Luptator: Daemon Angelum

By Tyler Watkins

Wesley Pike is the average New York City teenager blessed with wealth, a moderately handsome face, and a brain that has placed him at the top of his class. What Wesley doesn't know is that he and his family are a race of people who bond their souls to demon familiars. After his family is summoned to a strange land void of light and full of dark mysteries, Wesley must return home to save his parents, along with the people of Earth and those he never knew existed. "Demons live in all of us. There's only one difference between humans and Luptators - it's our ability to control them."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tyler Watkins
• Release date: Apr 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311018649

Tyler Watkins

Tyler Watkins was born in Parkersburg, West Virginia and currently resides in Columbus, Ohio. He is a Best Selling Author in LGBT Action and Adventure, as well as Fiction-Fantasy. His debut novel, "Luptator: Daemon Angelum" was released in July of 2014 and most recently, he has released his second novel of the same series, "Klyborne's Revenge". He has been declared a winner of NNWM (National Novel Writing Month) with his unpublished work titled "The Oak Door" in 2013.

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Luptator: Daemon Angelum

Tyler Watkins

Luptator: Daemon Angelum

Copyright © 2014 by Tyler Watkins

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.

Locations, businesses, and organizations mentioned are used fictionally and in no way reflects the opinions or actions of those mentioned.

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 10: 149748698X

ISBN 13: 978-1497486980

Contact:

[e-mail]

DEDICATION

For Kristina,

and every person I’ve lost from this world.

Table of Contents

A Hero is Born 1

New Beginnings 8

Nikov 21

Destolorous 42

Rugar Deschir 56

Separation 74

Step by Step 92

Elanco 109

Confession 128

Reborn 146

Savino 164

Secrets of the Past 181

Square One 198

Klyborne 215

Fifth Avenue 236

Daemon Angelum 253

Baror Lives 266

A Hero is Born

There was once a famous Luptator by the name of Malinda Lunarelli who had said many great things in her lifetime. She had only created one prophecy in her extremely long life and it was still believed to this very day: The hero will be born from the greatest of evil.

Despite what her mother had said, Claire Pike did not have time to believe such a thing because she and her husband, Jack Pike, were too busy with a precious prophecy of their own.

The Pike family were very average with not a drop of wicked blood in their bodies. They lived in a cozy New York City town house, had just brought home a newborn baby, and lived a life full of much happiness. There was only one small aspect that made the Pike family unique — that, however, would have to remain a secret.

It was late in the night when a faint knock on a solid myrtle door echoed throughout the house of Mr. and Mrs. Pike. They sat together on a dull silver sofa, staring absent-mindedly at their ivory colored carpet, conversing quietly amongst themselves.

That should be my father, Mrs. Pike said as she rose from the sofa. The room was completely engulfed in darkness and without any difficulty, she swiftly made her way to the door to unlock it. Quietly whispering to herself, her irregular colored eyes faded into a more human-like appearance to meet those of her father. He smiled and stepped inside, greeting his daughter with a hearty smile.

Where is he? Mrs. Pike’s father asked as he walked into the living room, his set of cloaks flapping gently behind his towering stature.

Upstairs … sleeping, she responded immediately, looking into the rather old pair of eyes that belonged to a man who had lived a long and adventurous life. Connect to Baror and we will go to him.

Her father paused and twisted to face his daughter. His bright, piercing eyes fell to the floor in disappointment as he nervously twiddled his thumbs.

Unfortunately, I have lost Baror. You will have to lead me.

What — How? Mrs. Pike gasped. I’m sorry, Stelchi, she said, then paused, I’m so sorry, Father. She released a heavy sigh, but suddenly gasped after a quick moment of thought. Now that you have lost Baror, doesn’t that mean you’ll —?

Stelchi flung his hand into the air to interrupt.

It’s no one’s fault but my own. I must face the consequences now, he said, glancing up at Claire. Shall we go see the boy now? I don’t have much time to spare.

She nodded and led Stelchi and Jack up a flight of stairs to a freshly painted baby-blue door. The aroma of fresh paint remained hovering in the air. The room with the baby-blue door, like almost every other room in the house, was shrouded in darkness. She motioned for Stelchi to follow her in and led him to a blue lined bassinet.

