Genesis of a Hero

Angels without Wings

Copyright
© 2013 by Chris Smith. All rights reserved.

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

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Book Design copyright © 2013 by Chris Smith

Cover design by Wynn Taylor

www.angelswithoutwingsseries.com

www.facebook.com/angelswithoutwingsseries

This prequel is part of the ©
Angels without Wings
series by author Chris Smith. The first book in the series, Scepter of Faith, was released on March 5
th
, 2013.

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Published in the United States of America

1.
       
Fiction / Christian / Fantasy

13.05.28

Matthew 13:41
–The Son of Man will send out his angels, and they will weed out of his kingdom everything that causes sin and all who do evil.

For God, we fight!

Acknowledgement

Huge Thank You to my wife and my mom.
Angels without Wings
wouldn’t be possible without either of them. Their continuous love and support keeps the dream alive.

Also, to my three sons who are responsible for a majority of my smiles. Their funny stories and unending laughter provides new ideas and inspiration on a daily basis.

More thanks to everyone who has helped read/edit the books. For
Genesis of a Hero
, special thanks has to go out to Wynn Taylor. He’s proven to be one of the best assets for bouncing ideas around and looking for any plot holes in the
Angels without Wings
series. The cover of this prequel is mostly Wynn’s doing. Additional people to thank: Barry (my brother), Jonnie (my aunt), Beverly, Pam, and Pops.

And, of course, to our Lord and Father God Almighty.
With faith in mind, these books were written.

Chapter 1: Secret Flight

The road wound
through the greens, reds, and yellows of the long valley. Trees smothered the landscape in a collage of tall pines and grand oaks. Over the leafy canopy, small voices rose into the air – barely audible against the rumbling engine of a trundling bus. John Decker smiled as he heard
This Little Light of Mine
sung jubilantly by kids on their way to Graceway Baptist church camp. The sounds of innocence and peace.

The happiness of their faith lifted his spirits
.

But the smile fell as he searched to his right. Far below him, cresting the tree covered, rolling mountains of northern California,
a blight was swarming. Red, leathery skin flashed against the warmth of the sun on the early summer day. Jagged horns jostled for position in the middle of a thrashing pack. Scaly wings flapped in nasty pursuit of the bus on the road. The decaying appendages promised doom for the unknowing children. A terrible death sent from hell itself.

John looked at his own wings. No signs of Lucifer’
s filth were evident in the white feathers – only the grace and power of God. They slowly pumped as he hovered over the scene. Even breaths filled his lungs and his knuckles popped as they clenched in eagerness for the coming fight. The selvo demons dropped into the covering of pine trees with cackles of malicious delight. Their claws blistered branches and pine cones in the wake of their horrific quest.

A curse
, at the monsters, threatened to leave John’s mouth, but he stopped it with a hissing breath. “For God, we fight,” he growled and the muscles along his arms twitched as he reached for the sword sheathed against his back. His wings tucked and he dove at an angle to cut off the bus. Gale winds carried the hissing laughter of the demons and the continued excitement of the children as they started singing
Jesus Loves Me
. Their tiny voices were full of joy at the week of fun ahead. Not the smallest ounce of fear carried with any of the precious words. But if the demons reached the bus first, screams would quickly replace the song of love.

The Spirit swirled and filled John
’s body as the road loomed ever larger. The calmness from the grace of God tingled down his spine as a short prayer left his lips. In a burst of leaves, the first of the muscular demons tore from the trees. Its rotted eyes went wide as the sword sliced. The shadow of a snarl coughed between its fangs before the beast’s head left its shoulders. Straggly tufts of hair twisted from masses of warts as the head and body tumbled separately to the ground. Swirling with the mangled corpse went the foul smell of brimstone and sulfur.

“Angel!” the second selvo managed to scream before John buried the sword into its
ribbed stomach. Fangs snapped at his neck but he twisted and sent the monster crashing into a thin pine tree.

The remaining four selvo launched out of the tree
s high into the air; then arced towards the bus in a mad dash. John spun and white bolts of the Spirit left the scepter in his left hand.

