This is a work of fiction involving the relationship of two young men (late teens to mid twenties), both physical and emotional. If you are made uncomfortable by such subjects as gay sex, magic and the supernatural, then please stop reading now. Likewise, if you are below the age of 18, please stop here.
This story uses elements from White Wolf's World of Darkness series of games. Mage: The Ascension, Magadon Pharmaceutical, PsychDiv, Cult of Ecstasy, Euthanatos, New World Order, Freak Legions, Werewolf: The Apocalypse, Pentex, The Traditions, The Technocracy, Wraith: The Oblivion and similar elements are copyrighted by White Wolf Game Studio 2003. This work of fiction is not meant as a challenge to existing copyrighted materials, and no profit is gained by its publication.
Kate Sanders, Aaron Barry, and Stefan are the intellectual property of Don Bassingwaite and White Wolf Fiction. For a more in depth treatment of these characters, and a great read, pick up a copy of SUCH PAIN from Harper Collins.
All other characters and story elements belong to the author.
Constructive criticism is highly appreciated; flamers and hate mail will be ignored. Write me at PaganGamer@yahoo.com with Awakening in the subject heading.
Also published on Nifty by the author:
Shame of Caine -- Science Fiction/Fantasy
** I have also published this and the previous chapters in an MS Word format on the Gay_Fantasy_Fiction group at Yahoo Groups. I have started placing artwork depicting scenes and characters from the story there as well. Give it a look, or upload your own Sci-Fi / Fantasy stories. It's totally free. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Gay_Fantasy_Fiction/ **
The Awakening
By Liam Barnes
10
When It Rains
May 23rd, 2002 9:12 p.m. G.S.C., Financial District, San Francisco
The melodic ringing of a cell phone broke the near sterile silence of Kate Sander's office. Though it was late, she was determined to find out what was going on, both with Magadon Pharmaceuticals and Agent Preston. She didn't really suspect any connections between the two, but she wanted to find where the Iteration X operative had received his information. So far, every trail led to a dead end, as if the information had been created and dumped into the system.
She picked up the phone, seeing Stefan's number flash on the ID, and answered. "Have you got anything for me, Stef?"
There was a hesitant pause on the other end, and then Stefan answered. "Are you near a TV?"
That brought her up short. "I'm still at work," she offered, alluding to her location. "But I can pick up any channel on my monitor here. Why?"
"Turn it to KRON," was all he said.
Curious, she clicked the computer monitor on and switched it to television mode. Flipping quickly to the suggested channel, she gave a small gasp of surprise. She recognized the man being interviewed by the press; Charles Ledescu, Andrew's father. Listening in, she felt a growing sense of apprehension. The video showing the Cult of Ecstasy mage, Marcus, shooting the missing daughter of the Magadon researcher; the father's declaration of his wife's murder and son's kidnapping; and finally the admission of the `F.B.I.'s' involvement played across the monitor.
"What in God's name is going on?" she sputtered. Then, as if in answer to her rhetorical cry, he appeared, lurking in the background; Agent James Preston. Why was he still there if this just happened, she wondered silently. Surely, his investigation had not taken so long that he would have remained there for more than two hours. Unless. . . .
"Hold on a moment, Stefan." She clicked a button on her desk. "Mr. Davis, did Agent Preston ever report in or call?"
"No, ma'am."
"Thank you, Mr. Davis. That will be all." With that, she pressed the button a second time, ending the call. She glanced at the monitor just as Mr. Ledescu was making his impassioned speech. The Iteration X operative stood in the back, a smug look on his face. She tsked and mumbled, "Sloppy work, Preston." Then, in a louder voice, "Stefan, are the two young men still there?"
"Yes, and Kate, they've been with me all afternoon. That couldn't have been Marcus on T.V."
"I figured, I think I know who is behind this, or at the least involved somehow."
Stefan continued speaking, a bit of panic creeping into his voice. "And Andrew saw his mother only a few hours ago."
Kate held a hand to her forehead and bit her lower lip in frustration. She could sense things spiraling out of control as numerous random factors began to converge. Chaos would surely be the only logical outcome unless she was able to re-establish some footholds of stability into the equation. "Keep the boys there, Stef," she began before he could continue. "I will be there shortly. Try to keep them calm and out of sight. Have any of the youths there seen them for anything longer than a few moments?"
"A couple," he answered. "Why?"
"We are going to need to alter their memories of the day. . . "
"I don't think that would be a good idea. Some of these kids are fucked up already in the head. I don't want to make things worse for them."
