Dark Destiny (49 page)

He strode towards Morose, pointing at him. “He has something I want. As soon as I’m done with him, you’re free to leave.”

“
He
is one of us,” Cleo snapped, her tone lethal. “You will have to go through me to get to him.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Your gift doesn’t work on me, remember?”

Cleo’s smile turned deadly. “Be that as it may, has it not occurred to you that you are not the only one here?”

Sebastian blinked.

“What did you think happened to the Souls of this city?” Cleo continued. “Did you not notice all of them were male?”

His gaze wandered from zombie to zombie. Some had bright glowing eyes; others had soft milky eyes. And she was right. All of them were male. He hadn’t even noticed. Where were all the girl zombies?

“That’s right,” Cleo said, her voice seductive. “I called to them, demanded they come here.”

She smiled, her white teeth flashing. “I control them.”

And, somehow, she flipped a switch. The zombies’ expressions shifted to that of crazed animals, and all of them ran toward Sebastian, their eyes glowing, horrifying screams piercing the night.

“Ah, crap. I don’t want to hurt them. Not without them being in the driver’s seat. Any ideas?”

The Elder did not reply.

He called again, “Elder?”

No reply.

“Crap.”

No
blinking
. No robes for armor. No Elder for information. Only thing left was his trusted scythe.

“Great,” he muttered. Too bad there were no fresh Souls he could help pass to the Light for a recharge. It had worked that way twice before. Once with Grayson, and the other when Sara—er—Makayla assisted Charlotte into the Light.

Sebastian kicked off the ground and made a mad dash toward a mausoleum. Leaping onto a stone cross, he launched himself onto its roof as zombie fingertips grabbed at his boots.

He scrambled higher to the peak of the mausoleum. The horde snarled at him, climbing on top of one another in a mad frenzy, foaming at the mouth like rabid dogs.

They gained ground. At the rate they went, they’d be on top of him in no time. Focusing his vision, he could still see into all of the haunts. At the top of the mausoleum, he sliced vertically, like a fireman trying to cut down a door.

He jumped into the haunt, landing on a patch of freshly mown grass. A beautiful crescent moon shone on a well-kept graveyard. Cool wind tickled his face. An owl hooted in the distance.

Behind him, in mid-air, the tear in the fabric of the haunt flapped gently in the soft breeze. One by one, the zombies spattered in, clawing at each other to get to him. They’d gone crazy. Mindless. Cleo had infected them with something, but what? They piled into the pleasant graveyard in droves, spilling out like an ocean of bodies.

He kept running, not sure how much more his body could take. Some of them were fast and he felt them clawing at his jacket. His legs ached from running but he summoned his energy and managed to scramble up on top of a large stone cross. He accidently kicked a zombie in the face, climbing his way up. When he reached the top, he cut sideways. The fabric of reality sliced open revealing a stormy haunt. Rain fell on the muddy ground. Lightning slashed at the sky.

He squinted his eyes and made a mad dash once again, slipping and sliding in the mud. The zombies poured into the muddy haunt behind him, as though somebody had turned on a faucet in midair.

They clawed at one another, even climbing on top of each other, in their efforts to tear Sebastian apart, but it was too slippery and they fell into the mud. They thrashing about, unable to gain their footing. Sebastian cut back into the cemetery where Cleo stood angry, and instantly turned to slice the haunt, closing it behind him. Panting, he ran then climbed atop the original mausoleum to seal the first tear.

He jumped to the ground and dropped to his knees. He was wet, breathing hard, and exhausted. If the Angels were going to jump in and help, now would be a great time. His scythe flickered in his hands, and his heart sank.

No, no, no.
It faded from view for a brief moment before gradually solidifying. His energy level was low. Dangerously low.

 “Oh, come on,” Sebastian muttered.

If he ran that low on juice, surely his body would follow. He remembered how tired he’d been when he was completely out of gas after fighting with Gabriel. He needed to end this now.

It was time for the final assault. It was go time, all or nothing. Makayla was depending on him. And by God, he was not going to let her down, even if it killed him.

Taking in one last deep breath—in through his nose and out through his mouth—he made his final dash toward the Seals. Morose sat up rubbing his head. Cleo stared, a puzzled expression on her face, as Sebastian charged toward her. Was she not used to an exhausted teenager charging her with a scythe in hand? Protectively, she stepped in front of Morose and turned her body so it was square with Sebastian’s. Just as Sebastian was on her, about to strike her down, her right hand reared back and became a blur, striking Sebastian in the chest.

“Kneel!” she spat venomously, holding her hand pressed flat against his chest.

Red lightning erupted around his body. Pain flared in every morsel of his being, like he was under a waterfall of scalding hot water. An uncontrollable, horrified scream flew from his mouth. His heart rate skyrocketed. His nerves burned. They screamed for him to pass out, or let him die so the pain would cease, but he wouldn’t let that happen. He kept his angry eyes locked on hers.

“You
dare
come at me?” Cleo shouted.

Trying to force the little power he had left into his limbs, he attempted to stop her gift, but he was too weak. His vision blurred for a brief moment. He knew that if the pain didn’t stop, this would be it for him.

“Never underestimate the power of a Seal,” she barked. “Do you understand?”

Pain continued surging through him, growing more fierce by the second. His scythe faded. His vision went nearly black, but he kept thinking of Makayla and grew even angrier about what they had done to her. He would not let her down. Not now. Not ever.

Instead of a painful cry, he turned it into an angry yell and let it fuel him.

