Archangel: Destiny

By Dano C Lawrence

Redefine your concept of the religious and spiritual world with Archangels: Destiny! Students are thrust into a biblical war on the frontlines of defense as the forces of evil escape their prisons. Follow Michael, Raphael, and Gabrielle as they struggle with their own faith and spirituality while battling demons. Can they find who they truly are and fulfil their divine duty to save the world before the Prince of Evil, Lucifer, escapes his prison cells?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dano C Lawrence
• Release date: Jan 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215242049

Dano C Lawrence

Born in Hamilton, Ontario and raised in Stoney Creek, I grew up in a Catholic family household. Angels and demons have always interested me, as did war and fighting. I had once flirted with this idea before talking to a friend of mine about a TV show regarding Archangels but never acted on anything. However, during a 15 hour delay at Gatwick Airport in London, England one day I decided to finally put some ideas on paper. And thus began the footnotes of the Archangel trilogy. All I needed to do now, was sit down and write.

Book preview

PART I: DESTINY

PROLOGUE

High above the lands of the living inside a celestial pocket amongst the stars, a cloud trembles. Inside the cloud roams a sophisticated civilization and kingdom of entities, spirits and souls. The structures are colossal, the architecture is awe-inspiring, and the system is divine. Winged spirits float through their everyday duties. Magical entities whisk through the crowds for and as entertainment, and souls rest easily and happily with their loved ones and heroes of their past; or at least those who were righteous enough to reach the celestial city.

An astronomical figure sits patiently with another inside a closed room within the kingdom’s palace. It is decorated with trophies and sentiments from the past, recessed within its white walls and high ceiling. In the middle sits an old rounded and rustic table with a large basin full with water; it reflects any image requested. The two beings hear footsteps from the corridor outside the doors.

Two hard knocks are heard as they echo in the chamber. With a wave of His hand, the astronomical entity opens the door while still seated. Double doors from floor to ceiling, the only black doors in a palace of pearl, open. Its gold trim outlines the doors and wraps around the handles and knockers, in the shape of rams’ heads – one dangles loose, before falling to the ground as the doors reach the walls. The guest who knocked leans down to pick it up.

Whoopsies! I broke your door handle, again. The man says in a whimsical manner before tossing the handle on the table.

What News Do You Bring? The head of the table asks as He leans forward, resting His elbows on the table. His voice is stern and powerful.

No worries Big Guy, I’ll get my peeps on it. And in an instant a fist flies down hard, thumping the table, sending echoes through the hall and ripples through the water. The other man steps in for a gentler touch.

Cassiel! My good man! Do not mind my Father. He is too preoccupied for the normal pleasantries and humour. The son says as he greets the messenger with an embrace.

I know, I know. Maybe it wasn’t right of me to joke at a time like this. Cassiel answers with his usual cheerful manner. He is a peculiar creature amongst those in the celestial cloud. Smaller than most, he is short in stature and thin would be an understatement. His darker complexion is complemented by the golden necklace and bracelet he chooses to wear. Feathered wings grew between his shoulder blades, like all other divine spirits, however, they had also grown on his ankles, unlike any other angel in the cloud. They were not without their perks though, they made him the fastest angel in the pearly city. It helped him get the job as Messenger and it was said he could even rival the speed of the fiercest angels ever created.

What news of the adversary do you have? The son asks. He is quick to business, but Cassiel is slow to answer. As the embrace ends an answer follows.

He’s out. The reply does not share the same tone as when he entered. Well, a piece of him is out. A piece of him escaped. His cheerful banter returns, It’s probably nothing to worry about but, I would probably start assembling a team. You know, the usual – a fearless leader, the obnoxious rebel and for some reason there’s always one with anger issues.

The son looks back to his Father. Still hunched over on His elbows, the fist that struck the table is now stroking His thick, white beard. He turns back to Cassiel and pats him on the shoulder, Thank you. If we start recruiting now, it will give our angels time to prepare and train. In the meantime, we will do what we can to find the escaped piece and – He is interrupted.

