Redemption: The Damnation Chronicles, #2

By Joseph Sweet

Lost in the land of the dead with no memory and separated from Rose, Marcus must survive the coming trials with both his sanity and his soul intact.
Meanwhile Rose must face her own inner demons and either rise above the darkness within or fall forever. But are higher forces at work here guiding them? And to what purpose? Find out in this tense continuation of the "Damnation Chronicles" series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Sweet
• Release date: Dec 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466019140

Joseph Sweet

Joseph Sweet was born October 31 1976, and has been writing seriously since the age of sixteen. He currently lives in the upstate NY community of Watertown. Aside from writing he plays guitar and keyboard, writes and sings his own songs, and is an amateur photographer. He has worked in Television and radio doing voices and making and editing commercials, played in several bands, and acted in theater, but his greatest passion is and always has been his writing.

Book preview

The Damnation Chronicles

Book Two: Redemption

by Joseph Sweet

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY

Joseph P. Sweet on Smashwords.com

Copyright © 2007-2024 Forsaken Press and Joseph P. Sweet. All rights reserved.

Editing provided by Wendy Foster.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, or internet posting without written permission from Forsaken Press, or the Author, except for review purposes, or that deemed fit by the author for promotion. All persons, places, and organizations mentioned herein, except those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious. Any similarities to any persons, places, or organizations, living, dead, undead, or otherwise, are purely Coincidental. No trees were harmed during the making of this E-book.

Revised edition April 2024

Printed in the United States

Forsaken Press

[e-mail]

Dedicated in memory of Vincent J. Condino.

1948-2009 Artist, author, Photographer, friend and so much more. He helped with edits and proofreading of the first book in this series a month before his passing, and unfortunately never got to read this one.

For Bill: I hope you found what you were looking for on the other side - and that, for your sake, there were no aliens. (Bill would understand)

And my sister Brittany; because she says I should dedicate every book to her. ☺

And to you, dear Reader; without whom, authors couldn’t survive.

In this place

nothing ever dies.

Darkness grows

in the distant cries

of torments

that will never cease.

Do not mourn;

pity these deceased.

The Damnation Chronicles:

Hades’s Memoirs

Contents:

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Part 3: Crossing Over/Chapter One: Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Chapter Two: The Key

Chapter Three: Up In Flames

Chapter Four: How to become a god in five easy steps

Chapter Five: Hell is where the heart is

Part Four: Death/Chapter One: Don’t fear the reaper

Chapter Two: Apocalypse later

Chapter Three: A fist full of souls

Chapter Four: Unleashed

Chapter Five: Saving Madison

Chapter Six: The Fall

Chapter Seven: The Long Way Home

Chapter Eight: Reborn

Excerpt from The Damnation Chronicles: Book 3, The Gathering

Afterword

Bio

Prologue

Across an apocalyptic landscape of ruined, crumbling buildings, fossilized vegetation, and rotted, rusting husks that were once great machines of mankind, our story continues.

Beneath a gray, slow-moving cloud cover - lent only a vague, barely discernable light from what may or may not be a moon beyond it - everything is bland and nearly colorless. It is like something from a nightmare. Not far away, sits what used to be a great park at the heart of this immense decaying city. A forsaken place where dry, scarred, and twisted husks of trees - forever caught in their last desperate plea for sunlight and nutrients - reach for the sky like hordes of menacing demons, praying to some dark, forgotten gods.

And demons do dwell among them.

In the dark there, unspeakable things are born and an incalculable number of horrors await the poor soul foolish enough to wander in looking for shelter. There is little shelter to be had in a world such as this. For though demons, evil spirits, and Tormentors are not the sole inhabitants of this realm, there are a number beyond measure of things that have forgotten their place. Wiped clean of any semblance of their former humanity, all they have is their loss, guilt, and rage. And though they cannot remember, they know that they have lost something of immeasurable value and that others wandering here have a chance to reclaim that which is now forever lost to them. These will stop at nothing to rob you of that chance.

But though the surrounding environment is completely convincing it is just a construct born of fear and desperation; in some cases, born out of the desires of the damned. There are many underworlds and many places where souls go who are no longer worthy of second chances. But in this place, the souls of the dead are put on trial and tested. In the end, there are only ever three outcomes. Wander forever lost and tormented, emerge enlightened and move on, or become truly damned. The latter are lost forever. Those unlucky or unworthy ones lose everything that once made them human and become something else entirely: Cogs, perhaps, in the machinery that keeps the universe moving ever onward, individuality stripped, recycled, and re-tasked; or they simply disappear into nothingness - gone forever as though they had never been.

There are many places like this one; just about one for every soul. While that may seem unfathomable, remember that the universe - as frightening as it may seem - is infinite. As are the boundaries of the human mind. And the walls which separate all of those worlds are as thin as personal preference, memories, or perception. Each soul in this land of the dead, for lack of a better name, may see entirely different surroundings, but they are in the same place and often tormented by the same demons. Separated by mental and magical barriers; each is on a personal journey.

