The Generalist: Taboo 3: Angle of the Angels

By Thomas Duder

Action. Adventure. Fist to face. The Generalist is a hard-hitting ride through the Los Angeles of tomorrow, stuffed to the brim with monster-gene humans turned cannibal, Artifacts of enormous strength warping the very fabric of reality itself, secret organizations seeking to out-maneuver each other for ultimate power, and every day a simple miracle just to survive.

And who's standing between the rest of us "mundane citizens" and the myriad forces that seek to devour and conquer this world and those beyond?

The two violence-prone action junkies of the Shop: Frank Todd, the Generalist, and Daniel "Dash" Hopkins, his troll-gened companion and partner-in-crime.

Taking on all foes and challenges no matter how great or small, the Shop will do the job, get the pay, and woe betide any and all who dare to thwart their will!

Magic, martial arts, misfits, monsters and mayhem!

The Generalist! Because you simply cannot read about people getting punched in the face ENOUGH!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Duder
• Release date: May 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370055371

Thomas Duder

Hello! Meet Thomas Duder, Author of the Things.A citizen of Bellingham, WA by way of Southern California, Thomas Duder is a firm believer that a writer should write. "Forget the drama of writing, forget the politics of writing, forget even the rest of the industry. Writers should write, period."An independent publisher and author, working in close collaboration with a fierce team assembled and hand-picked by he himself, Thomas Duder is a seasoned general of various projects beforehand, bringing those skills to the fore as The Crew plunges directly into the world of action-adventure literature!His vanguard series, "The Generalist," is an action-adventure extravaganza, a veritable rollercoaster ride through a Neo-Los Angeles of the near future. Loaded with witty dialogue, fast-paced action and sequences of brilliant violence, you're sure to find plenty to keep you entertained for hours on end!

Book preview

The Generalist

Taboo 3: Angle of the Angels

(Part 1 of The Angel Arc)

by Thomas Duder

This is a work of fiction, despite what Thomas Duder claims. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously. This is a work of fiction based on events true or real, but only with express permission from those individuals. All others named are purely coincidental. All well-known pop culture references, memes, lyrics and song titles are used only as either a homage or gentle parody.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Smashwords Edition, run through the Meatgrinder

ISBN: 9781370055371

Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.

Acknowledgements

Here's to you, a particular math teacher whom I've never forgotten. I'll withhold from presenting your name here, but my gods the absurd amount of fantasizing I did around you and your incredible personality and mathematical genius.

Also it's your fault I'm so into tiddies, you magnificent creature, you.

Big ups to Jade, Ace, Emperor Karsa, Adele, and Vorel. Y'all have been involved with The Generalist since the inception of The Battle at Brownstone, and I've never forgotten that. Yes, there's many others since y'all who have jumped on and helped out, but you? You guys rocked first.

To the new crew (Mallory Crowe, Elizabeth Robbins, and more), HAIL!

Find Emperor Karsa at -

http://emperorkarsa.blogspot.com or http://www.facebook.com/emperorkarsasart

Cover by Mallory Crowe

The Generalist – Taboo 3: Angle of the Angels is hereby dedicated to my fists, Love and Hate.

So many have gotten to know the two of you personally, and thankfully you've never killed anyone.

I'm fairly certain the people you've hospitalized aren't very happy, but eh – it could've been worse.

WARNING!

The Generalist novella series contains the following – serious violence, religious issues, some scenes of a sensual nature, and alternative lifestyle arrangements. If you aren't into that, this probably isn't the kind of series for you. If it is, then enjoy! If it ain't, you may kindly stop readin' here and de-ass the situation.

CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY

Acknowledgements

Round 1

Round 2

Round 3

Round 4

Final Round

Sample The Future

From The Author

About The Author

More From Thomas Duder

****

Part 1: Magic and Mayhem

Round 1

In the near future there is a blip of a hubworld known as Earth.

On this world, from whence many alternate dimensions were spawned every second of every day that it existed, there lay a continent known as the North American Federation. Further, in 'Old U.S.,' there existed a particular state on the western seaboard known as California. Further than that, in the heart of its capital city of Neo-Los Angeles, there existed a place known only as The Shop.