"Trust me, Stefan. The Procedure is very gentle. Besides, do you really think one of them would turn down such a large sum of money just out human compassion?"
The Euthanatos was silent for a moment. There was a quiet sigh, and then, "No. You're right. I will be waiting."
May 23rd, 2002 9:30 p.m. Magadon Pharmaceuticals, Financial District, San Francisco
Roland Jouas stood looking over the darkened city from his office, high above the crowded streets. He watched the moving lights of cars traveling through the narrow streets, musing how they made him think of blood coursing through the veins of some monolithic creature. In a way, it was true. The city was alive, and even had a spirit of sorts. And I, he figured, am the cancer that is eating that creature from the inside out. The thought made him smile.
He had watched the conference from the sterile comfort of his office. Seeing Charles Ledescu give a near over the top performance, tearfully beseeching his son to `come back to him' had been a special treat. He secretly was betting on whether the executive would send his fag son the way of his mother, or not. Jouas was hoping not, as there were plenty of uses he could be put to. Thinking of which . . .
Jouas pulled a small crystal pendant out from his shirt, the stone glittering darkly in the lights of downtown San Francisco. The shard seemed nothing more than a typical quartz pendant that could be bought at any New Age or head shop, but Roland knew its secret.
Staring at his reflection in the window, the misshapen man concentrated, feeling the wall between the real world and the spiritual one. Suddenly, he felt himself `step sideways' from one side of the Gauntlet to the other. The spiritual reflection of San Francisco lay before him, basking in the light of a nearly full Luna. Where steel and concrete made up the city in the real world, here myriad strands of webbing stretched for miles around; the work of countless Weaver spirits working tirelessly to maintain form from chaos.
Basking in the glow of the Umbral moon, Roland Jouas began to change. The air filled with the loud popping of cartilage and cracking of joints as his body began to grow. Wiry and matted black hair began to cover his exposed limbs. His clothing misted away as the changes continued; his body stretching by a few feet in height. His head flattened as his nose and mouth extended. Finally, the thundering bass of a howl erupted from his lupine maw, causing the glass elementals trapped within the building's wall to tremble.
The room quieted except for the heavy breathing of the now monstrous Jouas. Roland wanted to shout in joy whenever he changed back into his natural man-wolf shape, called the crinos form among others of his kind. He was a Garou, commonly known as a werewolf in popular culture. Most Garou were either human or wolf in their natural shape, but Roland was one of the rapidly growing members of outcasts born from two Garou parents.
Metis, as the products of such blasphemous acts were called, rarely lived long in werewolf culture. The Litany of the lupine society spoke harshly against the mating of two werewolves, as the children were always sterile and misshapen. With the race nearly extinct, the Garou needed as many reproducing members as it could get.
Roland seriously doubted his own parents were concerned by their breach. In fact, he knew they weren't. Most of the Garou tribes saw themselves as the defenders and warriors of Gaia, the great Incarna spirit of the Earth. They fought the depredations of the Wyrm and Weaver, as the two Triat entities fought to destroy Gaia, or lock Her into a static and sterile form. His parent's tribe wasn't so altruistic, however.
They belonged to the Black Spiral Dancers, an entire tribe of werewolves that revered the Wyrm in all of its horrid forms, and sought to spread chaos, corruption and destruction with all the zeal of fanatics. No taboo was sacred to the depraved tribe when the final fate of Creation rested upon their twisted shoulders.
The crystal pendant was glowing brightly, and as though in the grip of some unseen hand, floated five inches in front of his neck. The twisted creature's mouth contorted into an approximation of a smile. The stone contained within it a fragment of a powerful spirit. Roland had taken it from a jaggling of the entity which was protecting it. Consuming the minion, he took the shard, and has been in search of other pieces to the Umbrood. If he could bring the spirit to Malfeas, the infernal home realm of the Wyrm, he could have it brought beneath the will of the Triat of corruption.
He had sensed a powerful piece of the spirit nearly awaken the night before. Following the stone, he had arrived at Fort Funston beach. Clustered in a small grove were hundreds of spirits of shadow, enigma and death, their ephemeral voices singing in greeting to the powerful Umbrood's arrival. Strangely enough, the entity never showed in the Umbra, meaning that it had somehow managed to manifest in the physical world. Peeking through the veil between worlds, Roland saw the Cult of Ecstasy mage, Marcus, rutting with Charles Ledescu's boy.