His scepter.
A tool that looked only like a thin stick of wood, but in reality was an instrument gifted straight from God. The scepter hummed in delight as divine power coursed through the grip in John’s hand.
John Decke
r
had been inscribed along the top edge by God himself. A winding tale of ancient battles was perfectly crafted into the wooden shaft. Never had John failed to smile when he remembered God’s first gift drop into his hands over nine years ago, four days after his eleventh birthday; but he pushed the memory away and flexed his wings for speed.

Three of the demons formed a
triangular group and swarmed towards him as the other let loose a guttural scream at the bus. John ducked the first selvo and swept the scepter forward with the power of the Spirit. A luminescent shield materialized in the air before his left arm and he slammed it into the ugly face of the nearest beast. It fell in a curve but righted itself a few feet above the hard concrete of the road.

Howling in rage, the third
swiped and slashed with its clawed hands. John ducked then winced as one of the talons ripped through the tendons of his left wing. His sword flashed forward and sliced into the red hide of the demon’s shoulder. The blade glanced off the root of a tusked horn growing from its collar bone and blackish blood sprayed into the air. With a kick to the chest, John sent the selvo tumbling into the high branches of an oak tree where it crumpled in a tangled heap.

The soft
touch of the Spirit called for John’s attention. It guided his body as he cartwheeled in the air and lashed sideways with the God-gifted sword. A twitching, diseased wing lopped from the bat-like demon that had been racing at his back. High pitched screams rent from its mouth loud enough to shake John’s eardrums. Its dying body fell past the only remaining monster of the three that had turned to attack him.

A laugh escaped John as the selvo looked from him to its dead companions.
Its diamond-faceted, scarlet eyes squinted in hatred, but instead of charging - it rushed down the road in a tail-tucked retreat.

“Next time,” John promised and
launched himself at the bus that was now rounding a curve down the valley. The kids inside remained delightfully oblivious to the danger lurking in the air. The last selvo ripped through the air in flapping horror and rammed into the side of the white bus. The impact rocked it briefly onto the driver side tires, but the heavy, steel vehicle righted on its own. A couple of screams lifted into the air as
Jesus Loves Me
faltered uncertainly.

“Calm down,” the driver’s voice carried to John through the Spirit
. “We must have hit a deer or something.”

“Oh no!” a young girl’s voice cried. “Was it a baby?”

The bus slowed as John streaked over the road in a blur. The demon swept up in a twenty foot loop then landed in a crouch above the opening bus doors. A portly man stepped out and peeked towards the rear tire.

“What is that smell?” he gagged and reached for a handkerchief
. He leaned backwards into the bus. “Everyone stay in your seats. I’m going to see what we hit.”

Just as his right foot hit the pavement, the selvo pounced. A strangled cry left the man as the weight of the monster landed on his shoulders. But before the claws penetrated any skin at all, John barreled into the demon at full speed. He tumbled into
a grassy ditch with the filthy creature battering against his muscular body. Its fangs snapped shut an inch from his nose as he kicked up and somersaulted on top of it. A tooth rattling trumpet from heaven sounded from his scepter as he plunged his sword into the selvo’s chest. With one last gurgling growl, it died and began disintegrating back to Lucifer’s grasp in hell.

“God protect us,” the driver murmured
with his hand over his mouth as John stood. “I… you…”

“You’ll be okay,” John
said with a quick grin and let his wings disappear. He grimaced at the throbbing pain from the wound on his left wing, but knew he could heal the damage later. “Stand up. There’s nothing to hurt you.” He reached and lifted the short man onto shaky legs. The Spirit glowed from John’s palms and caressed the man’s stunned face. “What did you see?” John asked and felt for the man’s thoughts.

Nothing but a blur of motion and a quick stab of pain resonated from the driver’s mind.
The blinding fear brought on by the presence of demons. “I.. I don’t know,” the man stumbled on the words. “Nothing. It was… nothing. I thought I saw, but then it was gone.” His legs looked likely to give way any second so John guided him back into the driver seat of the bus.

“What’s going on?”
a tiny voice called.

John glanced over his shoulder. Twenty pairs of expectant eyes met his own. A
short, blonde girl with large green eyes was staring at him intently.

“You’ll all be fine,” Jo
hn assured with a friendly wink. He gently touched the girl on the cheek and peace spread across her innocent face.