Pain still coursed through him. He barely made out a faint outline of his scythe in his hand. He pulled the remaining power of the scythe into his arms, and watched his only means of protection fade away. He had enough power to grab onto Cleo’s hand. The muscles in his face tightened. Veins popped out of his neck. The muscles around his mouth and eyes twitched. He saw her eyes go wide as his hand pried hers off his chest. Her hand still crackled with red electricity. Her expression shifted, changing from pure fury and hate to shock. She gripped her right hand with her left in an attempt to overpower him, but his will was greater than hers. As soon as her hand left his chest, the pain was gone.

He continued to scream, a cry of rage. One of his hands reared back as far as he could take it and rocketed forward, landing a haymaker on her jaw. Cleo’s head snapped to the side, and she spun to the ground.

Sebastian dropped to his knees again. This time, he was spent. There was nothing left in his tank. If he put everything into it, he might be able to stand up, but he would probably black out seconds later. His vision flashed white before slowly coming back into focus.

When he could see clearly, he saw a
spirit crack
hovering right in front of his face. Following the
spirit crack
to its source, he met Morose’s eyes. The Seal now wore a wicked smile on his lips.

“You fought well, Reaper.” The
spirit crack
danced upon Morose’s palm. “But this is where I end you.”

Sebastian stared with tired eyes.

“Last time, you took a
spirit crack
full on and came out unscathed,” Morose complimented. “But I will not make that mistake this time.”

Morose brought up his other hand and pointed it at the cobblestone road. Stalkers rose from the shadows, their oil slick bodies gleamed in the rusty colored light from the blood moon still hanging in the sky. Their shark-like teeth snapped open and closed. There had to be at least forty of them.

“It seems my Seal power grants me other gifts as well.”

All of the Stalkers’ mouths trembled and quivered open, as if their jaws were being pried apart by an invisible crowbar.
Spirit cracks
materialized in their gaping maws as energy swirled, crackling with electricity.

Morose smiled. “If one didn’t kill you, surely this many will.”

Being this close to Morose, Sebastian saw something he’d never noticed before. Though his power level was too low to fight—though he was without his robes or his scythe
—
he still possessed one ability: his
vision
.

Not only could he see into the haunts, there was something else. Something he’d never seen before. Maybe his other abilities had overpowered this sense
. He saw inside Morose
. Seven Souls swirled inside his body. And though the Souls were glowing orbs, he knew which one was Makayla’s.

“Say goodbye, Reaper.”

With every ounce of energy he had left, Sebastian exploded off his heels with a battle cry and rammed his hand into Morose’s chest. As his hand made contact with Morose’s body, the Seal’s physical being wavered, as though Morose were no longer made of flesh, blood and bones, but only spirit. The Seal screamed in pain and Sebastian found that he could move his hand around, reaching for a bright light in the darkness. Makayla’s Soul.

Morose screamed louder, and the Stalkers took up the cry, raising their heads and howling to the crimson moon. Forty
spirit cracks
sailed into the air.

Sebastian ripped out Makayla’s Soul with one final grunt. Morose, who had regained his physical body, fell back clutching his chest.

Sebastian’s head swirled. He was going to pass out any second. With all his strength, he chucked Makayla’s Soul into the air, as though it were a baseball. Then, in what felt like slow motion, he fell back toward the ground. He willed his hand to form the shape of a gun, as in a cops and robbers game.

“O—o—pen,” he whispered.

A bright white light exploded in the air where the Soul had been tossed. A Light tunnel opened, and a teenage boy dressed all in white appeared. Though his clothes were different, Sebastian knew he was Ethan, the boy from the canoe. Ethan raised his hand and caught Makayla’s Soul. He smiled and nodded to Sebastian, who lay sprawled on his back, unable to move.

Within the glowing white light, Ethan let go of the Soul, and it hung in the air beside him. The Soul orb split, mist seeping out, and formed into the body of the teenage girl Sebastian had seen in the vision. She turned to face Sebastian, smiled, and mouthed, “Thank you.”

His energy spent, he couldn’t open his mouth to respond. His eyelids felt heavy. They closed for a second before he forced them open again. At the portal of glowing white light, Ethan and Makayla joined hands and disappeared.

Sebastian’s eyes closed, welcoming the prospect of sleep.

Sebastian lay on the dirt ground of the cemetery, eyes closed, completely spent, his consciousness slipping away. Blackness began to consume him, and he welcomed it. Just as he was about to slip away completely he felt something, a tingle or a tiny volt of electricity deep inside him. Little by little, the feeling grew, expanding outward through his chest and limbs. He wasn’t dying. He was alive. Energy surged through him.

From beneath him, a wild wind rushed into him. His eyes burst open as the wind continued unabated, washing him with warm, refreshing air. He opened and closed his fists, feeling the strength return to his hands, his arms, his core. The air flowed over his body, dressing him in layer after layer of black cloth. Air flowed over his hands as his gloves reappeared, clinging with perfection to each finger.

Once dressed, the wind ceased, and then he pushed himself off the ground and stood tall. He took in a deep breath, expanding his lungs, feeling the power flowing through him. A familiar voice rang in his ear.

I see you assisted a Soul into the Light. Good job.

The Reaper smiled. “Good to hear your voice.”

Looks as though you managed all right.

“Yeah, but I’m not done yet.”

The Reaper stalked to Morose, lying prone on the ground, his eyes blinking and gasping for air.

“Your time as leader has come to an end,” the Reaper said. Plunging his hand into Morose’s chest once again, the Reaper tore Soul after Soul after Soul from the Seal’s body. He gently dropped them to the ground where they cracked and formed into other beings. An old woman zombie sat down on the grass, confused; a man, who looked like a biker stared at Morose with hatred on his face; a young woman with almost no signs of decay glared at her capturer. A few other zombies looked around the cemetery, gathering their bearings, before focusing angry eyes on Morose.

The Reaper stood over the weakened, broken Seal.

“I’m not going to kill you. Instead, I will leave you here. Let’s see what these other Souls think of what you have done to them.”