No. The solemn and sober voice of his Father states. He stands stoically, He Has Escaped. It Is Only A Matter Of Time Before He Calls For Help, Before He Recruits His Own Followers. Send For My Angels. We Will Council Over This. Cassiel nods and graciously floats out of the room as his ankle wings flutter. The doors close behind him harshly and echo in the corridor.

Now leaning on the table, the old entity looks around the room. His gaze finds His son first and He shares a soft, sympathetic smile. But the memories of the room quickly squander the look of love in His eyes and the smile on His face. He sees trophies on pedestals, achievements etched into divine and human history: a lightning bolt symbolising a former moniker; a snake to remember an old enemy; a crucifix for his greatest sacrifice. He gestures for His son to follow as they make their way to the water basin in the middle of the rustic and round table. The room is silent. He waves His hand over the water, and it begins to light up and crystallise to display images.

What is this, Father? The water shows the Earth, from animals hunting in the mountains to fish migrating in the south; from businessmen travelling continents to mothers bearing their first child.

The Water Sees All Walks Of Life. He solemnly starts, Yet It Does Not Show How My Adversary Escapes. He snaps His fingers, and the images rotate between the three Heavenly seals.

The Earth had been one of his prisons for millennia. A corrupt spirit, a fallen entity, a blackened soul. Upon their last war this evil was defeated and cast out of the palace. The Almighty Father had separated his mind, body and spirit to rot in the depths of this world and others as individual prison cells. One in the Middle East, another taking its rotation over a holy city and finally one over South America. Now that a piece of him has escaped, it will be easier for him to find the others and reconfigure himself. His divisions will find a way to sense each other, grow stronger and wage war upon Heaven once again. This is His fear.

Another snap and the crystallised images return to the scenes of the Earth. This time, however, there is static. What’s wrong? Why is the water shaking? Why is the Earth shaking? The son asks. It is because of the adversary. It is explained that his sheer presence alone can cause a riff in humankind. Once a bringer of light, his corrupted soul now only serves to spread chaos. They look throughout the room where they see more relics and memories of the past: the broken lance of a favourite son; a spiralling flame still burning in its casing; slashes and scars throughout the pearly walls; and burn marks that the table fails to cover. All the trophies, all the relics, all the marks that hide in the chamber were meant to stay. They are meant to serve as a reminder of a war that took too many sacrifices, a reminder of His failure as a Father, and as a reminder of just how close the adversary got to Him. This chamber, once a solemn and tranquil room for peace and homage, with its white walls, high ceilings and recesses for individual prayer, became the epicentre of the final battle between good and evil, order and chaos. And now hidden away behind closed doors from the palace and the city, this chamber is now used to call upon council and defence. It is no longer for peace. Now, it is for war.

CHAPTER 1: THE DRAFT

A crowd roars. Hands applaud. People cheer and participants chatter. And now, please welcome the graduating class of our Applied Sciences Department! A professor says atop the stage, podium stage left. Eruptions of cheers and claps echo throughout the auditorium for each individual student. Murmured chatter and sustained applause settle in between graduates.

Alyssa Sampson… Cheers and applause boast. Blake Samuelson… Kudos are proclaimed loudly by his family in a corner of the auditorium. Michael Santini… Only the overall crowd noise sustains the place, until a rogue graduate bursts into obscenity.

Yeah! That-a-boy, Mikey! Laughter and cheer fill the auditorium following the other graduate’s gesture as Michael smirks on stage, forgetting the disappointment of the earlier silence.

Outside of the hall, the crowds of students, families and faculty gather after the ceremony. Michael stands alone, searching and waiting for a familiar face. The obscene student who yelled earlier finds Michael and jumps on his back from behind.

Guess who, Mr. Santini? The voice is stern and laced with sarcasm. Michael drops his diploma and class picture in an attempt to catch his friend on his back.

Raph, you goof! Get off me. He howls with a chuckle.

He throws his friend off his back and turns to get a good look at him. Raphael’s height and slenderness can make catching him very awkward. If it were not for Michael’s strength, he would not have lasted long during the forced piggy-back ride and both boys would have fallen to the ground.

My man! Raphael laughs as he tries his best American Gangster impression. The two childhood friends share a large, exaggerated hug. The pats on the back slow as Michael gives one last squeeze before breaking it off. Being a bit shorter, Michael looks up at his friend when they separate. Quickly Michael remembers his friend’s gesture during convocation and why it was silent in the first part.

