Night of Nyx (The Nightfall Chronicles 2.5) (2 page)

Zorin sits back down and leans in to Carter. "You will tell me everything you know, and you will help me protect her. You want to serve me? That is how."

Carter nods. "As you wish."

As it happens, Carter does not know much more than the thugs who just left the Inn.

"How did you get her to trust you?" Carter asks.

Zorin thinks back to the memories he showed her of her parents. "Sometimes the past doesn't always tell the truth."

Zorin takes the last swig of liquor straight from the bottle and leaves a generous tip under it. He doesn't see the girl as they leave through a side door, hoping to avoid the crowds. Instead, they find themselves in an alley where trash of the human kind awaits. The four thugs from the Inn are out here, taunting someone in the center of their circle. Zorin cannot see who they are abusing, but he can tell by the sound of her voice. It is the girl from the Inn.

Carter puts a hand on his arm. "You cannot save everyone, Zorin."

Zorin looks down at his old friend. "I can save her."

They have her shoved against a dumpster, her face pressed against metal as the leader lifts her dress and runs his dirty hands over her body. "Always wanted to do a Nephylite," he says.

They are his last words.

Zorin's wings expand, dark tendrils whispering through the night, glowing around his body. His teeth elongate and his bloodthirst soars. "Leave her alone!" His voice carries, deep and heavy, through the alley.

The four men are stupid. Too stupid to know to be scared. But the girl, she knows. She sees him and knows what he is. She isn't scared though. She smiles and closes her eyes, whispering a thank you only Zorin's ears can hear.

When Zorin is done, all four men lay bloody and broken in pools of stink and trash. He spared their lives, but only just.

The girl walks over to him as he licks the last blood off his lips. She lays a hand on his arm and smiles, her eyes lighting up. "Thank you.”

He pulls away. “Why do you speak of Nephilim in public? Why take the risk?”

She bows her head, shivering. “My brother’s a Zenith, Ice Elemental. Just a week ago he was walking home from the corner store, when Inquisition Officers stopped him. He’d bought a bag of ice for the bar, and they said he wasn’t permitted to carry ice. He told them that wasn't true. His powers didn’t work that way. He could lower the temperature of things is all, not manipulate water or ice. They said he was uncooperative with Officers. Said he had to be punished. Then they beat him. They broke his nose, his ribs. They may have killed him… but she was there. She came from the shadows, her hair silver and black. She touched the Officers, and they paused, and they walked away. She helped my brother up, and for some reason, his wounds felt a little better. And then she disappeared.

“My brother stumbled home that night, his face bloody, two of his ribs broken. If not for Nightfall, he may never have come home at all. I owe her my life.”

Zorin's lips curve into a soft smile. When he picked Nightfall to lead, he picked the right person. She inspires people. And before this is over, she will have to inspire the world.

He turns and walks away. This is why he fights. This is why he will not stop until the Orders have fallen. Not just for the losses he's suffered, but for all who have suffered under the rule of the Orders.

And then Zorin thinks of Varian, and he remembers the feeling of fear.

The King is on his way to capture Nightfall.

And she is unprepared.

Zorin stands and closes his eyes, letting his dark wings extend around him, shifting the air currents with their movements. He revels in the feel of weightlessness as he ascends from the ground and shoots into the night sky.

It does not take him long to reach the Cathedral, the new headquarters for the Dark Templars, led by Nightfall herself.

When he lands outside the gates, he notices many new people scurrying about the large property, repairing fences, building new dwellings, setting up perimeters. He shoves open the obsidian gates and the man working on them falls to his knees.

"Your blessing, Darkness."

"Stand up, man," Zorin says, pulling the thin man to his feet. "I need no worship."

"I am Nephilyte," he says, his eyes averted. "I am here to do your bidding."

So many people here to do my bidding, yet none actually doing it
, Zorin thinks with disgust.

"How did you hear about this place?"

"TR is our unit leader. He said we'd be safe here. That we could fight for Nightfall and the Dark Templars and free all Zenith and Nephilim from the tyranny of the Four Orders."

"He did, did he?" Zorin leaves the man standing there as he lifts off the ground and flies straight to the obsidian cathedral glimmering in the fading sunlight. He needs to call a meeting with TR and Trix. He sends them a message with his eGlass. No one responds. Fine. He will do things the old way.