This particular construct is shared by more than a few, with subtle differences; a lost desolate version of your earth, much as you might remember it, but in ruins. Here, down a city street that looks much like New York on the continent currently known as America in some realities, buildings are falling slowly apart. Long dead weeds are poking through cracks in the pavement and long unused and rusted beyond repair; lay the old machines of mankind. Perhaps this is the aftermath of nuclear war. Maybe it is all that remains of a society wiped out by a plague. Or could it be that nature finally rose against the destructive dominant species of the planet and ended the threat to its existence? All are valid questions, but there are no answers to be had. As I’ve said, this is just a fabrication, born of the fears and desires of its inhabitants, but no less dangerous for that.

Off in the distance, a couple of miles from an immense dilapidated bridge, just barely visible through the fog, a figure appears in a burst of bright light that cuts through the very fabric of reality for an instant only and then vanishes. And so, we must quit stalling and move on, for this is the one we’ve been waiting for.

He stumbles for a moment looking confused and frightened. For a few seconds more he merely stares off ahead of him and then appears to grow concerned. Something is troubling him. His light brown hair - shaggy, just bordering on being long, but not quite reaching his shoulders - blows to his left on a breeze which carries with it an eerily hollow moan. It might have been the voices of a thousand tormented souls. Or maybe it’s just the wind itself whistling through the many hollow places in this city and echoing off the remaining, but crumbling solid surfaces all around. His logical mind will tell him that this latter is the case.

He looks fairly normal at first glance, aside from the tattered, ancient-looking clothing. If you look long enough at this man, however, you can’t help but notice that something is off in him. Looking closer now, beyond his initially harmless appearance we can see what we might have missed at first glance. His eyes are nearly black and his skin, upon closer inspection, is pale beyond what one would expect from someone who had never gone outside a day in his life. There is a look of innocence about him, but something bad hovering there, just beyond his initial appearance; some darkness that has corrupted him. It is too early now to say whether or not it has eaten away at him to a point from which he will never return, but the meeker of dark creatures, lingering just beyond the shadows of these ruined husks of buildings are keeping their distance where they would normally move in for a surprise attack. They hesitate because they can sense the power within him. He is unaware of it now, and perhaps that alone will save him, but to some of these creatures, there is enough darkness within him for them to count him among their own. And to fear him.

What will come of him, I cannot say this early on, but this is his path. What happens now is up to him. Will he fall here and fade forever into the shadows of this underworld? I hope not. Will he succumb to the growing darkness within him and become truly damned? This I also hope against. We will see. I am just an observer. I can only set things in motion, and even that is not always an intent born of my own heart’s desires. However it turns out, do not hate me. We all have our purpose in life. Mine is to tell this tale.

Part Three

Crossing Over

Chapter One

Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

1

Marcus clung hard to a thought that was fighting to dislodge itself from his fragmented and badly jarred memory. It had only been there for a second as he’d awakened from a fog into a world he could only partially accept as reality. As his brain struggled to take in his surroundings, make sense of them, and determine whether or not they were just constructs of his imagination, something immensely important slipped into his mind and then fell just out of reach. He knew that if he could just hold on to it - reel it back in somehow - all his questions would be answered, but it was about to disappear forever if he couldn’t maintain his tenuous mental grip long enough to make sense of it.

He had been traveling with someone...Or had it all been a dream? He could almost see himself walking with a woman. The vision was very vague; a blurry face. No help there. He looked around quickly at the ruined buildings in every direction, like a scene out of a post-apocalypse film. He was able to draw this correlation, but he couldn’t think of a single movie that he’d ever watched. He could remember genres - comedy, horror, drama, suspense, romance, maybe some more - and knew somehow that he had seen TV shows and movies falling within all of those categories, but nothing specific came to mind.

Marcus thought this over for a few seconds. Patients suffering from amnesia could often remember basic everyday things. They remembered how to tie their shoes, comb their hair, and dress themselves. They could often still play sports or musical instruments if they had been able to before but usually remembered nothing else of their lives. He recalled hearing that somewhere and struggled once more for some shred of that conversation or event but nothing came forth. He was incapable, at least for the moment, of pulling anything specific about his life from his aching and confused brain. The longer he concentrated on that one thought, the more powerful the pain in his head became, promising to progress into a full-blown migraine if he continued to fight it. He decided for the time being to just let it go, and began walking. Unsure of which way he’d been headed before, he began moving in the general direction that he thought he had been looking when he’d first become aware of his surroundings. Up ahead, he thought he saw some recognizable buildings, though in their state they could have been anything and he couldn’t be sure. That ache in his head began to bloom once again when he pursued what may have been a memory or only his mind seeing some similarity in the architecture so he let it go.

It was a bleak day, with thick grey cloud cover, nearly blocking out the sun entirely, but in this light, it could just as easily have been night. The dim, barely glowing ball, somehow managing to bleed through those clouds could have been a full moon instead of a sun for all the illumination it was providing. The buildings surrounding looked ancient, and crumbling, and even the streets looked unsafe for walking, but there was no other choice at the moment.