Being the middle child of his family did not bother Michael at all. He learned at a young age that middle child syndrome had fully been in effect, and he had to make his moments count. He did not even think graduating university was that big of a deal, it was always going to happen for him, and it seemed to be just a simple part of the plan. Still, for nobody in his family to make it to convocation really irked him. His father was at his brother’s American Hockey League playoff game in Rochester, and his mother was with his sister touring the best university in the country a couple towns over. Even as a varsity football player in university, it was hard to compete being squished between a professional athlete and a brainiac.

He pats Raphael on his tanned, baby-face cheek in European fashion and says in solemn comfort, Thanks, man.

Raphael knows something is wrong, You alright? He asks, but his friend will not concede, and he knows not to pry.

Always, Michael answers with a smile.

The boys have been friends since the early days of high school. As a natural athlete, people noticed Michael for his athleticism and participation within the school. Raphael on the other hand used to be a quiet, short and chubby kid who usually ate lunch alone. He enjoyed watching sports but lacked the physical stature and abilities to play them. Michael introduced himself in an empty cafeteria when he decided to sit beside the only other student studying for Biology. They connected over sports and comics and superheroes while taking some of the same courses throughout school. Their relationship grew over the years and through university as Michael helped Raphael come out of his shy shell, while Raphael was a constant pillar in Michael’s support system. Today, they both graduated from McMaster’s Applied Sciences Department, both with Honours, Michael in Kinesiology and Raphael in Health Sciences.

Good. Raphael starts, Now, both my moms are here. It’d be rude not to say ‘Hi.’

Walking towards Raphael’s family, the friends begin to joke. I can’t believe you’re off to Med school next year. You, Mr. Raphael DeSantos. Michael says.

Doctor DeSantos. Raphael playfully corrects.

Yeah, yeah. Dr. DeSantos. I’ll still remember your old chubby, lazy and awkward days.

Well, I found a new motivation once the acne and awkward growth spurt stopped.

What’s that?

Raphael leans in close with an eyebrow up before whispering, Women.

Michael smacks him as the two share a laugh, knowing truly that he is not quite the ladies’ man he just pretended to be.

At home Michael finds a list of chores that needs to be completed and an empty bowl of pasta – no leftovers saved, no dinner. Before setting out to complete the chores, he takes a moment to unwind with a beer and sports highlights on television. The graduation not only marks the end of his undergraduate studies, but also his football career. He was lucky enough to end his four-year university career with the McMaster Marauder Offensive Player of the Year award and the national title with a Vanier Cup victory. His average height and stocky frame are ideal for his running back position, but in Canada, university is usually where a running back’s career typically ends.

He throws his black patterned, zipper-tie down beside him and unbuttons his blue dress shirt. As the shirt falls open, it reveals a strong core and stubbled hairs on his chest. Young at twenty-two, his body is thick and already a man’s. The product in his short, brown hair softens as he brushes one hand through it while holding the beer in his other. As he finishes his drink, the phone rings, startling him and allowing some beer to miss his mouth. It trickles down his strong, rounded jaw before he wipes it off. Then he answers the call. It is Raphael.

Hey buddy, what’s up?

I just wanna know if you’re coming out tonight. Remember that girl, Jennifer, in my program? She’s having a grad party and that girl from the gym is gonna be there. I need my wingman!

Michael does not quite remember Jennifer, but certainly remembers the girl from the gym. He has only seen her once with Raphael, but his friend will not stop talking about, rambling on and on about her red hair and healthy body. Only Raphael would use the word healthy to describe a beauty’s body. Michael always thought he painted a more exaggerated picture with her than with any of the girls he has mentioned.

Ah, man I can’t! He sighs in frustration. You know I would be there for you if I could, but I haven’t eaten dinner and I have a few things to take care of around the house.

That’s rough. Alrighty! Another time than. We’re still good for down south though, right?

You know it. Sorry, bud.

A couple chores are done – cleaning the bathrooms and doing a load of laundry – a shower and sometime later, the Santini household doorbell rings. Michael gets caught in shock for a moment as he opens the door. Then he drops his head and smirks while shaking it before raising it with a bellow of laughter. It’s Raphael.

