

"Help us and you shall have your freedom. You have my word."

Raven stared, unconvinced. "And what does The Other say?"

"It was on His word that I sent for you."

Raven collapsed into his chair. "But why me? Why not you?"

"You know nobody from the heavenly realm can interfere."

"And men? Why can't they help their own?"

"No man can stand up to the power of Azriel. You know that. And he must be

destroyed."

There was the laughter again. Raven couldn't help himself. "Do you forget the

rules so easily? I can't kill Azriel. An angel cannot kill another, fallen or not."

"Of course you can't kill Azriel. Nevertheless, he must be stopped."

"You have your nerve."

"We've tried to contact him ourselves. He refuses to answer our calls. We've sent

many to seek him, to convince him of the ramifications of what he's doing."

"Oh, I see." Raven folded his arms over his chest and glared. "Now you want me

to step in."

"Raven, please. You have to understand."

Adrienne Kama - The Nephilim War 03 - Resurrection.pdf

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