One part paranormal services and supernatural goods store, the Shop exists to fulfill the needs of its highly specific clientele. Many had never been past the massively-warded and heavily guarded door, the two buildings on either side of the middle disguised to look like closed-down and boarded-up shops. One had a dusty Antiques sign hanging off of its door and the other declared California's best stir fry from the fence that cut off the shops from the sidewalk, the lawn that once existed now completely paved over.

It was here that the two Shopkeepers lived and adventured from, their home base, their place of power.

But this power came with a price: always and ever their experiments, rituals and the upkeep of Artifacts and the powering of the Shop required funds. Vast funds, paid to them by ritualized ransom, flat-out blackmail and their services both legal and slightly frowned upon. The North American Federation paid them both at the local and federal levels for those very services. Several cults paid them to look the other way (so long as they didn't cross any of the lines the Shop established) and several religious organizations (namely the pagan Asture and the Catholics) paid them to either help or to simply not hinder their own activities, though those payments were usually in freely-accessible knowledge and more beyond simple coin.

Their number-one consistent payment though, came from the Scarletti Family, both in filthy lucre and the free services of the greatest financial firm in the whole world: the Brownstone Group.

It was located in the richest section of the business avenue of Neo-Los Angeles (called Old Los Angeles by many). Shortly after the Havoc of 2012, the name which was given to the global upheaval of various energies and old-world monstrosities making themselves known, as well as the official event wherein the cross-bred monster genes within humanity, long since dormant within many bloodlines, suddenly awakened for the first time. The Brownstone Group operated from the largest skyscraper known to man, a creation of massive, sweeping towers and unworldly metals and ornate glass. Known simply as The Brownstone Tower, many called it by another, even older name.

Babel.

As much a pinnacle of engineering as a testament to mankind's ego, the Tower itself was owned by merely one man, the title Group more a nod to that man's interesting sense of style than anything else.

The man who ruled the Brownstone Group with a will of iron had a heart weary from experience, a gentleman of taste and class whose mere presence improved or sent spiraling whole money markets.

It was this man who cornered or destroyed every other business competitor within Neo-L.A., his influence and power spread thin so as to always him to keep in the shadows. Few knew of his existence, nor his ties to old world politics and money alike, coming from a combination of the two most influential families of Italy as well as Japan. Fewer still had ever realized exactly who he was, counting him merely as a suave gentleman of quaint mannerisms, never realizing who they were happily waiting on at restaurants or counting amongst guest lists.

The Shopkeepers jokingly called him, The Man, and from time to time Gervais Saint-Germain, survivor of the Corporate Wars and known master of necromancy, indulged them by calling himself this, having a series of cards worked up just for the sole purpose of entertaining them whenever he called upon their services.

Deep in the twilight, the Tower uncharacteristically dark, Gervais Saint-Germain wheezed lightly as he fought to catch his breath, feeling like the legacy of The Man was simply that: a legend. The reality was he was suffering in ways that the legends never considered, and he sighed deeply, greedy for air as he leaned against the clean wall of the hallway which he had found himself. He took stock of his surroundings, having been hunted to this point without paying attention.

"Slipping, old man...you're slipping."

Gervais willed his breathing back to normal, keeping a tight grip on the terror that raced through him. He was more than ready to die - at the age of 70, he had led a blessed life, one that didn't evade hardships but reveled in his victories, in overcoming great adversity. Though he had been born from a background of old money, he had survived being broke and homeless twice - the first by the unlucky timing of his father's family alongside a streak of mistimed decisions and the second by choice, part of a challenge with the dark undead entity that would later accept him as its High Priest.

Though he wore a three-thousand dollar business suit of the highest cut and quality, underneath it his trim frame was riddled with the indelible scars life had given him. Fights barely survived as a younger man, the scars of getaways and nameless drifting, the callous of hard work upon his hands and more. He had paid for his pride and had fought both physically and financially to ensure that those who worked in his name knew not comfort and ease but the same wonderful thing he had discovered within his own life.

Contentment.

Everything after that was merely icing on the cake to him.

He looked up at his own reflection, mirrored within the shining steel-like wall of the hallway and saw a face that was both comfort and curse to him. Few knew of the true grit that lay underneath his easy-going, gray eyes. His silver hair was smartly slicked back with pomade, his mane still thick and somewhat long though he kept the nape of his neck trimmed tightly, all despite his seventy years of age. His flesh was a uniform color - neither age nor circumstance had ever mottled his strong skin. His bearing was regal, his face far from craggy but nowhere near smooth - he wore his life on his sleeve and though his gaze was mostly languid and indulgent there was nevertheless a spark of sincere intellect there and a will strong enough to cow the fiercest of warriors.

