The Shade

By Tannis Skye

The damned roam undetected below our feet. Once a distinguished, high ranking tier nine angel, Lucifer challenges the vision of the Upper Levels. Before a rebellion can be formed, Lucifer is banished, plummeting to the center of the Earth.

Lucifer forms a lava oasis, which descends nine levels deep. In this new world he creates an army of hellions, renounces his former identity and stands as Abaddon.

Valafar has been in his service since the beginning and millenniums later, it is his turn to prove himself worthy of being Realm Lord of level Four. Before doing so, he is released from the hell-mouth with the task of dragging a soul back with him.

Thinking himself triumphant, Valafar’s intended victim becomes his greatest folly. Kai’s soul has been stolen, but his body remains. Without a soul and not quite dead, Kai lives on, as a shade.

Seventy-five years have passed since the birth of his new life. Kai seeks a quiet existence with the possibility of the human interaction he has been without. But Kai is not the only supernatural being to reside within the sleepy town of Madeira Park.

Keetes is the best friend to Riley, the town’s fire cracker and hot mouth. Meeting at night classes and sharing a mutual love of art, Kai’s connection to Riley is undeniable. Riley is unaffected by any form of compulsion thanks to a shield her unaware clairvoyant friend has placed and she is a puzzle that Keetes has grown bored of trying to solve. It’s time to change her.

Unwilling to let Keetes turn Riley, Kai is forced to reveal his unequalled skill. As he is thrust onto a wooden spike and lit aflame, Keetes vows to seek out Kai’s maker from within the Lower Levels and make him pay.
It is only a matter of weeks before Keetes will find Valafar and when he does, a whole army of hellions will be sent to wreak havoc on the disobedient shade. The only hope Kai has is seeking out the phantom Unholy Priest.

“What will be able to do?” Riley asked.

“Show me the hell mouth entrance.”

“And then what?”

“I go in and retrieve my soul. With my soul, I am human.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tannis Skye
• Release date: Oct 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465956453

Tannis Skye

I was starting to freak out when I turned twenty-three. I had not done any post secondary education because there was nothing I knew for certain I could love being for all my life. I've kind of always been one of those people who is good at everything and excellent at nothing. I finally realized that my mind wouldn't rest until I did something about the stories in my head; I would dream about my stories, obsess over them on days off and vacation time. It FELT like I was already doing it full time outside my normal 40 hours. That is when I made the transition. I really love writing dark epic fiction with an unexpected twist but I am also very into writing non-fiction too. The Shade and The Nine Lower Levels will be the first of at least three books and The Shade and The Unholy Priest will be released around Jan/Feb 2012. On a side note, I have a trucker mouth, crazy hair colors and an eclectic sense of self. FOLLOW ME ON MY BLOG! http://tannisskye.blogspot.com/ TannisSkye for twitter =)

Book preview

The Shade and The Nine Lower Levels

By Tannis Skye

Copyright 2011 Tannis Skye

Smashwords Edition

Dedicated to my family, friends that may

as well be family and the man who

helped make all this possible;

I love you.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

The Shade and The Unholy Priest

1

Being summoned to Level Nine still caused unease among the group. Even the most seasoned hellion, such as Valafar, felt out of place. It seemed like forever since they were last let out. This was to be Valafar’s last release from the hell mouth and if all went according to plan; he would be promoted to Realm Lord of the Fourth Level. Abaddon needed someone he trusted to put a few plans into motion and recruited Buer, the soon to be old Fourth Level Realm Lord, for the task. Valafar knew Buer was not pleased about being taken from the position he had held proudly for centuries, but honoured to be one of only a few Abaddon trusted. The news of the promotion was bittersweet for Valafar. Though he had been vying for a higher position for many lifetimes, he enjoyed being released from the hell mouths and hunting souls. He was determined to make his last release his most memorable.

They were instructed to sit in a horseshoe around the hell mouth, Abaddon at top centre. Just below them sat the hell mouth portal opening; a black tunnel with no bottom or walls. A few new hellions joined the ranks this time; their faces showing boyish excitement. Abaddon was the last to take his seat and when he did, all conversation stilled. He sat a moment, swirling a large gold ring on his finger while in deep contemplation. He looked at Valafar briefly and all of the other heads in the room turned in unison. He stopped rolling his ring, swung his head back around and spoke to the group.

