The Daemon Cloak of Haniel

By Larry Yoakum III

Angus McMurry is a member of the Order of Haniel, a group that is dedicated to protecting the Daemon Cloak, a shape-shifting garment that was created by the Archangel Haniel thousands of years ago. Now, forced to take it upon himself to guard it alone, he must keep it out of the reach of the Nefarium, a race of demons that have long since been banished from the galaxy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.O.T. Publications
• Release date: Jul 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386364863

Larry Yoakum III

Born in Wichita, Kansas and raised in Valley Center, a small nearby town, Larry graduated High School in 1993 and joined the Air Force in 1995.  Serving 4 years, he got out and ended up in the Dallas, Texas area.  Writing short stories since school, Larry eventually put them to print and now has several published works. 

Book preview

As always, I’d like to thank my family and friends who have always stood by me and my eccentricities.  Sometimes I live in my own world when writing, and they accept that.

I want to thank my readers.  Without you people, I wouldn’t be able to call myself a published author.

I hope you enjoy this book.  It has been in my brain for a bit now, and I have been anxious to get it written down for the ages.

Prologue

Many artifacts in this world are known by the legends and story books.  Excalibur, the Ark of the Covenant, the Holy Grail, Mjolnir, the Golden Fleece, the Trident of Madhu, and Zulfiqar just to name a few.  In addition to the well-known items are the artifacts that no one has ever heard of in the everyday modern world.  Of all of these items that are hidden, one such has been sought out only by a handful of the adventurous and greedy.  Only one that has such a unique power within.  Believed to have been created by the Archangel Haniel himself, this item, appearing to be a simple cloak, bestows quite a few things upon he or she who wears it.  The name can inspire fear and awe at the same time as it inspires a lust for power.  The Daemon Cloak.  Named after the spirit beings that roamed the world in the times before Atlantis, the Daemons, what we today call Angels, it is a cloak of neither good nor evil.  It is the intent of the wearer that causes great or horrible things to occur to those around.  The cloak was created not long before the Fall of Lucifer and the resulting destruction of Atlantis and all of the other kingdoms upon the Earth. 

Chapter 1

It was only about fifteen minutes to midnight in Fort Worth, Texas.  The air was a tad bit humid, but as it was the start of September, that was to be expected.  The last few months of 2017 had been very muggy.  That was not unusual for Texas, though.

Downtown Fort Worth was busy, even at this hour.  But, there were certain alleys and streets one could venture down and find themselves to be alone.  Or think they were alone.

More often than not, these back streets held gang bangers, junkies, and other assorted criminals.  A lot of times, the police wouldn’t even set foot in them unless it was a major issue.  Anyone foolish enough to walk into these neighborhoods at this time of night would have what was coming to them.  Casualties of the streets.

That made no difference to Angus McMurry.  The 42 year old had recently moved to this city, upon request of his friends in the Order.  Angus had put on a few pounds in the last few years.  After twenty years in the Air Force, he had left at the age of 38 back in 2013.  Even with some moderate exercise, he still found himself a bit full around the midsection.  Last week, he had to poke a new hole in his belt so it could be let out a bit. 

One habit he had was still keeping his hair military short.  Not quite as short as regulations, but short enough.  He liked how his light brown hair was when it was this short.  When it got too long, he had what he called ‘cobra head’, meaning when he saw his shadow, his head looked slightly like a cobra opening its hood.

He had some good fighting maneuvers, so he wasn’t worried.  And, being in Texas, he did have his concealed handgun license.  You never know when you’d have to use it.

Let the whiney hippies complain about guns all they want.  In the hands of a responsible person, they were no threat.  Only in the hands of the thugs and criminals, and yes, even idiots with good but misled intentions, would a gun be a danger.

His father was a state trooper back home in Kansas.  He always had a saying.  If you outlaw guns, only outlaws will have them.  Fortunately, his father was retired from the police now for the last fifteen years.  He now worked as an independent plumber.  He made great money from that to go along with his meager police pension.

Perhaps he was flirting with danger, but Angus always liked to go on strolls at night.  He didn’t have to work a regular job like most people.  Yes, he had his military retirement, but that was hardly enough to live on.  But, he had been offered a pretty nice gig upon his leaving the Air Force.

The sound of footsteps in the shadows behind him snapped him out of his nostalgia.  Before he saw them, he could sense them.  A couple of young punks, out for a little mayhem and mischief.  A small smile spread across his face.  Angus had been hoping for this.  It has been a few weeks since he had someone try to mug him.

Try to.

He purposely slowed his pace, and he heard the footsteps behind him speed up a bit.  It sounded like three, no, four pursuers.  He could feel them right behind him.  Ten feet.  Five feet.  An arm grabbed him by the shoulder and abruptly turned Angus around.

There were only three of them.  He was right the first time.  They were no more than about fifteen or sixteen years old.  Looks like street gangs were becoming more diverse.

One of them was a young black kid, clad in those stupid jeans that hang down below his ass.  Why the hell did they think that looked cool?  The others were an Asian, wearing a similar outfit, and a white kid, thinking he was a member of Run DMC.  Angus was amused that kids still dressed like 80’s rap stars.

The Asian kid was the first to speak.  Hey, old man, I think you’ve stepped into the wrong street.  This is Southside Demon turf.  Demon?  Moronic teens thinking satanic crap is cool.  If they only had an inkling of the truth behind the shadows.

The other two kids each pulled a gun from their pants and held them, gangster style, like they were in some movie pretending to be bad ass.

Angus let out a small laugh, clearing infuriating the young punks.  One of them, he wasn’t sure which, was pulling the trigger to his 9mm and Angus’s reflexes kicked in. 

He reached up and grabbed the guns, one in each hand, and threw the weapons carelessly behind him.  Before the kids could respond, he pushed their heads together, knocking them out cold.  The Asian kid had pulled a blade and took a swipe at Angus.

The blade, barely scrapping his shirt, fell out of the kid’s hand, as he was pretty nervous.  He probably didn’t expect a fight.

Kids had to learn there were consequences to their actions.  They thought being on the street gave them game.  It made them tough.  They had no idea what tough was.  They were nothing more than bullies, praying on people who they perceive as weak and meek.

The Asian kid turned to run and Angus grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back.  It was the kid’s own fault for having long hippy hair.  Picking him up like a wrestler, Angus tossed him into a nearby trashcan and closed the lid.  Giving it a few hard kicks, he dented the trashcan.  Snickering slightly, Angus walked off.  He could hear the light moans of the other two that he knocked heads together. 

Kneeling down to them, he lightly messed their hair, like you would to a child, and told them to either go to school or get a job.  With that, he headed back to the more populated area of downtown.  There was an all-night diner there, and he had just made himself hungry for some pancakes.

Better be careful, he said to himself.  You don’t want that belt to be let out more.

Chapter 2

The waitress refilled his coffee cup as Angus thanked her.  He was just about done with his pancakes but could use a few more cups of coffee.  Not like he had to go to bed and get up early for work.

Since joining the Order, he received a comfortable allowance to go along with his military pension.  The Order of Haniel was small, only a hundred members, but well financed. 

Each member lived around the world, spread out and ever watchful for threats against the Daemon Cloak.  They only met at their Boston Headquarters for important occurrences, such as potential threats to the Cloak being discovered, or, of course, to meet and induct new members.

Angus remembered his own induction well.  After twenty years in the Air Force, he was out-processed and was speaking to a lot of potential employers.  He’d need a job soon.  Already living in an apartment, his domestic situation was handled.

Twenty years in service, but leaving a bachelor.  No wife or children to care for.  Eglin Air Force Base in the Florida panhandle was where he spent his last four years, and he wasn’t too keen on staying there, but for the time being he would do it.  He did have a few friends in Dallas, so maybe he could hook up with them.

That mattered not, because a week after he was a civilian again, he received a phone call from his former commander, Major Paul King.  King was a good commanding officer and confidant as Angus worked in his admin job, pushing pencils and filing papers. 

Major King had called upon his trusted subordinate, Tech Sergeant McMurry, with an offer.  A unique offer that would be right up the new retiree’s alley.

Angus learned of the Order of Haniel, protectors of the Daemon Cloak, an artifact of power, but not very well known.  Most people would have never heard of it.  Said to have been created by the hands of an archangel named Haniel, it was a unique article of clothing.

It looked like a simple grey cloak with a hood.  But, when one would don it, it would often change its aesthetic appearance.  Usually, the individual taste of the wearer would trigger that ability.

Over the last several thousand years, the Order had kept it safe, though every so often, someone would steal the cloak and use it for terrible things.  But, the Order always got it back relatively quickly.

Most recently, a sadistic cannibal witch from Eastern Europe had tried to steal it several times over the last century.  She had come close, but fortunately the Order of Haniel always kept it out of the hands of Baba Yaga.  It would appear that she had given up on her attempts, but the Order would be ever watchful of her to make sure. 

Even before that, a few horrific events in history were caused by the Cloak.  The object itself was neither good nor evil, but the person wearing it could use it for either.

The first incident was in ancient Rome.  Nero, a mad emperor of the Roman Empire, had obtained the Cloak as a gift from a traitorous member of the Order, Suetonius, who hoped that the insane leader would destroy the Empire.  The Great Fire of Rome started from Nero attempting to harness the Cloak’s ability to create fire.  The Cloak was stolen back by the Order, and Nero accused Christians of starting the fire.  It seems that in his insanity, he completely forgot about even wearing the Cloak.

The next time was in 1212, which became known as the Great Fire of Suthwark.  A member of the Order named Finton, murdered the Head of the Order and stole the Cloak.  Inspired by the actions of Nero, Finton set about to destroy the city of London.  He was killed by the intervention of the Archangel Haniel himself.  The Cloak was then returned to the newly appointed head of the Order.  But, the damage was done, and the people of London set about in rebuilding.

In March of 1760, Boston, the home of the Order for the last decade, had been assaulted by another traitorous member, a man named James Lawrence.  A former military man, he was said to have lost his sanity after all of the horrors he’d witnessed.  Hoping to cleanse the world of war, he set about to burning it.  Causing several fires during the month, it culminated on March 20, when he caused a fire in Cornhill, which is now Washington Street, in Downtown Boston.  He made it as far