He was a man of many situations, of many emotions and though he was a survivor he chose to enjoy life in all its splendors, accepting anything and everyone with arms and mind held wide open.

Still, it stung the hell out of his Necromantic pride that the creature he had chosen to face down on his own turf was extraordinarily resistant against magic of any sort, instantaneous or ritual. Hefting his beefy M-16, pressed upon him by his overly-protective manservant, he considered that perhaps it was best that he set that pride aside for now if he sought to defeat the creature that stalked his hallways.

Gervais Saint-Germain.

Gervais's already large eyes widened as he bit his tongue, stifling a panic-filled cry. At a mere whisper, the creature's musical voice filled his mind with its presence, reverberating within his all too human skull, mesmerizing him.

"Don't listen! Don't listen!" his thoughts ran rampant and went wild at the very sound of the creatures melodic voice.

Gervais exercised his formidable will and began to clamp down, focusing on a mantra, heightening his concentration in order to combat the irresistible whispers that grew within his mind. He staggered to his feet and took off down the hallway, the perception of his Mage Sight telling him he was once again going away from the presence even as it grew within the long hallway itself.

He winced as the whispers grew louder, sharper within his mind. For the past week, he had only fought the creature to a standstill, each time the creature taking away a different sense with its voice alone. Though he regained that sense immediately at daybreak, it was not without a strange residue, a strange taint that blighted the natural sense. This miasma would stay with him, clouding his abilities and judgment for hours on end, making him lose chunks of time from one battle to the next - were it not for his manservant and those few who remained staunchly loyal to him, he would've lost himself far before this night.

He immediately reached out, dragging his hand against the wall as his vision began to darken in spots, the shadows beginning to obscure his vision throbbing in time with the reverberation of the whispers within his mind, to the beating of his strong heart.

He stopped, staring straight ahead as he touched a panel set within the wall - ahead of him, several doors leading into offices and rooms.

And at the end of the hallway, unfurling its white wings, the creature stood to its full eight-foot height, defying his advanced perceptions, gazing upon him with a look of timeless weariness and endless benevolence.

It was this creature, the Angel, the ruthless bastard of an entity who had insinuated itself amongst his company, slowly spreading its influence amongst his own people and infiltrating his expansive and expensive data network in what amounted to a spiritual hostile takeover.

Then there was the REAL hostile takeover that was slowly swallowing up the assets of the Brownstone Group, all directly led by the Angel that stood at the end of the hallway.

Gervais tsked, sizing it up - though masculine in appearance, he knew full well that all Angels were hermaphroditic, though it was hard to tell if the thing was quad-gonadal or simply king-kong dicked, as heavily muscled as it was. Though it bore no other clothing than the white samite that lay tied around its waist, hanging low to brush the tops of its glorious feet, the creature bore a grimoire of eldritch design, of heavenly bone and divine cloth within one hand. From its ankles sprung two small wings of white feathers, held back against his ankles that normally fluttered whenever it hovered in place, an annoying tactic it had used mid-battle not but a day previous. Gervais had taken it upon himself to take the creature down, cutting all nighttime workers in the entire Tower in order to ensure that it could activate none of its agents sleeping amongst his people, quietly possessed against their will or knowledge, something Gervais had learned the first night he had decided to hunt the creature with his security team.

About its massive, muscular form its long black hair moved as if blown by an unnatural wind, the hair itself quite alive. Indeed, everything about the creature radiated pure health and hale heartiness, its hands and feet massive, its waist trim, back and shoulders broad.

If it wasn't for the madness that radiated from its brilliantly glowing, violet-colored eyes Gervais very well could have fallen in love with such physical perfection.

The Angel sighed, "Gervais Saint-Germain. The end of the road has come - as your sight clouds further, this game of ours will end. All shall belong to God, even the blasphemous heathens who worship false idols.

Even you, Gervais Saint-Germain, shall be brought to kneel before God."

Be that as it may, Gervais's strong voice rang clear as he grinned under his clean, neatly trimmed moustache, "Even God recognizes