I am aware it has been a very long time since your last release. For some of you, this is your first time. There are only two rules when you’re released. The first is the most important; you must return with a soul in tow. And last, your time limit is one season. I will be closing the return portal and calling you back after that. He paused to look at each of them in turn. I don’t care how you get your souls, but get them. I am starting to think you all have grown lazy and perhaps this council needs to be replenished with hellions who are committed in their task. Raising his hand to silence their surprised replies, But I will let this outing determine that. There is no need to take the souls who are eligible for Level Seven and Eight since they will end up here eventually. Furthermore -

Valafar took this time to regard his surroundings. He’d heard this speech a thousand times. Nothing new had changed in their Demon King’s chambers in all the years he’d been called to join the soul hunters. The walls were made of loosely stacked red brick with black soot clawing up the edges. The heat down here was insufferable and Valafar, accustomed to a more pleasurable climate on Level Four, despised the way it made his porcelain skin sallow. He tugged at his ruffled collar and looked to a door standing at the far edge of the room. Since demons have no need for sleep, there was no bed in Abaddon’s chambers. However, close to the door stood a tall black chair. It’s back reached high and narrow, pointed at the tip, bedazzled with tiny red gems and gold flecks. In the middle rested the remains of what was once a cushion, now blending in with the pitch coloured seat from years of use. The arms of the chair held deep grooves, wood chipped away from thoughtful ranking. Existence down here scarcely showed itself. This room in particular, where Lord Abaddon held curtail meetings, releases and private conversations, hardly held proof of inhabitancy. The only other use for it was, of course, that door, and where it led. Once opened, a spiralling, svelte staircase directs you up to where all the masterpieces happen.

Valafar had only seen the grounds of Level Nine once since being a hellion, sent to deliver Abaddon an urgent message. One of Abaddon’s prize hellions had been found out and captured by a Light on Earth. Valafar remembered very clearly, edging that large door open and stepping out onto the staircase. He was forced to use his talent to hover over the stepping stones, of which were so narrow in size that he would certainly have fallen over their edges otherwise. Below the swirling walkway lay a bleak abyss, much like the hell mouth tunnel. Valafar was caught off guard by the heat that struck him when he opened the door. He’d closed it quickly out of reflex, then braced himself and reopened it and strode into the blistering oven. The ground forced him to use his talent to soar above the ground; it hissed and popped, ambers growing redder as he passed, as if sensing something to scald. It took Valafar a reasonably long time to track Abaddon down. Though Level Nine is the smallest in size, it was difficult to navigate through because of the fiery grounds.

Valafar’s breath caught when he came to the connection between Level Nine and Level Eight. In the middle of the two Levels stood twin Olympian sized giants, only half of their immense body’s showing. Mist camouflaged the rest of their legs, which seemed to stretch on endlessly. One giant guarded each edge. Abadoon sat, like a small ant, on the shoulder of the giant guarding Level Nine, talking quietly into his grotesque ear. They watched intently at the frozen lake below, random limbs poking from the ice like straws in water. The water melted as quickly as it froze: the molten ground made it evaporate and disperse. It cooled the water just enough to thaw out some of the limbs, allowing a soul to regain feeling in parts of their body, before they then re-experienced the pain of being frozen alive.

Valafar turned away from the lake and rose to Abaddon’s level. Valafar could feel his talent wavering a little. He’d have to make this quick. He was not looking forward to letting their Master know that one of his best had been captured.

Sighing out of old memories, Valafar looked to the door again. It was surprising that the cries of souls did not pierce through, even as heavy and thick as it was. He wondered if Abaddon sat in the chair, door inched open and listened to the tortured who cried out unrelentingly.

Valafar’s mind came back into the present as he turned his tell-tale scarlet eyes back to their leader. He considered the myth around Abaddon as he concluded his speech: the first and last fallen angel to successfully go against the Upper Levels. Abaddon stood now, butchered stubs showing from his back. They wilted slightly, with only the faintest of angel feathers living on their tips. It’s only a legend among the hellions of how Abaddon came to be, but the most common story is still whispered; Abaddon once lived in the Upper Levels as an established and respected angel. One day, though, as his feelings for mankind never grew into love but rather into hatred, he was banished. Cast from his home, Abaddon found refuge miles under the earth. Here, he hacked off his wings and abandoned all loyalty to the Upper Levels and started a rebellion. That is when his hellions came to be, growing in numbers rapidly. The Upper Levels underestimated his loathing for the humans, and in a few decades time, Abaddon’s Army grew into a compelling rival.

Abaddon had finished his speech and pointed to the hell mouth, Go he muttered. The dozen hellions rose in silence, sliding from their seats and started up the long dark tunnel.

Valafar looked over his shoulder as he left, catching a glimpse of Abaddon in deep conversation with Buer. Buer looked annoyed and puzzled, his mammoth arms flexing as he spoke passionately. Valafar watched the two of them until the walls of the tunnel obstructed his view. The tunnel hummed like a bee’s nest and seemed to be much cooler than usual, which meant they would be exiting into an area with a high density and foliage. That knowledge was pleasing to Valafar; colder, darker places always allowed for easier possession. There was no real method of time keeping within the Lower Levels, so Valafar had no real inclination of how long he’d spent drifting upwards. He didn’t see the others, but then again, the tunnel was vast in size and so dark, that seeing anyone would be unlikely. At last, a dot appeared in the distance and Valafar could feel his stomach jolt with excitement.