He looks for TR and Trix, first in the training halls below the main level of the Cathedral. He winds down the staircase, his hand resting gently on the polished wood handrail, the sounds of metal clashing against metal and wood greeting him.

Several Zeniths and Nephylites are paired off in the large hall, practicing hand-to-hand combat, swordplay, and defensive and offensive techniques he's been teaching them.

He walks up to a scrawny kid, no more than fifteen, and places a hand on his shoulder. "Kevin, you're showing real improvement. Make sure when you parry you keep you wrist straight and body angled."

"Yes, sir," he says, smiling at the compliment. When he first came here he could hardly lift a sword. Zorin knows he'll likely never be a fierce warrior, but the boy has spirit and determination. And because of his particular Zenith abilities, he has nowhere else to go.

Zorin weaves through the trainees making gentle corrections, offering encouragement and demonstrating more challenging techniques as needed. He sees one of the advanced recruits leaning against the stone wall sipping a cup of water, and he walks to him. "Steve, you are proving yourself a fine teacher."

"Thank you," Steve says, brushing a dark lock of hair from his face. He's an older gentleman, likely in his late forties, and has seen the cost of war firsthand.

"Have you seen TR or Trix?" Zorin asks.

Steve looks around. "TR was down here a bit ago helping with the training. Not sure where he went. Trix is probably working on mechanical repairs. Never seen a woman who could use a wrench better than a man, but there you have it."

"Indeed," Zorin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

Steve is not wrong. Zorin finds Trix under an old truck, her small feet sticking out as she grunts and metal grinds against itself. A young recruit stands near her, nervously fidgeting with a screwdriver as he watches her feet.

Her hand pops out. "Lug wrench," she says from under the truck.

Zorin walks over to the toolbox and pulls out what she needs, handing it to her outstretched hand.

"Thanks."

"You are welcome," Zorin says.

Trix rolls out from under the truck and looks up at him, her face smudged with oil, short red pixie hair ruffled and messy. "Zorin, hello. I wasn't expecting to see you this early."

"We need to meet in the War Room. Immediately."

Trix frowns. "I gotta finish this first or it'll keep leaking oil."

Zorin fights down impatience. There was a time he would have been obeyed immediately. It seems that time has past. "Very well. At your earliest convenience, then. Where is TR?"

She shrugs and slides back under the truck. "He's around here somewhere. And this shouldn't take me long. "

He has clearly been dismissed. The boy looks over to him with a sympathetic smile, which only aggravates Zorin more. "How many vehicles have you got up and running?" he asks.

"We have four trucks equipped with the latest eDrive programming and synched to Nightfall and her AI. I'm still working on the others. Some of these are really old and out of date."

Zorin nods and shuffles out of room, in search of TR.

He finds him outside overseeing the building of a dormitory-style house, squinting at the roofing. He has dark circles under his blue eyes and his blond hair is tussled and unkempt. "This will give a lot of rebels a place to sleep as more permanent dwellings are built," says TR.

"We are not creating an entire city here," Zorin protests. "This is supposed to be a secret location known only to a trusted few."

TR looks over at Zorin, his customary scowl in full force. "These are our trusted few. Nightfall can't do it all by herself. She will need an army of loyal supporters to tear down the Orders and build a new empire. This is how we get them."

Zorin sighs but does not wish to argue. Yet. "Meeting in the War Room in ten minutes," he tells TR.

Zorin waits for the contrary man to argue, but TR just shrugs. "Trix coming?"

"Yes."

"See you then."

Another dismissal.

He knows he made the choice to step out of leadership and support Nightfall in her role as their leader. But he is her second, her creator, and the one who keeps things running while she lives her double life in the Orders. Some things are going to have to change around here.

It takes fifteen minutes for Trix to show up. TR looks about ready to leave, but settles back in when she enters the room and sinks into a chair. "What's up?" she asks.

Zorin sits, strumming his long fingers on the War Table. Trix, with her pixie-cut red hair, looks younger than her years, and she is young to begin with. Early twenties in human years at most. TR isn't much older, but the scowl on his face ages him, his blue eyes digging into Zorin.

“We’re playing on the world stage now,” says Zorin. “And the Orders will send their greatest warriors against us. We need to be prepared. We need an army.”

TR rolls his eyes. “Not this again.”

Zorin sighs. “You think you know what is coming. You think we are ready. Have you ever fought a Knight of the First?”