With a slight hand movement, appearing from thin air, a bizarre dark cloud-like substance swirled itself around the infant’s eyes, shielding them completely. Mr. Pike flicked up the light switch to the room that soon revealed a typical nursery for a newborn boy: sky blue walls, shelves lined with the essentials for caring for an infant, the bassinet, and a comfy linen rocking chair. The three looked upon the precious newborn who breathed lightly in slumber. Stelchi smiled and placed his hand over its chest. With his eyes closed, Stelchi began chanting in a low and barely audible tone. Faint, dark clouds of matter, resembling pollution from a car’s muffler, began to slowly appear and rotate around the child’s chest.

Will this hurt Wesley? Claire asked. Her freshly inherited motherly instincts were kicking in deeply.

Stelchi shook his head as he continued his low chant. After a few moments, Stelchi fell silent, calmly removing his hand from Wesley and opened his eyes.

What now? Claire asked eagerly.

"Now we wait. If my grandson were meant to be one of us, it will be born tonight."

Claire walked closer to her son, watched the remaining shadows vanish, and became hesitant as nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Stelchi sighed and motioned for them to leave the room.

For now, we will let the child be.

He lifted the darkness from Wesley’s eyes after killing the lights to the room. The door creaked closed and they descended the stairs back to the living room.

It could still happen, my dear, Stelchi said, hopeful. Some Luptators are late bloomers, so to say. Don’t expect such a thing to be born within the first few seconds. He looked upon Claire who was close to biting her bottom lip off and said, Anyway, I have not only come to do the conception ceremony for dear Wesley, but to bring some rather unfortunate news as well.

The emotion that his daughter and her husband conveyed did not make him feel any more at ease.

What is it? Claire asked as she lit the living room by turning a white knob near the entryway. After adjusting the intensity to an extremely dim setting, she glided across the room to the sofa and lowered herself next to Jack. Stelchi sat across the way in a black tufted arm chair.

I know it’s been years since you both have been able to venture to Destolorous — Raulume for that matter — but the Demouncil have recently been informed of a possible attack against our people, he paused for a few moments, thinking to himself. An attack is actually the least of our concerns at the moment. I’ve heard from many sources, some reliable and some not so, that a new race of Luptator is rising.

Claire shook her head slightly and dropped her head to the floor. It took her a few moments to finally mutter, You know Jack and I feel obligated to help Destolorous, but we have Wesley now. Things are different than they were a year ago, Father.

She’s right, Stelchi, Jack quickly added. We were once active Luptators, but until Wesley is old enough to understand all of this, we’re stuck here, doing the very least.

Stelchi smiled and threw a slight nod.

I completely understand. My intentions were not to ask you to help us in this fight, but to warn you. The people in Destolorous have changed drastically since these rumors have started. Those who have been interested in the most evil of ways have always been suppressed, until now, anyway. The peace amongst our people’s land is vanishing. I fear not even the Luptators undercover here on Earth are entirely safe.

Claire clenched her husband’s fist and stared at Stelchi with tears beginning to form in her eyes. Wesley is just a baby. What if something happened to us? To him even?

To be honest, I believe if these rumors would come to be true, it would be years before any action occurred. These rebels are just starting out, only beginning to gain a sense of who they are. If they were to attempt an attack today, our forces would crush them in seconds, I have no doubt about that. The members of the Demouncil are incredibly powerful. We all know that, sweetheart.

Claire leapt from the couch and wrapped her arms around Stelchi as a loud explosion erupted itself throughout the town house, piercing each of the walls. Claire glanced around and tried to speak over the remaining clamor and numerous car alarms that had been set off by the explosion.

What was that? Jack asked as he stood, ran to the front door, and swung himself about searching for any source of the explosion. He never suspected for it to have come from within his own house.

It came from upstairs, Master, a faint voice said. It appeared with a puff of smoke, floating to the staircase and pointing with a protrusion that closely resembled the extremity of a dinosaur.

Wesley! Claire gasped as she ran past the short, shadowy figure. Stelchi and Jack followed, quickly climbing the stairs to find Claire already hunched over the bassinet. Shadow energy with small beads of glittering silver light swirled in a cone-shaped wave above Wesley’s chest. His crying and screaming tempted Claire to comfort him, but Stelchi withheld her.

It’s happening, my dear! I have never seen so much energy in a demon formation in my entire life. This is incredible!

Winds from nowhere violently whirled themselves around the room like a hurricane confined in a box. Jack, throwing his hands into the air, placed shadowy, nearly transparent walls around the objects in the room, preventing them from toppling over.

Stelchi neared Wesley and watched as the remaining energy began to slowly die and dissipate into the air. One strip of glittering light fell neatly around the infant’s neck and secured itself onto a dark mass left from the clouds. It condensed into a hard material and gradually dimmed to a barely noticeable glow.