He was not the first to make it to the top. A hellion by a name he did not know, sat crouched, looking out into the cloudy night. He regarded Valafar curiously and then turned his cloaked eyes away. Rain, Valafar thought, as he glared at the heavy marshmallows. Rain never made leaving a hell mouth easy. When you leave, you must leave your solid form behind and turn to dark matter. Rain always weighs you down and makes a hellion want to seek shelter, rather than stalking an appropriate person to possess. The cloaked hellion did not seem annoyed at the unfortunate weather. New, Valafar concluded.

First time Valafar stated in a level tone. The cloaked man rolled his dark shoulders and tipped his head to the side. What Level?

One the shadowy figure whispered. His voice came out low and airy.

The dozen others were arriving now, each in their chosen hellion forms. They regarded the poor weather with dark scowls and turned away from the opening. It had been decades since Valafar has seen some of these hellions since there were no reasons, nor typically any allowance, into other Levels. He watched them thoughtfully, eyes pausing on a tall woman with spider-like limbs and clear, defiant eyes. She returned his look with a thin, sardonic smile and winked.

Figures, said Valafar, resuming conversation. The novice’s eyes opened for the first time, two scarlet dots hovering in the middle of his non-existent face.

Valafar continued, Level One’s are not worthy of an exit, but Abaddon knows best I suppose. He looked up into the haunting gaze of the younger hellion and smiled. His fingers stroked the bone that poked from his cheeks as he spoke. There is no torture there, right? Of course he knew the answer so he continued on. You guard listless, bored souls. Tell me, he directed his voice over his shoulder, does that qualify a hellion now? The others, all regulars in release, glanced up. Heads lolled to the side to look at the cloaked shadow but seemed uninterested in the conversation. Their dark eyes, full of hungry anticipation, returned to the night sky.

A hellion needs to get his amusement where he can, Valafar thought bitterly at their bored expressions. He could care less what hellions were released and what ones were not. It was, however, mildly insulting to have waited hundreds of years to be released, hundreds more to be promoted, only to be sitting here with this under qualified maggot.

The shadowed silhouette rose to an impressive physical stature. A spinney, skin-clad hand fell from his cloak and crooked a finger in Valafar’s direction. He whispered mutely, glowing eyes smiling in his fellow hellion’s direction. His hand sparked and steam rose from the finger then returned to his side.

Just when Valafar thought things were going to get interesting, a slow rumble echoed from low in the earth. The sound and vibrations accelerated rapidly. Each hellion remained level gliding just above the ground’s surface. A wave of heat hit and the black tunnel began to rotate. The walls pulsed and moaned. It went from being tolerably hot, to unbearable temperatures. Valafar cast a side long gaze to his skeletal annoyance and rolled his eyes - he had no skin to scorch. The pressure started to build and mushrooms of grey smoke rose; lava shot like an elevator going up and quivered just below their suspended feet. Valafar hunched down, bracing himself for lift off. They were shoved from the mouth at a blurring velocity, disguised by the magma and vapour exiting the top of the volcano. Valafar veered right, a plume of dark current galloping along the night sky.

2

Valafar glided through the night, drawn to the gun shots going off in the distance; they looked like fireworks from a ways off. Blood and gun smoke was in the air. Oh, this is too easy, he mused. He perched a ways above the action and watched. A handful of men came in from the side, dipped behind a half fallen brick building and huddled together. They wore khaki uniforms, metal helmets and long dark boots. Valafar watched curiously, and then noticed a lone grey uniform sneaking from shadow to shadow in the opposite direction. Winter was in full swing, and heavy boot imprints mapped the assassins approach. The khaki’s didn’t notice. One seemed to pause for a moment and look into the dark. He brushed long shaggy hair from his face and watched the night, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he tensed. The loner braked behind rubble, checked his riffle and then peaked around the corner. The lead on the khaki side was preparing to move again and was instructing his men to keep low.

The grey uniform stood up, his face void of expression. He strode long and fast, directed towards the group of unsuspecting men.

German! one of the khaki’s shouted. All spun around, their weapons drawn. A single bullet was fired and the dark uniform went down.

Thanks Kai, one of the men said, leaning on the wall beside him to regain his calm. The one named Kai nodded then walked towards the dark uniform. He stopped half way, saw the body wasn’t moving and frowned down at the young man lying motionless. Kai rubbed at his weary face and turned back to his men. He reloaded his gun and cradled it in his arm.