“No,” says TR, softly.

“You will, soon. Do you have the serums they inject? The strength and speed they possess? The minds they’ve spent decades sharpening?

TR bows his head. “No.”

“But you have me.” Zorin lays down his cup. “ I can turn whoever is ready. I can train them in the ways of Nephilim. We can have hundreds, thousands of soldiers to match theirs.”

Trix tilts her head, sipping her drink, “Maybe once we’re more established—”

“It will be too late,” says Zorin.

Trix shrugs, leaning back in her chair. TR frowns, but says nothing.

Zorin continues. “We need to act now. Provide me with a list of those able and wanting, and I will begin.”

“It didn’t work before,” says TR. “It won’t work now.”

His words remind Zorin of the battles, the screams. He pushes the memories away. “It will. It has to.”

TR chuckles. "That's an insane plan.”

Zorin taps his pale fingers on the table. This argument has gone on for too long. "We need more Nephilim."

TR snickers. "How will you control them? What if one of them goes out on their own and creates an army?"

"Without Nephilim, we don't stand a chance against the Orders."

"I've fought the Orders for years," says TR.

Zorin raises his voice. "And look how much you've accomplished!"

TR stands. "If you create more Nephilim, you'll be the death of this rebellion."

"The death of this rebellion?" Zorin laughs. "The death of this rebellion will be the men and women you're letting move in outside the Cathedral. They're fixing houses, putting up fences. Is this our base of operations or a summer retreat?"

Trix sighs, swiping the red hair from her face. "We're only allowing a few dozen trusted people to move in. None of them will leak our location."

"When they are tortured, they will talk," Zorin says. He's seen enough to know that, eventually, anyone will talk.

"Some of them have been tortured before, I can assure you—"

"Enough." The voice comes from the doorway and the room goes silent. Scarlett marches up to the table and faces Zorin. She is dressed as Nightfall, with a black mask and black hair, save but one strand that falls to the side of her silver-blue eyes. Her armor is sleek and dark, hugging her body like it was made for her, with a silver Tree of Life weaving up her chest.

"The people stay," Nightfall says. "If we are to inspire hope, we need to be seen. The Nephilim have returned. They need to know we fight for them." Nightfall looks down at the papers on the table. Maps of New York City, maps of Italy. "And TR is right. We can't create more Nephilim. Not while we're still organizing."

Zorin shakes his head, rubbing back his black hair. "When the Orders come for you, and they
will
come, you will want Nephilim to stand beside you. Not a few humans and Zeniths."

Nightfall steps forward, no doubt trying to impress or intimidate. Zorin resists a grin.

"No new Nephilim," she says.

He clenches his jaw, but then bows his head. This conversation is not over, but he will not have it here, with TR and Trix listening. This is Nephilim business, and they are not Nephilim, no matter how devoted they are to the cause.

Nightfall turns to Trix. "Have you received any messages from the other rebel groups?"

She nods and sips her wine. "We've received messages all right, but they aren't good, N. No one wants to meet with you."

This is new to Zorin. He expected some to decline, but not all, not with the video of Nightfall destroying an aircraft playing across the world.

"Do they give a reason?" Nightfall asks.

"They say, 'If Jaxton Lux declined her offer, then why shouldn't I?' I've told them you secured my escape," Trix says. "It hasn't helped."

"Contact them again," Nightfall say. "Tell them I have outsmarted Ragathon, Grandmaster of the Inquisition, twice. And when I do so for the third time, with their help, it will be to end the Inquisition."

Trix whistles. "Big words, N."

"Too big," says TR. "The Red Eagles and Sons of Eden will think you're bluffing."

"I'm not. Tell them."

Trix nods. "Alright, N, but if you ask me, you need to focus on something smaller first. Something that can show the leaders you can win this war."

"More Nephilim would draw their attention." Zorin sips from a silver cup—not wine, but blood—the taste sweet on his tongue. Nightfall stares at his drink.

She frowns. "We won't create new Nephilim, but we can search for old ones." She points to Zorin. "You were kept alive. There must be others."

The door behind them creaks. A parched voice speaks. "You will find none." Zorin does not need to turn around to know who it is, but Nightfall spins and draws her sword.

An old man, cloaked in black, a thick shackle on each wrist, stands before them. "You will find none," he says. "Except me."