Spirit Breaker (13 page)

No time to celebrate as the Lightwalker lashed out at him once again. Already dark contours grew visible nearby as the Reaper reconstituted itself. This entity was unstoppable!

Tendrils of energy engulfed his armor. But this time the suit failed to protect Talon. The Reaper held on with all its might, the ever-shifting form refusing to let go. The dead mass murderer’s horrific visage loomed mere inches before Talon, a withered, flayed bonemask that recalled the skeletal visions he’d had back in Mexico City.
 

Talon felt the suit succumbing to the entity’s sustained efforts. Cracks appeared, and then pieces of armor began breaking off. A keening shriek filled his helmet, the rage of the Reaper given full expression. Talon’s armor ripped and the chest plate hit the ground in an explosive spray of metal and circuitry. Other spirits, emboldened by the Reaper’s success, pulled on Talon’s arms and legs. They clung to the armor despite the waves of agony it must have triggered in their vibrating spectral forms. More armored plating snapped off and clattered to the ground, the skintight bodysuit shredding.
 

Spent, Talon joined his shattered necro-suit on the stone floor. Fully exposed now. Vulnerable. The remaining armor hung from his battered frame in tatters. The next attack would penetrate flesh.
 

The band of spirits tightened around him. Talon braced himself for the inevitable.
 

But then the specters froze. Almost as if some invisible force had snapped them back in mid-attack. The hands of the nearest ghost were still reaching for his exposed chest. The Reaper and his spectral forces hung in the air as if in suspended animation.

There was only one possible explanation.

Casca.

Talon whirled toward the billionaire. His benefactor’s left arm was drenched in blood, a red sickle in his other hand. His features remained invisible under the helmet, but Talon knew he still had to be mouthing the guttural words of some ancient incantation.
 

The protective circle had only been the first step. An effort designed to buy Casca enough time to complete the real ritual—one that required an offering of blood.

And it wasn’t over yet.

The specters began to rush toward the stunned Lightwalker. One by one, the entities slammed into him like sizzling bolts of lightning. A scream erupted from the psychic’s mouth and echoed across the plaza.

Talon fought back revulsion as he saw the stark outlines of the cultists’ faces beneath the Lightwalker’s flesh, struggling to break free of their new prison. Somehow Casca had forced the spirits back on the psychic. Their efforts distended the blood-smeared white hoodie, their inhuman features stretching the Lightwalker’s skin and distending bone. Dominating the screaming faces of the dead was the Reaper. His mouth scowled with unbridled fury.

Talon recalled Adira’s earlier words:
If the Reaper’s spirit took possession of a living person, and if that person were killed, both souls would phase over into the afterlife.

He knew what had to be done and strode up to the writhing psychic with quick steps. The Lightwalker’s features looked wizened, his spent life force having aged him prematurely.
 

Without hesitation, Talon grabbed the psychic’s neck and wrenched it with all his strength. Bone cracked, and the Lightwalker’s lifeless body slumped forward. The parade of ever-shifting faces stopped before he reached the ground.
 

Talon breathed deeply. It was over. His eyes found Adira and Casca, now the only signs of life in a place of death. In their futuristic necro-helmets they looked like triumphant robotic warriors towering over some post-apocalyptic battlefield.
 

Talon turned back to the broken psychic at his feet.

Did the dead truly walk into the light? No one alive knew the answer. All he could hope was that the Reaper and his disciples dwelled in darkness, wherever they might be.
 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

ADIRA HAD MADE a promise and she intended to keep it. She was back at the crash site in the Santa Ana mountains.
 

This time around she wasn’t afraid.
 

The air stirred and rippled and the apparition flitted across her helmet’s visor.

“I know you’re scared,” she said. “Alone. Confused. But I can help you.”

The figure peeled from the shadows of the surrounding trees. A hint of alabaster features, haunted eyes.

She had gone over the crashed plane’s passenger list and looked at over a hundred faces. The heart-wrenching experience had driven home the full extent of the tragedy. Based on the photographs, she’d quickly established the identity of the spirit in the clearing. Maybe her psychic abilities had grown since the spectral attack back at the mall, or maybe they’d always been there, laying dormant, merely waiting to be awoken. But when she stared at the photograph of Harry Wells, a thirty-five year old investment banker, she’d felt a spark. This was the man she’d seen in the barren foothills. There was a seriousness of purpose to the face in the picture. He was the type of pragmatic man who believed only in that which he could see, hear and touch. The type of man who might not accept survival after death.

Even though the features of the apparition remained blurred, she recognized the man from the photograph.

“Harry, do you want to talk?”

“Where am I? Who are you?”

“My name is Adira. I’m hoping to help you. And to answer your question, you’re in the Santa Ana Mountains.” The words hung there.
 

“I’m on my way to Las Vegas”

“Not anymore.” She extended a hand toward the entity.
“You never arrived at your destination.”

The entity closed in. Adira remained strong and held her ground. She was determined to see this through, to help Harry move on to the next world.