Somehow the spirit had bound itself to his soul. He could tell that it still slumbered within him, but once awakened it would be too powerful for him to handle on his own. It was then that he decided he wouldn't kill the youth to get the spirit. No, as long as the spirit remained bound to the boy, it would be unable to use its full strength. He would bring the boy to the Wyrm somehow, and the spirit along with him.
Walking to the window, he brought his black claws to rest upon the body of one of the glass elemental's crystalline form. Viscous green fluid welled up from the tips of the talons, eating away at the spirit. The elemental cried out in a voice that sounded like breaking glass. Soon nothing was left of the spirit, leaving an opening out of the building.
Perching on the edge of the opening, Jouas spread his hairy, muscular arms wide. Thin flaps of skin stretched between his arms and thighs, like a flying squirrels. Then, he leapt from the opening and glided on the Umbral winds over San Francisco's spiritual reflection, hunting the night for where his prey had gone to roost.
May 23rd, 2002 9:45 p.m. Somewhere in the Castro District, San Francisco
James Cross sat in the dark, listening to the poisoned words of comfort offered by the voice. Across from him, tied to a rusty metal desk with his own socks, was the youth he had picked up earlier. After the initial meeting, he had lured the boy into the alleys behind the clubs, and into a derelict building. There, the voice had given him enough strength to over power the youth, and do whatever he wanted.
Now, the boy laid crumpled on the floor amidst the tattered remnants of his clothing. An occasional whimper was the only indication that he was even still alive. James had lost interest when the boy had stopped crying out or resisting, so he left him upon the floor as he pondered on what to do next.
His glance slid over the welts and bruises that coruscated in complex patterns along the boy's bale back and buttocks. He smiled as the voice whispered its praises.
"Now," it hissed. "Kill him. He'ssss of no usssse to usss now. No more fun when he doessssn't sssscream."
James hesitated at that. While raping the boy had been fun, he wasn't really up to actually murdering him. The voice appeared as a shadow at his side, it's gangly form wrapped nearly around him.
"What if he tellsssss?" the bane whispered harshly. "What then, masssster? They would lock you back up, back where the othersss are; to be forgotten and kept from anything fun!"
Memories of the juvenile detention center hospital ward clawed their way through the mire of his mind. Flashes of pain and anger exploded in his mind. The assault of his past ended almost as quickly as they started. The other voices began to stir; a quiet cacophony that hovered just below clear perception.
"I won't go back," he spat out viciously. Across the room, the boy began to stir.
"Then you mussssst kill him!" the figure insisted. "You musssst!"
James reached down and picked up a rusted out chair leg laying on the floor. He swung it around a few times, testing its heft out. Satisfied, he walked over to the kid. He looked down at the huddled mass and sneered. How pathetic, he thought in disgust. He deserves to die.
The young boy looked up just as James raised the leg. His dirty face, streaked with tears and sweat, suddenly appeared to shift to that of someone else. The voice hissed for the disturbed youth to land the killing blow, but he remained transfixed by the sight of his own face staring back up at him. Again, memories swam through his head: a pasty skinned fat man, stinking of filth and alcohol; the sounds of leather hitting flesh; the sharp pain of broken bones.
"Kill him!" the voice screamed. "Do it!"
"No," James mumbled. He walked over to the tatters of the boy's clothing and rooted through them until he found a vinyl wallet. Inside was a student I.D. with the boy's picture, name and home address. He removed the plastic card and tossed the wallet back onto the floor.
He squatted down and pulled the kid's face up so that he could see his eyes. "I know who you are, Grey. I'm gonna be keeping an eye on you, and if I find out you've said anything about what happened here tonight, I'll kill you. Understand?"
Grey nodded his head. James could feel waves of fear radiating from the youth as though it were a palpable aura. He basked in the sharp emotion as though he were lying in the warmth of the sun. Despite having been disobeyed, the voice made a quiet, pleased sound as it too soaked up the emotion.
James stood up and walked out of the cluttered room. He stopped outside and looked around the empty alley. Spotting a dumpster, he tossed the chair leg in and made his way back to the youth home.
May 24th, 2002 12:12 a.m. Somewhere Beneath Woodward Park, Tulsa, Oklahoma
His hands gliding through the stale air, Marius van Dressen chanted in a guttural tongue over half decayed bodies of the corpses arranged before him. The hollowed out limestone room glowed with a dim greenish-yellow light, but with his preternatural sight everything was lit as bright as day. He finished the ritual and the corpses began to move with false life. Dried tendons snapped and flakes of molded flesh crumbled to the floor as the newly created zombu lurched to their feet.
