“Recognize your master!” Azrael screamed.
He grabbed the Scion around his meaty throat. The Scion resisted at first, but as soon as he locked eyes, the warrior stopped struggling.
All aggression immediately evaporated, and Azrael loosened his grip.
The Scion dropped to one knee. “Prophet, I am sorry.”
Murphy stood and plucked sticky red vines off his white coat.
“Who is this?” Azrael asked.
“My latest creation,” Murphy replied. “The one we recovered from Mount Katahdin.”
“What is your name?” Azrael asked.
Elijah snarled again at the other Scion, still ready to strike.
“I have no name yet, Prophet,” said the Scion.
“What was your name?” Azrael asked.
“Nick,” the Scion said. “But that was another lifetime, before I was chosen.”
“Nick,” Azrael said. He disliked the plebian way it clicked off his tongue. Such an uninspired name for a chosen Scion with this power. “Why have you killed these Fallen?”
“Prophet, I told him to wait for us,” Murphy said. “I told him—”
“Silence. I did not ask you.”
The Scion gestured toward empty spaces along the wall where the Fallen Scions had been cocooned. “They were speaking blasphemy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was watching the prisoners as Murphy asked, but they spoke ill of your name.”
“What did they say?”
“I cannot repeat such heretical sayings.”
“You will, and you will do it now,” Azrael said. “Unless you are one of the Fallen.”
The Scion from Katahdin shook. Not from fright, as far as Azrael could tell, but rage.
“They said that you would lead us all right to our deaths,” the Scion once called Nick said. “That the bitch Ringgold would have us all killed, and you were an idiot to believe you could defeat them.”
Azrael laughed. “That’s what they believed?”
The Scion nodded.
“You heard nothing but the blathering of mindless idiots,” Azrael said. He turned to the doctor. “Who were they?”
“These prisoners were former soldiers, guards from outposts in Florida.”
“They watched the fall of their outpost, they were chosen, given this treatment, and they still had hope of victory?” Azrael asked. “These heathens are better off dead.”
He walked down the passage, eyeing the shredded flesh of the Fallen Scions, their white bone protruding from red muscle and congealed blood.
“You did all this by yourself?” Azrael asked.
“I did.”
“He’s one of my best creations,” Murphy said. “I had hoped he would restrain himself enough that you could see this display of power in person. We can prepare another batch of prisoners, if you’d like.”
Azrael looked at the remains of the Fallen Scions this beast had destroyed. “That won’t be necessary. I’m assigning him to my personal team.”
Elijah seemed to rear back slightly. Perhaps he was jealous or worried this new warrior would steal honor from him.
That was good. Healthy competition among his ranks drove their strength and power.
Azrael looked back to the new Scion. “Tell me who you were when you were a human.”
“I was a father, a protector. A husband until…”
“This family? Where are they?”
The Scion shook again, golden eyes bulging from his head. His nostrils flared. “The man known as Beckham took them from me. He and a human traitor, a boy named Timothy, attacked my home. They called in an air strike that slaughtered all the innocent men, women, and children the New Gods so graciously sheltered in Mount Katahdin.”
“Ah, Beckham. I know him well, but this Timothy, he’s new to me.” Azrael stepped closer. “You want vengeance. You want retribution for what they did to you.”
“Yes, Prophet.”
“I understand. Look at me, Scion.”
Their golden eyes met.
“Forget your name. Remember your thirst for revenge. You are Abaddon, the destroyer of heretics.”
“Thank you, Prophet.”
“Now let us find some prisoners to feast on,” Azrael said.
Elijah and Abaddon marched with him back toward the human prisoners. Their eyes hungrily examined each writhing heretic.
“Soon you will be feasting on the flesh of your enemies, and tasting the sweet blood pumping through their veins,” Azrael said. “Team Ghost, Kate Lovato, Jan Ringgold, and the most infamous heretic, Reed Beckham, will be our final victory.”
***
Kate wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She had just finished unloading the last box of laboratory supplies from the transport truck into their new lab in the Galveston hospital.
Moving the laboratory from Houston to Galveston had taken her, Sammy, Leslie, and Ron the better part of the morning, but she knew it was necessary. The Allied States simply couldn’t afford to keep defending Houston and Galveston. They had to consolidate their forces, and that included the science team.
Leslie motioned to the boxes in the laboratory. “Kate, why don’t you go see your family for lunch. We can take care of unloading everything and finishing the anthrax bacteria cultures.”
“I can help,” Kate said.
“I remember the last time I saw my daughter,” Ron said, voice choking up. “And my God, it wasn’t enough. That was eight years ago, and if I could go back, I would give anything to spend one extra day with her instead of spending so much time in the lab.”
“Kate, my whole family is in this lab right now,” Sammy said. “You all are the only ones I got left. And frankly, I’ve spent enough time with you three.” She gave Kate a grin. “But you have other people to see. Other people who need you, even if it’s only for a moment.”
Kate got the message. Her team was right. There was no way any of them could know what might happen tomorrow, but she could control what happened now.
“Thanks, I hope you all know how much you mean to me,” Kate said. “I’ll be back soon as I can.”
“Don’t hurry too much,” Sammy said, giving her a wink.
Kate left the hospital and melted into the throngs of civilians and soldiers flooding through the streets of Galveston, finding new temporary shelters or carrying out orders to bolster the island’s already formidable defenses.
She hoped that all this extra effort was enough, because every single person she cared about in this world was on this little patch of Texas.
In front of the apartment building where her family was sheltered, she saw Beckham