Brought you some pizza and wings, homie. Hope you’re hungry. He smiles.

What about the girl from the gym? You might never see her again. Michael smiles inviting his friend in.

Yea, well, you know. Whatever. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be and if it’s not… well that’s why I have you.

That’s why you have me.

But as for right now, she’s just some chick I never met. And as for right now, my boy is stuck in a rut, and I am here to feed him out of it! Raphael exclaims with sarcasm and joy. The boys polish off the food, the remaining chores and perhaps one too many beers to end the night.

Morning comes but is not welcomed by all in the Santini household. The two friends wake up with stiff backs and sore necks from falling asleep before making it to a bed. Michael stands from one couch to stretch. His muscles tighten as he raises his arms above his head, showing the definition of his musculature that hides when relaxed. He expels a long, lofty yawn before crumbling back onto the couch. Raphael remains laying on his back. He attempts to stretch but his lanky arms and feet hit each side of the walls with a bang and lack of grace. Michael’s mother laughs as she sips her coffee at the kitchen table.

Glad you boys are awake. She says.

Oh. Hi. Mrs. Santini. You’re looking lovely this morning. Raphael responds with his back still on the couch, his eyes still closed.

You’re going to have to do better than that, Raph. If you’re going to freeload, you’re going to have to help my son with his chores. She retorts as she turns a page in the newspaper, seemingly disregarding the sarcastic compliment. Michael is sent outside to mow the lawn while Raphael is asked to clean up the mess they made in the kitchen – the open pizza box on the kitchen table with cheese beside it and the barbecue sauce of the chicken wings that somehow made a ring around the bucket’s base. He finishes the last slice of pizza for breakfast while he cleans.

After cleaning, Michael is annoyed to find out that his parents have yet again forgotten about his upcoming plans. I’ve told you a hundred times. Me and Raph are going down south as camp counsellors. We’ll be staying in a little village with others around our age and we will be working as leaders with the less fortunate down there. He explains with a little added frustration from them missing yesterday's convocation and a possible hangover.

You mean like Texas or Mississippi, down south? His father asks.

No, dad. South America. El Salvador to be specific.

Right. And why are you going all the way down there for a job? What’s wrong with working here for the summer?

I probably could find work here, but this should be a good experience and a resumé booster for when I’m done teacher’s college next year. And Raph, He looks at Raphael standing there close to the door, hoping the argument ends soon. Well, Raph is an idiot and coming with me.

Hi. Raph, here. Idiot tag-a-along. Raphael banters quickly with a smile and a wave. That seems to ease the tension slightly. We actually leave in a couple days. Flight’s around nine a.m. or something, non-stop to El Salvador. He adds.

"We’ll be gone for a month. How do you forget a conversation like that?’ Michael’s tone hints at anger again.

Alright. Alright. His mother steps in for a softer touch. We’ll drive you two to the airport. Raph, your parents can pick you guys up when you get back?

Yes, ma'am.

The night before, Michael finalises his packing for his trip to El Salvador. He goes through his checklist of essentials – passport, toiletry bag, bathing suit – Check. Check. And check. One last thing, he calls Raphael.

Ciao bello! He starts in a fun Italian mood.

Come stas señor? Raphael responds mocking his Spanish tongue.

Ready?

Duh.

Hero shirt? Michael asks as he pulls a shirt from his drawer brandishing a bat symbol.

Hero shirt. Raphael responds patting the S of the shirt he stuffed on top of his luggage.

Six thirty. Michael states the time in which they will pick him up.

Yup. Got it. And the boys hang up a call that lasted less than thirty seconds without so much as a goodbye.

In the morning Michael’s parents’ van pulls into the Departures terminal at Toronto’s Lester B. Pearson International Airport.

Thanks again for driving. Both boys say in unison as they step out of the vehicle. Mr. and Mrs. Santini get out of the van to give both boys a hug and a firm handshake.

Stay out of trouble. Michael’s mom says to the boys.

Yeah, her husband supports, but don’t be afraid to get into some either. He adds in a whisper to the two friends. Mr. Santini winks at them before getting back into his van.