Marius gave a dismissive gesture with a pale, almost pearlescent white hand. The zombu turned and walked out of the room, wandering off into the dark stone halls beyond as they began their new lives as guards to the necromancer's underground haven. With a grace born of hundreds of years of practice, Marius himself turned to make his way back to the more familiar confines of his parlor.
He was just stepping into the warmly lit room, filled with stacks of dusty tomes and racks of antiquated equipment, when he felt the arrival of a servant. He paused and scanned the room with black, passionless eyes that were like twin holes in reality. They came to rest upon the translucent body of a street kid, kneeling on the floor.
"What is it, Rusty?" the tall, elven-looking necromancer asked, a slightly bored tone coloring his voice.
The youth pushed his tattered ball cap up and stood, straightening his bloody shirt as he did. Phantasmal drops of blood fell from multiple stab wounds in the boys gut, vanishing soon after hitting the stone floor. Not able to meet Marius' unblinking stare, he shrugged his misshapen shoulders and looked at one of the dim walls.
"Uh, it's Cassie. She told me to tell you that the flactry . . ."
"Phylactery," Marius corrected patiently as he approached the wraith.
Rusty shifted nervously. "Yeah, that thing. She said it was doing something, and that you would know what that meant."
"Did she now?" Strands of black hair, as light as spider silk, wafted before the necromancer's angular face as he lithely moved off to a side passage. Unseen behind him, the young ghost sunk to the floor with a sigh of relief.
Small motes of green light appeared along the passage as Marius made his way through its winding halls. He had spent decades molding these tunnels with his own hands, and could navigate them in pitch darkness had he wanted to. The will `o the wisps appeared more from unconscious habit than any true need. He stopped before a bare section of the passage that was undistinguishable from any other section. A bright tracer of blue light followed a delicate finger as he traced a glyph on the wall. The stone seemed to melt out from the glyph, creating an opening into a small chamber.
Inside was a gaunt looking woman with aged, parchment-like skin that was covered in arcane characters. Her silver hair was pulled back into a bun which only served to emphasize her hawkish features. She was sitting in an antique chair with only a stone pedestal for company. Something was glowing brightly upon the stand, casting flickering shadows across the sandstone walls.
Marius entered the room, swiftly moving towards the table. His delicate hands hovered around the light, seemingly held there by an unseen force. "How long has this been happening?"
The woman never moved. "Since this morning."
The necromancer's head whipped around to face her, black eyes narrowed and bluish lips drawn thin. "And you waited until now to have me informed, why?" His voice was quiet and level.
"You were slumbering during the day, and once night fell, you began working on a ritual. I told the Lemures to inform you as soon as you were free." Something akin to a smile creased her ancient face. "I know how much you hate to be interrupted, my liege." She added the title after a slight pause, though no hint of insult laced her words.
"There are nights, Oracle, that I find myself almost sad that you are already dead, else I might be tempted to kill you on mere principle." His face never changed expression.
Still smiling, she replied, "You are free to cast me into the nearest nihil if I truly upset you so. Or you could always send me straight to the Oblivion . . ."
Marius turned his attention back to the light, a cold smile on his face. "Perhaps were you not so valuable to me." He reached into the light with one hand and picked the source up. Dangling from a silver chain, a small perfectly cut diamond wrapped in silver wire glowed with the brightness of the full moon.
"The time draws near, but how close is it?"
Cassie made a slight shake of her head, eyes staring unblinking at him. "I would need to do an augury to know anything specific."
The elvish looking man replaced the phylactery back on its silver holder, and then straightened up. "I cannot just hand over one of my wraithly servants to you for an augury, Oracle. For some reason beyond my ken, they might take issue with being sacrificed like that. Besides," he waved a hand dismissively, "I cannot afford such a waste while dire happenings are afoot in my domain."
"A drone, then," she suggested. "Or a plasmic? There is no need for a sentient soul to perform the augury."
Marius contemplated the phylactery for a moment, as well as what was all at stake. "Very well. I am sure the Stone Guard can retrieve a suitable subject for you."
May 23rd, 2002 10:12 p.m. Mike's Home For Youths, Castro District, San Francisco
Kate set the small hypo-spray down onto the parlor desk. The content had been injected into both Andrew and Marcus, and was designed to alter their bodies' superficial features just enough to prevent anyone from matching them with their true identities. The effects were only temporary, but should last long enough for the group to figure out what was going on.