Claire’s panicked attitude quickly turned cheerful as she turned to her husband with overwhelming joy twinkling within her eyes.

Oh, Jack, I couldn’t be any happier! It looks like we have one more soul to care for!

They both smiled and embraced.

Welcome to the family, Ecor, Stelchi said as he placed his hand over the dark mass. He allowed his eyes to fall shut as he experienced the strong energy that radiated from the infant demon. Never in his life had he experienced such an intensely chaotic demonic conception. He backed away from Wesley, edging himself toward the doorway.

You should be proud, dear, Stelchi said with a forced smile. Together, they will be unstoppable. Let’s hope they choose the path to greatness.

And with that being said, Stelchi bade his daughter and her husband farewell, then disappeared from the house with an explosion of shadowy energy that frightened Wesley to tears.

New Beginnings

Wesley, wake up. Wake up … please. Wake up, Wesley! This is how the dreams had ended in the month of June and he didn’t exactly know who or what it was.

A small hammer-like instrument clanged loudly against two identical metal domes of an alarm clock. The dreary and almost immobile hand of Wesley Pike slammed its snooze button. Rolling himself over to glance at the time, Wesley opened one eye and waited for the fuzzy numbers to come into focus. The time read 6:32. He let out a groan and hesitantly got to his feet, shuffling as he ventured to the bathroom.

There was nothing about Wesley Pike’s life that would deem him special, but he was perfectly okay with that. Despite his lack of desire to find a girlfriend, participate in his school dances (or any school function for that matter), or hang out with anyone besides his own two parents, Wesley viewed himself as perfectly normal. He was one to stay to himself, spending most of his time reading under the tree that stood high above his rooftop patio.

Wesley’s room sat within the third floor of a not-so-tall town house; the depth made up for the lack of height. Neatly nestled on one of the busiest streets in New York City, the atmosphere inside the Pike household was the complete opposite: calm and serene. Designed by Wesley’s parents, the three-story home took well over two years to complete. Any designer would describe it as being extremely modern, with an odd, yet interesting medieval exterior.

Wesley’s room had been planned and created with the expertise of his parents and his own hidden talent for design. His cherry wood bed sat in front of a large bay window overlooking the busy street. A gray and black duvet, which housed a cotton insert (Wesley was strongly against down), was neatly draped over a set of crimson sheets. To the right of his bed stood a solid mahogany desk. Other than a laptop, a cup full of writing utensils, and some scattered papers, Wesley’s work space was empty. A flat-screen television clung to the wall across from his bed, to the right of the bathroom door. A few of his favorite prints hung neatly on the moon-blue colored walls. Wesley’s room was simple, yet still had a sense of style. It was perfect.

Wesley fumbled to locate the light switch within the bathroom. Flipping it on, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden light and looked upon a sleepy image of himself in the mirror.

Today is the day, Wesley, he said to himself while standing in front of the half-dirty mirror that he had meant to clean the night before. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark black hair; its current state was comparable to an alley cat’s fur after a long night of foraging. Wesley’s face was relatively soft, with cheekbones that sat high and a jawline as sharp as a steak knife. His eyes were a dark brown, like that of a dark chocolate tart.

His attention veered to the mysterious necklace he had worn ever since he could remember. Its touch was nothing Wesley had ever experienced. It was warm, but not because of always remaining close to his chest. It seemed to produce its own heat and gave him a tingling sensation every time his skin came in contact with it. He rolled it around in his fingers a few times before releasing it as a result of a sharp pain starting in his chest.

Not again, Wesley said through his teeth. He clenched his chest and waited for the pain to subside. It lasted less than two minutes this time. Lifting his head back up towards the mirror, he let out a sigh of relief, grabbed the bathroom door, and slammed it shut.

"Awe! Look at my baby boy, Claire Pike said as her son made his way down the stairs. He was dressed head to toe in black, his hair combed neatly to the side. After today, you will be a high school graduate. Gosh! Where have the years gone?"

A tear fell from her eye as she embraced Wesley. He rolled his eyes and forced a hug. Wesley wasn’t too keen on physical contact, even from his parents, but allowed for it during appropriate moments.