After checking their bags, making their way through security and finding their gate, they finally meet up with their camp group. Ugh, I hate flying. Raphael says. The lines, the people, the unknown heights. He continues.

They actually tell you exactly how high you are on a plane. Michael replies as the sarcastic know-it-all.

Yeah, and it’s terrifying. I hate heights. The slender boy responds before he gives his buddy a shot to the ribs in pure excitement over who he sees.

Ah! What was that for? Michael protests. Raphael just points with a large smile from ear to ear. Following his glance and indication, Michael turns back and quickly pulls his friend's arm down. It is the girl Raphael wanted to meet at the party, the redhead with a healthy body, the girl from the gym.

Don’t make it so obvious you chooch! The Kinesiology graduate declares to his awe-shocked friend. He urges him to play it cool and smooth; to let things come naturally and not force a meeting or conversation. They calmly make their way to a couple of open seats a few spots down from the girl.

She is beautiful. Long ruby hair flows in front of her right shoulder as she sits. Long, strong legs move smoothly as one crosses over the other. She sits quietly with headphones in her ears and a book in hand. It took a lot of self-control for Raphael to not stare as they walked by. She turns her head in confusion, as though she recognizes them from somewhere. She does not make a move though.

Did you see that? Raphael squeals in a whisper, She was totally checking me out. He has never been prouder of his boyish face and slender body. Michael still tells him to relax as he pulls out a deck of cards to pass the time until boarding.

The boarding calls are announced. The girl from the gym stands, ready to board while the boys remain in queue. Raphael takes a peek at his mystery girl and marvels at her. His eyes widen and mouth opens as she rises from picking up her carry-on bag from the airport floor. Her clothes, comfy yet fashionable reveal a nice figure complimented by cute breasts. Michael smacks his smitten friend before he gets caught staring. They notice her making her way toward them before continuing to enter the boarding line.

Hey, um… You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere? What school did you go to? She asks confidently, chewing gum.

I’ve actually seen you at the gym at Mac before. Raphael blurts out, thinking it is a smooth response. But she looks confused and startled at the reply.

Actually, She focuses her attention on Michael, I meant him.

Raphael’s grin sinks in his failure. Michael chuckles and before reinforcing his befuddled friend’s comment and standing up for him. He’s actually right. We probably look familiar from the gym, and I assume graduation a couple days ago.

Yeah, that’s right. She expresses as though she has known all along. I’m Gabrielle. Are you guys with the camp program?

Michael. His dimples reveal themselves attached to a welcoming smile.

Raphael. The poor boy sounds defeated, Know any warrior princesses? He mutters under his breath.

Don’t mind him. We are actually with the group, yeah. Michael says quickly to deter their new friend from the unravelling blunder that is now Raphael DeSantos.

Oh, okay. Cool. Yeah, I’m going to help improve my Spanish. Raphael’s head perks up upon hearing this. I’m a Language grad and I’m going to need all the help I can get finding a job. She laughs it off. But I should get going and find my seat on the plane. See you guys when we land.

Michael agrees and waves goodbye. With a new hope, Raphael smiles. Adios, señorita. He stresses the roll on the R in his best accent to impress her. She giggles and rolls her eyes before turning away.

Michael smacks his friend again, Dude. Why are you so giggity?

Raphael smacks him back in response, I missed her in the gym, I missed her at the party. And now I find her here and studying Spanish! Sarcasm and joy lighten up his rejuvenated face, You know, all that ‘meant to be’ stuff.

Michael laughs and claps his friend on the shoulder, Still hate heights and flying?

Raphael shrugs, This might make it bearable.

CHAPTER 2: THE ARCHAEOLOGIST

Two men stare down the darkness of a tunnel. They call out when they see a stray light bouncing off the dirt walls and ground of the excavated hole. The light turns toward them but there is no answer. The echo of footsteps fades as they near the entrance of the tunnel. Wooden pillars erected throughout the site hold the carved-out space open. Stone, dirt, water and minerals snap, crackle and pop as the person walks into the light.