Stefan was in his own room, performing a ritual to subtly alter the memories of those in the house. They, being Kate and Stefan, had thought hard on different avenues of protecting Andrew and Marcus from being turned in by one of the home's youths. In the end, the memory altering was the most effective.
The two mages who were the root of all the activity were currently sitting on the parlor couch, holding each other. The newly Empowered youth was clutching the Ecstatic with a death grip. He had not spoken since she had arrived thirty minutes ago, and from what Stefan had told her, since hearing of his mother's death. None of them had felt like forcing him to; it had been a very traumatic day for even an experienced mage, much less a new one.
Stefan entered the room, his eyes baring dark circles. "Well, that's done. With one exception."
"What?" Kate asked, almost afraid of the answer.
He shrugged his shoulders. "It's nothing bad, just one of the boys was missing. He probably snuck out. I'll get him when he gets in."
Curiously, Kate asked, "Which one?"
"Hmm? Oh, it's James Cross."
"Are you sure he didn't go to the police or something?" Marcus asked.
Stefan shook his head. "No, but James is always slipping out late at night. And if he had, I'm sure they would have been here by now."
Marcus seemed to let it go at that. He laid his head against Andrew's. He could feel the absolute desolation within the youth, and was frustrated by his own inability to do anything about it. Grief was not an emotion he was capable of handling; in fact, it was one he usually tried to avoid completely.
"So what now?" the Ecstatic asked quietly.
The Euthanatos and Technocrat looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Stefan answered. "We know that somehow Agent Preston is involved with the events. Well, we think he is at any rate. Also, whatever is going on at Magadon is connected.
"I say that you two lay low, and we wait until the V.A. can break into Preston's internal C.P.U. Once we find out if he is involved, we can progress further."
"I'll try to keep the Union focused on Magadon, and away from Stefan and you two," Kate added.
"And what about Andrew's father?" Marcus noticed that the teen didn't even react.
Kate sighed. "I think, for his own protection, no-one should contact him. Doing so could put his life in danger, as well as potentially expose us."
"One more thing, Kate," Stefan added. "I'm going to contact Aaron, and see if he can help us out."
"I'm not sure that's wise, Stef." The agent shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Aaron is probably very busy with his own things, and this could put him in jeopardy, too. Besides, do you really want to involve more Traditionalists in this matter?"
Though he was wasn't really thinking about it, Andrew listened in on what the mages were discussing. Until yesterday, he had been just a normal kid. Now, he was Awakened and his whole life had fallen apart in a matter of a dozen hours. His mother was dead, and it was all because of him. His father's life was screwed up as well, also because of him. He felt like he was falling into a vast abyss.
Suddenly, he felt a ripple of power wash through his soul. In a weird way, it reminded him of when he had first felt Marcus through their spiritual link. Sitting up, he looked around. He ignored the questions of the others as he stood and walked towards the window. The feeling seem to originate from just outside it. He pushed the curtains to the side but only saw a few cars pass by on the dark street.
He was about to close the curtains when he noticed that it wasn't his reflection in the window staring back at him. Nox's doll-like face regarded him as he heard her voice in his mind.
It took his mind a moment to process the statement. Finally, he pulled his thoughts out of the mire of sullenness that had engulfed him. He focused his sight, not on the window or the scene beyond, but through them. He tried to relax and feel what lay beyond, relying upon the fate sight that Nox had taught him earlier. The scene outside the window changed as if someone had turned on a light. Instead of a dark street, he found himself staring eye to eye with a monstrous wolfish face, its snout nearly pressed against the glass.
Not knowing what else to do, Andrew screamed.
<Yes, yes. I know it took me a while to get this chapter out. I deeply apologize. I had been working six days a week and dealing with other fun stuff that prevented me from writing. Hopefully, that will not be happening anytime soon, though, as my schedule has freed up once more. ^_^
The next chapter is on its way and the plot thickens. Will our heroes get out of this unscathed? And what of young Mr. Cross? Has he began the path to redemption, or merely delayed his inevitable plunge towards the dark side? And who is this freaky Marius guy halfway across the country to involve himself in this story?
The end of Book One of The Awakening rapidly approaches. Stay Tuned!
P.S. To all of you who have also been reading my Shame of Caine series, I am almost down with part 2, so hold on. It will be out soon.
Love
Liam>