Wesley’s parents were average to say the least. Claire stood nearly two feet shorter than her husband. Long, dark brown hair flowed over and past her shoulders. It complimented her steel-blue eyes very well. She dressed slightly too young for her age, but was somehow able to pull it off adequately. Wesley always thought it was because how young she looked compared to the other mothers he had seen. Jack on the other hand, stood just shy of six feet tall and hid behind black thick-rimmed eyeglasses. Wesley’s jet-black hair had obviously been inherited from his father. However, that was the only thing they had in common. Wesley took more after his mother than he did Jack.

You look very handsome, Son, Jack said as he, too, hugged Wesley. How are you feeling? Ready?

I’m okay, just a little nervous. He couldn’t stop biting his bottom lip; an anxious habit passed down from Claire.

Well, that’s expected, Son. I’m sure you will be alright. Your mother and I are very eager to hear your speech! Jack’s dark eyebrows raised with enthusiasm. You’ve made us incredibly proud.

Wesley smiled as he trotted to the kitchen to retrieve a banana. He peeled it hastily as Claire urged him toward the door.

"Well, we better get going. We certainly do not want to be late!" she said with her hands now on Wesley’s upper back. He tried eating the banana as quickly as possible, tossing the peel into the trash can on his way out the door.

Jack handed him his graduation garments that were neatly sealed in a dark bag suspended from a lone hanger. Wesley snatched it from his father, glanced up at the bright sun, and watched as a few small clouds slowly drifted across the sky. Never too fond of full blown sunshine, he quickly made his way into their Mercedes. The sound of the engine rumbled as Mr. Pike turned the key to the ignition. He slowly pulled out from his usual street-parking spot and hastily swerved into the daily chaotic New York City traffic.

Wesley let his head rest against the window as he glanced out at the eclectic life of the city. The buildings, trees, and people flashed violently by him. Catching a certain point of view while looking out from a moving vehicle always made Wesley feel like he was flying through space at light speed.

Wesley couldn’t help but to wonder what life would be like once he officially finished high school. Would he feel different? Or would it feel like his birthday, another year older without a noticeable difference. After all, he held no job, due to the fact that his entire family were fairly wealthy, and had been completely unaware of his career ambitions for the last two years.

Amidst his rapid fire of thoughts, the car struck a pothole and Wesley shifted violently against the door. An all too familiar pain shot through his chest. He released an unintentional grunt and Claire whipped herself around the seat to find the cause of his distress.

Are you okay, sweetheart? she asked. Her eyes quickly drifted down towards Wesley’s chest where his hand was ahold of his dress shirt. She let out a small gasp and slapped her husband’s shoulder.

Jack!

What’s wrong, dear? Is he okay? Jack asked, glancing at Wesley through the rear view mirror. Is it your chest? He watched as Wesley nodded. Claire leaned close to his ear and whispered something Wesley was unable to hear. They conversed back and forth, occasionally throwing Wesley a look of concern.

What? What is going on? Wesley pleaded with confusion.

His parents shook their heads and replied almost simultaneously with a lame and not-so-convincing, Nothing!

He stared blankly at them with his mouth slightly agape. He hoped that if it were something serious, his parents would have the decency to tell him. Wesley, however, wasn’t too sure at the moment. His parents had always seemed like they were hiding something from him and he didn’t exactly know why or what it was. The pain, as it always had, ceased almost instantly. Chest pains were the last thing he needed today.

A few minutes flew by and Wesley could finally see a flood of his fellow classmates entering the building his graduation ceremony would take place. A butterfly feeling quickly snuck up on him. He stepped out of the car and impatiently waited for his parents to park, his foot tapping in a rhythmical beat upon the concrete.

Wesley stood under the shade of a tree, waiting for his parents, who were basically at a full gallop, make their way toward him. His mother waved frantically as if she hadn’t seen him in years.

Ha — yes, yes, I see you, Mom, he laughed to himself.

Wesley watched his classmates, dressed in the usual graduation robes, pass him by, some throwing him a wave and some, the silliest ones, motioning for a high-five. As he left the comfort of the shade, Wesley nearly bumped into a gentleman with strange colored eyes right as Claire and Jack approached. Wesley looked back in an attempt to apologize, but the silvery-haired man was nowhere in sight.

Wesley flinched from fright when his mother suddenly wrapped her arms around him for the third time that day.

We have to get inside, Mom, he said with the little breath he had left in his lungs.

Wait! We need to take a few pictures first. Please? Claire said, pretending to ask; she knew her son had no choice. She dug around in her purse, smiling a few seconds later as she pulled the point-and-shoot camera out. Let’s go! I won’t take too long. I promise!

After the successful amateur photo shoot, Wesley and his parents entered the building and divided. Wesley ventured to his assigned location