Extinction Cycle: Dark Age
Book 4: Extinction Darkness
By Nicholas Sansbury Smith and Anthony J. Melchiorri
Copyright © January 1st 2019
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the authors.
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All it takes, is all you got. Never quit. Never surrender.
To the legion of Extinction Cycle readers, this book is for you. Thank you so much for following Team Ghost and all of the Extinction Cycle characters over the years. This series would not be what it is without the support of the fans, and I am eternally grateful for each and every one of you.
– Nicholas Sansbury Smith
Contents
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— Epilogue —
About the Authors
— 1 —
Azrael walked quietly on taloned feet, surveying the corpses littering the streets of Outpost Tulsa. The stench of death and rot carried on the crisp evening air. His men, Scions and humans both, reveled in that smell of victory, but he could not.
To him, one defeated outpost was not a real victory any more than a single step was a marathon.
His conquest was only just beginning.
One of his Scions, a creature named Jonah, bowed low in front of him.
“Prophet, we have him,” he growled, his voice scraping up from his gullet.
Jonah was one of the oldest of the Scions from the first batch of successful experiments. He had loyally served since his transformation from a weak human into the demigod he was today.
“Take me to him,” Azrael said with a snarl.
“Yes, Prophet.”
Jonah turned on his heels. He walked with the gait of a human, but his physique bore the fruits of over a decade of scientific research. Yellowed, needle-sharp teeth jutted from behind his sucker lips, and slitted nostrils were carved into his face where his nose once was. Golden eyes like a bird of prey scanned the road for any threats. Scything claws hooked from the ends of his fingers, filed down enough so he could use a rifle.
His body was much like Azrael’s. Only Azrael, the Prophet, was larger, the bones in his shoulders pushing against his flesh like an ancient knight’s armor, ominously protruding under the long black cloak he wore.
Underneath that cloak, body armor pressed tight against his flesh. He was strong, but he did not like to take unnecessary risks. A well-aimed bullet could still kill him.
Jonah stopped to sniff the air, then continued down another street.
Darkness had settled over the fallen outpost, but Azrael and his Scions didn’t need lights like humans. Those poor primitive great apes had weak eyesight, unlike the vision Azrael had bestowed on himself and his most ardent followers through genetic engineering. They could see as easily in the dark as they could in the middle of the day.
Black smoke drifted from craters in the asphalt, swirling on the cold wind. Charcoaled vehicles lined the streets between war-torn buildings and piles of scree. The glow of dwindling fires flickered over pale-fleshed Variants feeding on their human trophies.
“Our Thralls will eat well tonight,” Jonah said. A twisted grin formed over his beastly face. “The heretics are no match for the New Gods.”
“That’s because they chose the wrong path,” Azrael said, his clawed fingers curling into a quaking fist. “They misplaced their faith. They have wasted so many lives that could have been used to serve us.”
These heretics had been deceived by the false promises of a government that had betrayed them, mindlessly following sacrilegious leaders like President Jan Ringgold.
She told the nonbelievers that there was hope for humanity and promised victory. But the only hope for humanity was by joining the New Gods.
Slurping sounds filled the air as a pair of scrawny Thrall Variants dug into two dead soldiers near a machine gun nest. One of the monsters lifted its head, ropey entrails hanging from between its teeth.
The beasts were single-minded predators, but even they could be trained. If only the Allied States could be bent to his will as easily.
Sporadic gunshots echoed in the distance. The howls of hunting Thralls rose like the calls of demonic spirits. A human scream rang out and faded.
Each time the Prophet heard those terrorized screams of fear and pain, he felt a twinge of revulsion.
“I wish it did not have to be this way,” Azrael said.
“I know it pains you, Prophet.”
“They could be Scions of the New Gods. Just like you. Instead of death, I could give them new life.”
“Someday, they will understand what your promise brings them.”
Azrael held the keys to unrivalled technology and an army unlike anything the world had seen. And these so-called Allied States citizens could choose to follow him, never living a day in fear for the rest of their lives.
If only they would listen.
Jonah pointed a crooked claw at a large church between two tall office buildings. “The commander is in there.”
Half of