“Who are you?” questioned a boy who looked in his early teens.
“You’ve got to be the biggest person I’ve ever seen.” His freckly face was littered with bumps of acne, but he held his head high as the kids waited for a response.

“Just someone passing by,” John chuckled
, remembering the driver’s earlier exclamation about the reason for their sudden halt. “I saw your bus hit a deer – well actually, the deer ran into you, but that doesn’t really matter - I wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”

A brunette girl in piggy tails
blanched and pressed her face to the window. “It’s not dead, is it? What if it was a momma deer and has a baby?”

“You already asked Mr. Dixon that,” a bossy looking boy at the back of the bus said.

“Did not,” the girl sniffed.

“It wasn’t a baby,” John said and
ran the back of his right hand across the girl’s long locks of hair. The Spirit trickled from his fingers and a wonderful smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “It was a great big, strong deer. It got up and ran into the trees over there. Probably didn’t even feel it. The bus took the brunt of the damage, but it’s not too bad.”

From the back of the bus, a black girl raised her hand slowly. Her brown eyes bore knowingly into John’s. Recognition hummed
through the Spirit. “Yeah?” he asked with upraised eyebrows.

“Are you an angel?” the girl squeaked.

For several seconds, John studied the girl. Here was pure faith. The love of God poured from every facet of her shining face. A small laugh escaped from his lips before he could stop it. “Probably not…” he answered cryptically. “But I’m sure God was watching over you today. Mr. Dixon is a great driver, but the deer could have jumped right through a window.” He ended with a boisterous clap of his hands that made a girl barely out of her toddler year’s jump in fright.

“Do what?” Mr. Dixon cleared his throat from the front of the bus.
Confusion clouded his eyes. It was almost always the same with non-angels. Demons never quite registered in a regular human’s stunned brain. John thought it was one of God’s greatest mercies to shield the innocent from the atrocities of Lucifer’s minions.

After a reassuring pat on
the frightened girl’s back, he stepped to the doors.

“Just keep on driving,” J
ohn said with a quick wink at Mr. Dixon. “Graceway is only another forty-five minutes up the road. I don’t think there will be any more deer to hit on the way there.” He turned to the kids. “All of you have fun this week. Sing your songs as loud as you can. Play games as much as you want. Say your prayers. And always remember to hold onto your faith. God loves you and will watch out for you - in this life and the next.”

A chorus of goodbyes shouted from the windows as the doors closed and Mr. Dixon throttled the gas pedal. Out of the very last window, John caught another look from the wonderfully knowing
purity of youth on the black girl’s face. A smile held the corners of her lips a few more seconds as she pressed her cheeks against the glass. Then she turned and joined the others as they started singing
Zaccheus
.

John watched until the bus disappeared around a bend. The song bounced softly in his head as he remembered singing it in his own youth.
Days much different than those of the kids going to Graceway church camp. He’d gone to camp in the summer as well, but his had been days of study from thick, angel textbooks; or filled with the clash of training swords.

He closed his eyes and willed his wings to spring into life behind his back. A line of blood marred the otherwise pure white near the joint of his left wing. He concentrated and prayed as his right hand hovered over the gash where the selvo demon’s claws had caught him. Under the glow, the flesh on his
wing - the last of his divine gifts from God - knitted and closed leaving only the red stains of blood behind. He flapped the wing experimentally and made to jump into the sky.

A
voice stopped him. It rose from his scepter and sent a tingle over the skin of his forearms.

“John?” Denise Gibson said. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered and felt a broad, involuntary smile crease his face.

“You won’t be for long,” she warned in her almost always serious voice. “Aaron is on a war path. He said you disobeyed his orders again.”

John harrumphed and shook his head making his long, curly blondish-hair flick side to side. “If he thinks I was going to sit back and watch as a pack of selvo killed a bus full of kids on the way to church camp, he’s out of his mind.”

“You know what he’ll say,” Denise
said.

“I don’t care,” John chided
and his right hand rubbed the short-trimmed beard on his cheeks in frustration. “Just because all the people on the bus have faith, doesn’t mean we should abandon them. God wouldn’t want that.”

“Maybe so
, but Aaron wants to talk with you. He said to meet back up at Whispering Trees.”

“It will take me a little bit to get there,” John informed with a look around the wooded area. “I chased the demons for a half hour.”