Move out men. Let’s get our arses out of here before any more come.

About time, the youngest looking solider said. This snow is making me barmy.

They gathered in a unit again and, walking around the dead enemy, headed towards a safe camp for the night. Just as they were about to pass, the grey uniform pounced up and latched on to the first khaki he could grab. Kai heard a tiny click and screamed for his men to get back. He lunged towards the dark suite but was sent hurling in the air.

Valafar practically giggled; the humans had worked their way up from homemade explosives since the last time he’d been released. Now they had tiny hand held death devices. He loved how this race progressed. Perhaps it was good that he was becoming Realm Lord. At this rate, there would be no need for any hellions to be released and retrieve souls.

The backlash from the explosion was monstrous; Valafar felt the effects from his high perch. He watched the young solider go shooting back and skid to a stop several meters from the blast. He lay unconscious in a mangled mess. Silence hit the air and Valafar slipped from his view point to observe the damage closer. He stared at the scene - the dark uniform was clearly dead; pieces of his body scattered over the ground. The men closest to him suffered the same fate but at least it was quick. The soldier that had been beside Kai wheezed and convulsed, his hands clawing at the dirt beside his hips. The light uniform watched the dark mass shimmer above his head and gasped in horror. He closed his eyes and Valafar chuckled when he realized the man was praying, then, inhaled his last struggling breath, and perished.

Valafar’s misty form floated to Kai, his face clammy and pale, with his shoulder arched back awkwardly. His breathing was laboured. He’d live, and, Valafar thought, he’d be in a perfect situation to claim several others in the process of his possession. Valafar smiled smugly and lowered like a dark drape over the unsuspecting human. Kai’s body kicked from the ground as Valafar merged with him, his face twisting into unease, even in sleep.

Light zigzagged through the forest, a handful of men breaking from the dark soon after. Their eyes widened when they discovered where the blaring noise had come from. Grenades were very rare to come by and few men had ever seen the effects of their force. A short, stout young man crouched down and shook his head to the officer looking over his shoulder. Dead, he whispered. He moved from body to body until he came across Kai. He bent down, regarded his pained face and felt for a pulse.

Over here! he yelled above the staccato gunfire going off in the distance. His heart beat is slow but strong. Get a few men, a stretcher, and take him out of here. Two men grabbed Kai on either end and hoisted him up into the carrier; a thin piece of fabric with muddy blood stains, whining in protest as it was forced to bear the weight of another body. The men gripped the hollow iron bars and positioned them on their shoulders. They set off at a steady trot towards safety.

* * *

His head felt like it was swelling under a helmet. He had to have been hit, though he had no recollection of how or when. There were minor wounds to his body from what he could tell after a quick self-inspection. Perhaps a dislocated shoulder, he thought, after a sharp pain gripped his body when he tried to move. Gun shots went off in the distance and despite his urges to move, his body refused to comply. A nurse, who had been turned away a moment earlier smiled sheepishly down at him.

Oh hon, it’s okay. Lay down, you’re a little beat up. They’re just testing the new guns that were shipped here this morning. You’re away from the action. She looked at their surroundings; a simple tent set up, littered with beds in every available space. Well, somewhat. She rubbed her face a little and coughed into her sleeve.

Patch me up and send me out, Kai replied weakly. She smiled back kindly. He turned his head to read her name; she reminded him of his sister. Her tag read Emma. Seriously Emma, just wrap me up, medicate me and I will be fine.

She shook her head slowly and he sunk back into his pillow, feeling deflated and weak. You’ve been here for weeks, Lieutenant Walker. Five or six now, I think. Her laser beam blue eyes filled with unshed tears. I am afraid, she continued on bravely, That your wounds are no longer the reason you must stay.

Kai rubbed at his aching temples. Sleep was already calling him back.

You have the Spanish Flu, I am afraid.

How? Kai asked sluggishly.

When you came in your shoulder was out of place and had to be reset. You also had a few open wounds that started to show signs of infection. She leaned heavily along the bed. She looked exhausted and Kai wondered when the last time was that she had slept. With your open wounds and the amount of time we needed you to be in one place for the shoulder to set, the disease attacked you pretty quickly. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for weeks now. She paused then and looked over him thoughtfully. You really should have responded to treatment. Your wounds are closed and on their way to healing. For some reason, your system is rejecting all recovery and medication. Then again, you also should be dead. She smiled apologetically at him for her bluntness. I am not sure what is going on in that body of yours but the Spanish Flu claims lives within days.

Kai licked his dry lips. He looked around and frowned at the fuzziness starting to creep in along the edges of his vision. May I have some water?

Emma seemed unsure how to continue, since he was clearly not understanding the gravity of the information she was feeding him. "War is an awful, awful thing. There is so much poverty,