“I was on a plane,”
he said slowly. “
I was looking at the mountains. And then I heard shrieks, someone was yelling…”

There was a sob, elongated and eerie, a pitiful sound not produced by human vocal chords.
”The woman next to me…she held my hand…”

“They’re waiting for you, Harry. Waiting for you to join them,” Adira said kindly.

“Are you sure?”

“Death is only the beginning.”

The Lightwalker’s ominous message now held seeds of hope, a promise of a greater destiny that lay ahead beyond the boundaries of human existence.

Detail and color returned to the ghost’s features, and the figure straightened. For a second he looked alive again. And then the presence was gone. Harry had finally joined the others.
 

Tears streamed down Adira’s face, but this time they were tears of joy.
 

***

Two days had passed since the climatic battle with the Reaper. Talon had demanded a sit-down with Casca—they needed to talk. The billionaire’s use of the occult ritual had been eating away at him, and he needed to air his feelings if this partnership was to have a future.

Casca picked a seafood restaurant near his Silicon Valley corporate headquarters. To Talon’s surprise, Casca was the one to cut right to the chase before they even ordered. “I know what’s on your mind, Sergeant.”
 

“We fight the occult, Casca. How can I trust a man who is tapping into the very forces we’re trying to defeat?”

“I understand how you feel, but please hear me out. If we’re to win this war, we’ll need to both understand our enemy—and adapt some of his tactics.”

“And what happens when the line begins to blur? When there’s no difference between us and them?”

“The pentacle around your neck, the demon slayer blade—these are magical relics, Talon, that tap into the light. Magical weapons. The ritual I used was an extension of that.”
 

Talon shook his head. “I’ve studied enough of your books to know it was a blood sacrifice.”

“That’s true,” Casca conceded.

“I’m worried. I’ve seen the books and occult items at your house. If you were to become corrupted by the one of these rituals or the items in your possession…”

“I’m treading lightly, I promise. But if something were to happen, I know of one man out there who would be able to stop me.”

Talon tightened his lips. “I hope it never comes to that.”

Casca pulled out a small metal case and handed it to Talon.
 

“What’s that?”

“Let’s call it an early Christmas present.

Talon opened the case and immediately recognized the item inside. It was the demon slayer blade that he’d lost during the fight with Zagan at Omicron.
 

“As promised, I made some calls. Detective Serrone was nice enough to get this out of evidence for me, no questions asked.”

“How is she?”

“Moving on with her life. Like we all should.”

Talon mulled this over but said nothing. After a moment, Casca held out his hand. “Peace for now?”

Talon looked deep into the billionaire’s eye and saw that the man’s intentions were pure. He took the hand in his own and shook on it. “Peace.”
 

Even though their talk had reassured him somewhat of Casca’s intentions, a famous quote from Nietzsche popped into his head:
“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself don’t become a monster…”
It would serve them well not to forget the philosopher’s insight into human nature. They were both at risk in their own way. War could erode one’s humanity.

Casca broke him out of his thoughts. “Have you ever been to Italy?”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m about to?”

“It would be that chance to trace the
Talone
family tree.”

“If you put it like that…”

“But first, let’s eat. I hear both the lobster and Brodetto are amazing here.”

Talon focused on the menu and pushed his concerns aside. As soon as the waiter took their order, he became thoughtful once more. His experiences in Ohio had taught him a vital life lesson: Death wasn’t the end. Somewhere out there, a part of Michelle went on. She might be waiting for the day when they’d be reunited again.
 

For now, he’d continue to battle the darkness—but when his time finally did come, he wouldn’t be afraid of the light.

THE END

Mark Talon returns this winter in SOUL JACKER.

A brutal crime lord plans on unleashing an ancient horror upon Paris and only one man stands in his way.
 

Occult Assassin #4: Soul Jacker (Now Available for Preorder)
-
Amazon US
Amazon UK

AVAILABLE NOW

 
Occult Assassin #3.5: COFFIN COLLECTOR: A SHORT STORY
 

Talon heads to Italy to face a chilling coffin maker who has acquired the casket of a famed practitioner of the dark arts.

GET YOUR COPY HERE!
 

Amazon US
Amazon UK

Thank you so much for reading!

Dear reader, as an indie writer I don’t have the resources of a huge publisher behind me. If you enjoyed Spirit Breaker, please consider writing a review. This can be a sentence or as long as you wish. To show my appreciation for your help, I will offer a FREE COPY of COFFIN COLLECTOR, the Occult Assassin novella. For your convenience, you can follow this direct REVIEW LINK below:

http://www.amazon.com/review/create-review/ref+cm_cr_dp_wrt_btm?ie=UTF8&asin=B00YPU0R3G

Once the review has posted, please email me at
[email protected]
 

Subject: Collector and I will gift the story.

Thank you for your support and your time!

Don’t miss the next releases in the OCCULT ASSASSIN series.
 

Find out about the latest releases and giveaways by joining my spam-free mailing list!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR