The Infernal God

By Max Fierce

Teenage delinquent Max Keller discovers there is more to him than meets the eye after a horrible incident occurs at a museum, ultimately putting his family in mortal danger. Charged with seeking revenge for his mother, Max is dunked into the exciting and dangerous world of the supernatural, and there he stands to lose everything unless a powerful enemy is stopped, and sooner the better. When the unwelcome responsibility settles on Max, he finds himself stretched beyond possible limits to achieve the impossible

• Language: English
• Publisher: Max Fierce
• Release date: Apr 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005054908

Max Fierce

Max Fierce was born in Lagos, Nigeria. (Yes, that is him, lol.) When he is not cracking his bain trying to birth a new idea, Max reads many works from legends like Rick and Cassandra. Also, Max loves dogs, gets freaked out by cats, and hangs out with his family a lot. He is also the author of other fantasy works that are yet to be released. With Max, you can always expect a dose of power-packed action, mystery and intrigue that will leave you hanging onto your seats as you turn every page. Feel free to email him: [e-mail]

Book preview

To the Son of Kings

Praise for The Infernal God

Packed with action, mystery and an unhealthy dose of suspense, The Infernal God is the first installment in the Age of Demigods series. A definite must-read.

-- Publishers Weekly

Foreword

Dear readers, I cannot possibly begin to describe how excited I am to share this work with you. I’ve always wanted to write a saga centered on Greek myth. The Infernal God is an introductory novel into my world of demigods and monsters, packed with enough of my imagination under the veil of myth, so I hope you’ll enjoy reading it!

Max Fierce

Chapter One

James Evans was only thirteen years old when he met his father for the first time.

It was a pretty lazy weekend in the suburbs of Los Angeles. He was busy binge-playing soccer on his Nintendo, his ears plugged up with heavy earphones, jean-clad legs sprawled on his bed, when Mom burst into the room with a frantic expression, a crucifix clutched in one hand as if she meant to ward off some evil spirit. She treated him as if he were invisible, checking his drawers and cupboards like a programmed robot, shuttering the windows.

Removing his headset, somewhat unsettled, James called out, Mom!

She flinched, then faced him, her dark brown eyes filled with an emotion he recognized: Fear.

Mom, what’s going on?

Rather than respond, she took a cursory glance around his bedroom, holding the crucifix like a weapon. Even in her early-forties, Bridgette Evans still maintained her lithe figure; her long dark hair showed no sign of aging, her almond-shaped face pert and pretty. She wiped the crucifix nervously against her grey suit pants as her eyes scoured the room. Finally her gaze landed on a darkened corner between his bookshelves, and she went rigid.

Show yourself, she demanded, aiming the crucifix like a gun, though it trembled in her grasp. "I know you’re there. I always know when you’re around."

Dumbfounded by her statement, James stared at the spot his mother focused on. But he saw nothing there but shadows. Then his heart gave a leap when a shape separated from the shadows, forming a tall man wearing black robes, and a helmet made of skeleton bones. James wasn’t all too surprised to see him; this unfamiliar figure had haunted his dreams for days prior to this moment.

"You, snarled Bridgette. The venom in that one word could have sent anyone to the grave. In the light of his bedroom, James could see the man clearly. His skin was alabaster white, a startling contrast to his hair and robes, and then his eyes … an obsidian so vivid, looking at them made James feel as if he was seeing all the darkness in the world. The skeleton helmet added a sinister appeal, and although the man’s gaze on Bridgette was filled with sadness and yearning, that didn’t make James any less scared. And it seemed his mother shared that feeling. How dare you show your face here, after all this time?"

It has been a spell, Bridgette.

"Try thirteen years." She flung the crucifix at him, a good throw, but the cross bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. Without even a change of expression, the stranger walked over their Virgin Mary. Well, he more like breezed toward them. Bridgette was immediately before James, spreading her arms as if she meant to protect him. No! You can’t have him. Not now. Not ever.

The man stopped before her. James’s heart was suddenly pounding hard. Who was this guy? And what did he want with James? It is time, Bridgette, said the stranger. The boy must be told the truth. He must be ready before they come.

Bridgette said nothing, her expression strained.

What truth? The words left James’s mouth before he could even think to stop them. And who are you?

The man looked directly at James for what seemed to be the first time. There was an electric surge as their gazes connected. For some reason, those dark eyes did not scare James up close. Then the bomb dropped. I am your father.

A gasp from his lips, and James shot a glance at his mother, but she kept her furious gaze on the stranger.

My name is Hades, the man introduced himself.

Is this supposed to be a sick joke? James could see his mother trembling, but whether from anger or fear he could not tell. Hades? he echoed. As in … god of the dead? He had played Gods-of-Rome in his free time. "Ruler of the Underworld? That Hades?"

Correct.

And you’re my father?

Yes. And you are in danger.

That’s not true! snapped Bridgette. The only one putting him in danger is you!

Hades turned a grave look on her. Stubborn woman! I have given you the signs and still you do not listen. They are coming, Bridgette. He is not safe here anymore.

Who’s coming? James felt compelled to ask despite his headache–he was still reeling from a staggering dose of shock.

Hades looked at him for a long moment. James’s bedroom was strangely cold now. Monsters, my son. You must leave. Stay hidden till the Amazons come for you. There is a safe place for children like you–

NO! Bridgette’s scream made James flinch, but Hades looked resigned, as if already he was used to this kind of behavior from her. "You don’t get to disappear for thirteen years only to come back and make demands. Jamie is safe with me. He always has been. Go away, and never return."

Hades grimaced. Honestly James thought his mom was being a tad difficult, but a sore fact couldn’t be denied: he was meeting his father for the first time since birth. And the man was … was …

Very well, said the Greek god of the Underworld. But know this, James …

James looked up at the eyes that–he now realized–were just like his own.

"No matter what happens, no matter what you face, you are my son, and the Amazons will find you soon."

It seemed like this strange man claiming to be his father had just given James a cryptic message, but before he could think to decipher it, Hades vanished in a swirl of black mist.

Bridgette released a shaky breath the moment he was gone, crumpling to the ground as if all the strength had disappeared from her bones. She was weeping. James moved to console her.

I’m sorry you had to see all that.

James wasn’t. Now he only had more questions. She had told him his father died in a boating accident three months before he was born. The magnitude of what had just happened was starting to settle in his trembling bones.

Mom had lied.

Dad was alive.

Dad was a Greek god.

What does that make me? James wondered. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?

Mom met his gaze. I was scared, she confessed, that if I did, you’d want to know more, and that you’d pursue that curiosity until you got yourself in trouble. Or worse. I didn’t realize whom your father was until it was too late. He’s part of a world that I don’t ever want you to know. Gods, Jamie. You’re my little boy. I cannot lose you. Hades accepted the terms. He was not supposed to come here. Not supposed to see you. Who knows what calamity he has brought upon us now? She broke down again, weeping.

James hugged her fiercely. Don’t worry, he’s gone, okay? Nothing will happen, I promise.

I promise.

If only he had known he wouldn’t be able to keep such a vow.

That night, James shored up the windows and doors of his room, burying himself under the covers, his father’s words ringing in his mind.

The monsters are coming.

No, he told himself. Nothing will happen. I’ve lived here all my life. I’ll be fine.

Sometime later that night, James was woken from a deep slumber by a commotion happening outside his room. He was disoriented till he heard his mother’s scream.

Heart pounding, James threw himself out of bed and rushed toward the door, throwing it open–

Only to be greeted by a wall of burning heat. Fire!

An inferno consumed the hallway and adjoining living room, dark orange flames raging as if hell had moved in for the holidays, maybe permanently.

James could not believe his eyes, but the smoke invading his nostrils helped to convince him that there was danger. Over the din of chaos, he heard more screaming. Choking on noxious fumes, he shouted for his mother.

James! Her cry came from across the living room, near the apartment door, and he found her, as well as the ominous shape near her. Instant terror punched his gut. Run, Jamie. Get away from here. I’ll find you. Run!

The shadow before her growled at James. All he could make out were a pair of glowing red eyes and flashing teeth, but those were sinister enough to send his courage on a vacation.

His mother grabbed something and hurled it at the monster as a means of distraction. It growled and snapped at her–a wolf? RUN!

The word slapped James, who shut his bedroom door and clamored to his window, throwing it open. The hell? When had it started to rain? He had not even noticed the weather, but the fierce gusts grabbed at his windowpane, slamming it against the wall so hard the glass shattered. Braving the cold and wetness, he crossed outside onto the fire-escape, and had just climbed down to the alley behind the house when all the windows of his apartment exploded, belching fire.

Mom! screamed James, but there was no response except lightning, thunder and drifting smog.

Panicking, he cast a glance around his rundown neighborhood. All the lights were out, the street veiled in darkness. Raindrops pelted the pavement, leaving him soaked in a matter of minutes. James crumpled against the wall, sobbing. Then he heard something: footfalls coming closer.

His father’s voice suddenly echoed in his head: No matter what you face, you are my son. James remembered what Hades had said about Amazons: And the Amazons will find you soon.

Run, his mom had said.

Lightning flashed above him, and the echoing thunderclaps drowned out his cries of grief, though he could hear other sounds nearby–ones definitely not made by humans. I have to leave here. Bracing a hand against the alley wall, James staggered to his feet, and took his mother’s advice, praying he would meet the Amazons soon.

Until that happened, he would not stop running.

Chapter Two

Max Keller truly believed he was a troubled kid with the worst luck in the world.

Perhaps the luck situation was hereditary since his mother, Vanessa Keller, was the only surviving child of an immigrant couple that had died in an accident ten years before his birth.

Vanessa was also a single parent who worked tirelessly to provide for her family and make sure Max never lacked anything important. Before moving to the city, they’d owned a modest house out on Long Island Sound, where Max spent the early years of his life; Mom was a public teacher at the local center, and her students were a bunch of old illiterates.

Due to Vanessa’s demanding work schedule (she worked both morning and evening shifts), Max spent a lot of his childhood being passed around from nanny to nanny, and by the tender age of seven, Max had already acquired somewhat of a notorious reputation–mostly famous in his little town for causing mischief, pulling pranks on elderly neighbors, picking fights with his peers and generally being up to no good. Like a little black Dennis the Menace.

And when you put that together with a learning environment? Disaster.

His preschool years were sweet, but the major challenges began in high school, when he kept getting detention each semester on account of violent behavior, even after giving his word that he wasn’t the one who started those fights–he only finished them.

In eighth-grade, Max was Mr. Popular for the wrong reasons. He didn’t fit in well with other kids, had no cliques of his own, and people steered clear of him because he couldn’t stand being teased–which he guessed was typical for most African-American kids. Or maybe not.

When the rest of the year passed uneventfully, he began to think he’d gotten a stroke of good fortune.

Then one time, in ninth-grade, this bully Martin Corazon called him a dumb n-word in gym class. Max threw a basketball at him so hard it caused a nosebleed. Other students had to tear them off each other. Martin got a black eye to match his swollen nose. In Max’s opinion, the fool deserved the pain.

But the school authorities did not share his opinion.

One visit to the Headmaster’s office, and later Max was emptying his school locker, having been expelled from yet another school, again. The sixth one in four years! Quite a record.

He was thirteen years old at the time.

Normally, an expulsion wouldn’t have bothered him, but this one happened around the time his mom got laid off at her place of work–who would have thought genarians hated being wrong all the time?

When Vanessa saw the expulsion letter from the town school that night, Max dreaded her reaction. But she only tossed the paper aside and asked if he had got hurt. Stunned, he’d said no. But rather than ground him for eons, she told him not to worry, made his favorite for dinner–peanut butter and jelly sandwiches–and they watched an old movie. He fell asleep in her arms.

Next month, they moved to Manhattan. Hello, city! Mom had gotten this new job at a five-star hotel–FIJEDOM LODGE–that was a subsidiary of a Forbes-listed company, and the pay was really good. Enough to send Max to a private boarding school in upstate New York.

Where things went very wrong.

***

Hey, said a familiar voice nearby. You alright?

Max looked up at the welcome face of Layla, his only friend so far in this … prison. She was in his age group, a pretty brunette with light-brown skin, caramel eyes and an expression that said, Don’t mess with me or I’ll shave off your eyebrows and make you eat them. She was fresh meat, though–been in juvie for about four months now, serving a one-year-sentence because of social misconduct. She’d sprayed graffiti over a street poster of the mayor, but had been too slow in making a getaway from the local cops.

Too slow, Max thought, just like he’d been on that unfortunate day.

Clearing his throat, he surveyed the compound. It was a beautiful sunny hour, the afternoon skies blue and clear, the air pungent with the smell of city. The inmates of Harvey’s Institute loitered on a wrap-around porch before the stone steps of the National Conservatory of Historical Art. Standing near the bus parked on the roadside was a heavily-built man with a shaved head, cold dark eyes, a buff jaw and a permanent scowl. His all-white uniform seemed a little too tight on him, well stretched over his bulging muscles. He looked like Roman Reign and The Rock fused into one, and he was here to make sure not one of them stepped out of line. Max knew the staff well, because he lived to torment society degenerates like Max.

The man’s name was Aiden, one of the disciplinarian officers working at Harvey’s Institute. When he caught Max looking, Aiden’s face creased into a deeper scowl. There was something almost … unnerving about his face. But Max didn’t dwell on that for long. Like he’d done so many times before, he flashed a wink and turned away.

The chaperone of their unlawful squad–Max knew her name was Mrs. Burnish and not much else–was standing on the top step before the heavy front doors of the museum, having a discussion with a tall dark-haired man in sunglasses and a pinstriped suit. Scattered around the yard, the rest of their group–juvies dressed in blue uniforms like Max–were divided into smaller groups, talking and laughing. Gender was diverse since Harvey was co-ed (the only sweet thing) and the generic age was sixteen. Max saw Tamara Jenner’s blond hair swinging as she cackled like a hyena in response to whatever her beau, Ryder the brown-haired deadbrain, was telling her. Ryder’s callused hand was splayed on Tamara’s bum, letting the other males know this one was taken. Max recalled those two had been dumped at Harvey’s sometime last year, after being arrested for B&E at a car retail store.

Welcome to Harvey’s Institute, where we take in the worst and make them the best.

Well, the first part was definitely true.

Hello? said Layla. Earth to Birdbrain?

Birdbrain. Her nickname for him. She’d complained severally that Max spent a lot of time with his head in the clouds like a bird. And although he’d explained that he got distracted a lot, the name still stuck. Normally such an insult from anyone would be answered with nothing but his fists.

But it was Layla, so Max found the term endearing.

I’m fine, Layla. Max motioned to Mrs. Burnish. Who’s the chick?

She had only started work last month, yet all he knew was her name. Through the journey here, she had occupied her eyes with him, which he found weird, but he hadn’t given it much thought. Weird stuff happened to Max most of the time–present situation included–and he usually forgot them afterward. It was like his brain could not focus on an issue for long.

You don’t know her? Layla asked.

Feels like we’re yet to be introduced.

Her name is Pietra Burnish. Russian social worker in charge of parole. She keeps all our files and stuff, checks in periodically to monitor our progress.

Oh.

How have you never seen her? You’ve been here far longer than I have.

Max did not need the reminder. Yeah. Was it his imagination or did Layla frown a little when her gaze passed over Aiden? I only noticed her last month.

She’s been here for three.

Max blinked. Well, I’m not really the observant kind.

Believe me, I know.

For a moment there was something in her voice–an edge of some sort–that made him narrow his eyes at her, but she was staring at the social worker. From what I heard, Layla said, I think she told the Warden it would be good publicity for us to visit a cultural center today, a form of rehabilitation therapy, I guess.

Right. Cos staring at a bunch of ancient junk will make me a betterment to society.

Layla giggled. I actually like history.

Max deadpanned. I know you do. The mayor knows it too.

Her whoop of laughter earned them looks that were not returned.

A glance at his watch–the last gift Mom had given him before his incarceration–revealed the time was 3:37 P.M. He’d tried calling her this morning on the facility phone, but when he got no response, he left a host of voicemails–Mom, we need to talk, for real. It’s important. Can you please call me? I love you–after which he’d read for a few hours before playing chess with Layla, though he lost every game.

Then they had lunch, and he’d hoped the evening would be a free one. But no, there just had to be a trip, and to a museum nonetheless.

Max muttered a curse under his breath. Of all the places they could have come to.

He loathed museums.

After all, why else was he here in the first place?

Chapter Three

When Max got into that private boarding school, Elite Academy, things were odd for the first few months, given the history with his former high school at Long Island. As the new kid in New York, it was a bit difficult settling in, and naturally other kids gave him space, even the nerds. None of it bothered Max, though. He actually preferred keeping to himself. His time was mostly spent at the library, the courts, and the pool.

The only real friend he ever made there was Jake Sullivan. He was Max’s roommate.

Jake was this blond surfer dude with a deep tan, abs and teeth worthy of Adonis. A socialite with wealthy parents, both of whom were also on