Fitz held her close, her head pressed against his chest. “We’re going to make it through all of this together. I promise.”
— 19 —
Azrael entered what was once the world’s most advanced and powerful linear accelerator, a monumental achievement in the field of particle physics. It was now the world’s largest collection of heretics and traitors.
Elijah walked beside him, fresh scars and wounds healing nicely. Puckered flesh from bullet holes were covered in reddened scabs and black stitches. Despite injuries that would debilitate, if not kill, a normal human, Elijah walked with a powerful gait.
“You appear strong, but how do you feel?” Azrael asked.
“Ready to fight again,” Elijah said, head bowed. “I hold the faith. Pain does not matter.”
They paused just inside the linear accelerator where the loyal old doctor, Murphy, waited for them. He bowed, his hunched back making it seem almost painful. “Prophet, I am ready to show you our newest creation.”
“Good, take us.”
Murphy turned, talking as they walked. “I would like to show you his strength in comparison to some of the Scions we’ve made previously. I hope you will be pleased.”
Murphy took them past a bevy of long metal tubes and wires, all covered in snaking red vines. Moans and anguished cries filled the concrete passage. A pungent mix of body odor, blood, and human waste hung on the humid air.
He ignored the hands grasping at him for help. Cocooned human slaves hung along the walls and ceilings. With their success in Las Vegas, the New Gods had nearly doubled the number of heretics serving their purgatory here.
“How many of these will join the chosen?” Azrael asked.
“We have enough VX-102 to administer to approximately three hundred immediately,” the old doctor said. “Many of them would be physically ready by the time we invade Galveston.”
“Physically, but not mentally,” Azrael clarified, stabbing a claw toward the fierce soldier.
He paused by a man with veins bulging over his naked muscles. A crew cut crested his bloodied head. He directed hard eyes full of rage at Azrael. He was one of the recent arrivals. No doubt an experienced and well-trained soldier.
The man screamed against the glue covering his mouth, his muscles straining and eyes bulging. The webbing snaking from his nostrils and mouth prevented him from uttering anything more than a guttural cough.
Elijah bared his teeth, snarling at the man, who glared back as if he wanted to fight.
“I like this one,” Azrael said. “He will serve me well. Start with him.”
“Yes, Prophet,” Murphy said. “It takes longer to break down the mind than the body, and this one will be a good test.”
“You have continued to exceed my expectations, even in your frail body.”
“I have worked with our Scions and masterminds to ensure the proper amount of physical duress is applied, along with the constant deluge of promises of a better future for themselves and humanity if they choose to hold the faith,” the doctor said. “I find this combination of physical discomfort and psychological assurances alters their mindset quickest.”
“Excellent.”
He strode past more new prisoners, clawed hands laced together behind his cape. These soldiers were all wonderful specimens to carry out the physical labor required to expand the New Gods’ empire.
Normal humans were not the only creatures imprisoned here.
“The sight of these animals makes me sick,” Elijah said, spitting on the floor.
All along these walls were the mutated bodies of Fallen Scions. These were the rebellious ones, the ones that the mental reprogramming regimen hadn’t quite worked on.
“None of these beasts have complied with even intense levels of reprogramming,” Murphy said. “They retain a defiant nature that I have not been able to break.”
“A shame,” Azrael said. “We wasted precious VX-102 on their pathetic bodies.”
“Still they may serve some good, Prophet,” Elijah said.
“Certainly,” Azrael said. “They make for even better physical laborers than the humans. They’re stronger, faster. We have ways of controlling them, even if they shirk the mental leashes we try to fasten around their minds.”
“Yes, of course, Prophet,” Elijah said. “I merely suggest that they may also make good practice prey for our elite Scions. Human prisoners are too easy for us to hunt and dispatch. These ones may help us to better train our Scion forces in the days ahead.”
Azrael raised a clawed hand, and Elijah flinched. Instead of delivering a punishing blow, Azrael merely clapped the Scion’s shoulder. “That’s an excellent idea. This is one of the many reasons I gave you the general’s position. A beast like the general or any other Alpha Variant can only really think about their primal needs, killing and eating. But you, my blessed creation, are so much more than that.”
“Thank you, Prophet. I live to serve.”
The sudden sounds of screams and tearing flesh rose over the chorus of pained groans.
“What’s going on?” Azrael asked. “Have you lost control of these beasts?”
Murphy wringed his knobby hands together. “No, no, Prophet. I swear it.”
Azrael picked up his pace past the rows of the Fallen Scions and human heretics. His eyes locked onto a single Scion standing in the middle of the pathway. Blood dripped down his flesh. Around his feet were the disemboweled corpses of three other Scions.
Elijah stepped defensively in front of Azrael. To Azrael’s surprise, Murphy hurried ahead, reaching the Scion whose back was turned to them.
“Stop!” Murphy said.
The Scion slapped the doctor to the side.
Azrael growled and pushed Elijah out of the way. He strode out to meet this Scion. The beast stood almost a foot taller than him, and thick muscles swelled under blood-soaked flesh. Healing surgical scars traced up and down naked flesh. Fangs protruded from his wormy lips.
“Do you know who I am?” Azrael shouted in a crackling voice.
Elijah hurried over to stand next to