Marcus something whispered from the shadows of a nearby building. Its voice - like a thousand dry leaves scraping across cement - caused involuntary shivers to shoot up his spine. He spun quickly that way, terrified, but desperate just the same. Part of him wanted to run, yet another part prayed that someone would be there who had the answers: Someone who could tell him what was going on, where he was, and how he’d gotten there.

There was no one. Only the long-vacant shell of what had once been a business by the name of Carlson’s Jewelry. The glass had been broken out of the front display window long ago, and by the heavy accrual of dirt, dust, and cobwebs it seemed obvious that no one had set foot inside in many years.

The business name was not familiar to him. But neither was anything else in this place. He had been to New York City a few times in his life, but only while passing through. While he didn’t know a great deal about the city, however, something inside told him that this was indeed New York.

A girl’s face came to him suddenly, lying in a hospital bed. She was unconscious and she didn’t look good. Marcus stopped once more. He knew this girl. He struggled with his mind, trying with all of the strength that he had to summon forth her name, even when the spikes of pain shooting through his skull began to become unbearable and he had to clamp a hand to either side of his head to keep from crying out. He knew what his name was, and he knew that this girl had been someone close to him, someone important. A daughter...No...Niece? Although he couldn’t be sure, he thought not: A sister, perhaps?

Madison, he said aloud suddenly, as though remembering something of great importance, and then it was almost gone again in an explosion of pain, like a railroad spike through his skull. He dropped to his knees there in the middle of a city street that looked to have once been a war zone, and cradled his head in both hands, struggling with whatever was there, at the tip of his mind, threatening to fade away forever.

Then in a flash, it was there. A memory of him standing over a hospital bed, looking down at his sister, and he remembered that she had been in great trouble. How could I have forgotten this?

Best brother in the world, she said, reaching out to him from another memory, and then it was gone. ‘Obviously not,’ he thought, ‘if I forgot her so easily.’

Once again there were just the dead ruins of a city all around him. Buildings leeched by the long steady passage of time of their color, smashed and torn by some distant past event, corroded and crumbling from the steady abuse of weather and other things. Or perhaps it wasn’t that there was no color but rather that what remained was rendered dull and nearly imperceptible by the feeble gray light filtering down from the dark sky above.

So, there it was. He remembered who he was, but what good did it do him? He still had no recollection of where he was or how he had gotten there. How the world had gotten the way it was in between that one memory and now was still a mystery.

Something moved from somewhere just a short way behind him. There was the sound of glass crunched underfoot, a rustle of cloth and as he turned, something dark rushed toward him much too fluidly to be running. It was hovering just above the ground where the tattered black cloth which made up its robes just ended.

Marcus hesitated briefly, uncertain what he should do, and then instinct took control and he dove to his side, just as it passed through the spot in which he had been standing. He slammed hard into the cracked and pock-marked pavement and rolled into what could only have been a crater where he fell a good deal farther than he expected and splashed into a puddle of filthy water. As the cold liquid washed over him - instantly soaking through the tattered clothing he was wearing - he had time to wonder, if only for an instant, just what had happened in this place. A couple of inches to his right the broken concrete dropped off into utter blackness. Just a couple of inches more and he’d have fallen in for sure. There was no telling how far down it went.

The creature stopped and turned and Marcus peered up over the edge of the crater to see what it was going to do next. If it came at him again, he didn’t exactly know for sure, but he thought that dark hole behind him might suddenly cease to seem so intimidating.

Parts of the creature appeared solid and then proved not to be, shifting and becoming translucent with the steady winds. He looked hard for a face, but there were no discernable features. Something face-like – beyond what must have been a hood of some sort, made only of shadow – attempted to take shape and then faded like smoke blown in the wind. It raised an arm, which in one moment was a remarkably defined, rotting corpse arm and in the next instant was made up of translucent, fleshless bones. A moment later it was without definition, barely more than the shadow of an arm. Its posture in that instant made it appear as though it was about to say something.

The creature looked his way, but hesitated a moment longer, as though uncertain. Then, without warning, it glided toward him for a fraction of a second, then seemed to rethink that action and flew off again. A moment later it had disappeared into the shadows once more.

What the hell? ‘Am I losing my mind?’

Marcus lay there, unable to do anything for the moment. He could feel the muddy water, soaking him and knew that he would have to get up, but was frozen in fear after what he’d just seen. His first thought was that it had been some horrifying creature - a reaper - come to collect his soul or something along those lines. But one of those wouldn’t just turn tail and run back into the shadows. ‘And was it afraid of me just then?’ he wondered. Instinctually he had to ponder the possibility for a minute that he was dead. And, if that was the case, was that creature what he looked like to others here? Was it merely another spirit wandering along, just as lost as he was? The idea of being in the Land of the Dead suddenly didn’t seem all that strange to him somehow, and he felt some memory begin to stir in him at the thought of that title, but it was gone as quickly as it had emerged in his mind. Like most everything else, he let it go. He could feel the cold wind on his wet skin, though not as strongly as he would have thought it would be. He could smell the sterility of this long-dead place and knew that he had a physical body as he’d always had. Surely, he was just as alive now as he had been in those newly resurfaced memories. But what had happened in this