No worries, fellas. It’s just me. Dr. Damon Tueffel states with an easy tone. He plays it cool so as to not raise suspicion of what he just found. He alone has seen the markings in the depth of the excavation site, in the mud and stone and gravel, but none of the tools on him were strong enough to penetrate the surrounding environment or aid in his investigation. The doctor is not one to share his findings or insights.

The archaeologist is a productive man. He is on sabbatical from the University of California after receiving tenure. His discovery of a large drachma find in Argentina boosted his academic career as a Doctorate candidate in Germany. He has come to El Salvador to investigate and dig on a site that theoretically can be tied to the drachma discovery. So far, the practical outcome has been deemed a disappointment. However, this evening has Dr. Tueffel in a much better mood. He has found something that appears to have been pulled up from darker depths, something that has a severe presence about it when he nears. Something he cannot quite figure out and something he cannot make a dent in.

He walks through the main tent toward his study room. Throughout the tent are desks with research papers, articles or findings on top that are being dusted off, cleaned or investigated for age analysis and authenticity. He wipes the sweat off his brow before calling to his graduate student. Down in the dark tunnel it was cool, but on the surface the El Salvadorian heat can be a nuisance.

Karla, come here please. A short girl turns from her desk and promptly gallops over to him with a notepad and pen in hand. She won the chance, perhaps a little too easily, to work with Dr. Tueffel on the site.

Yes professor? She says innocently in query as she sweeps her blonde hair to one side revealing natural blue eyes behind thick optical lenses.

I need you to find me the most powerful tools we have. And make sure that all the electric ones are fully charged. She nods and scurries off excitedly to complete the task. Oh, and any dynamite or explosives remaining. He adds a little louder than he would have liked. Luckily nobody is close enough to hear him or cares enough about the request.

The young academic go-getter returns with a full wheel-barrel. Tueffel eyes his equipment: two shovels – trench and spade – a rock pick, two hand trowels, a water pump filled to the brim, one litre of gasoline and two sticks of dynamite. Dynamite is not permitted during professional digs, but Dr. Tueffel is not always professional. Thank you dear. He says to Karla as he tosses his own hand pick in the barrel. My water is on my desk, I’ll need it. He watches her from behind as she walks toward the desk biting his lip and putting his sunglasses on as she turns back toward him. There is no point in hiding it from her, but he still needs to hide it from the rest of the crew in case they are in the area. She smirks as she notices him scavenging her body with his eyes.

He walks toward the entrance of the site on the brink of dusk. He insists he go alone. Alone but for the tools, water, hardhat with a light and illegal explosives.

Be careful. Karla tells him.

He just looks at her with a smirk, knowing he will disregard her warning. He makes his way toward the site where he saw the markings earlier in the day, but to his dismay they are no longer there. I could’ve sworn I’m in the right place. He thinks to himself before deciding to carry on. He trudges further from the entrance and deeper into the excavation site. He feels the air thinning the deeper he goes but he does not care. Water splashes, dirt concedes, and stones tumble as the archaeologist walks on carrying the hefty wheel-barrel. His frustration grows as he finds himself walking deeper and deeper and the equipment gets heavier and heavier without any sight of the markings. Finally, he drops the wheel-barrel when he sees an odd site. It crashes awkwardly toppling over onto the muddy ground. He notices a broken wooden scaffold just off to the side. It should not have been broken in the first place, but he forgets about that as he sees what has brought him down here in the first place, the marking.

Joy and curiosity rush through him. He notices that there is a smaller tunnel passed the wooden boards and begins to pull them apart. He is confident the rest of the scaffolding will be strong enough to hold everything in place. It is. In the tighter tunnel he decides to leave most of the equipment behind. He holds only what he can carry now; his hand pick, the spade shovel, gasoline and the dynamite – a box of matches in his shirt pocket. He hikes downward into the smaller path, the light from his hardhat leading the way. Somehow, the air seems thicker in this small space and a peculiar stench begins to rise.

He trudges along, crimping and cramping as the ceiling shrinks with every step. The physical demands on his body and thin air add fire to his frustration. This is why you’re here. He tries to talk himself through it. This is your discovery. The coins are your discovery. There is more stress in his voice. Mine. Yes, mine. They are my discovery. As will be this discovery tonight, you imbecile. His voice changes eerily as if he is having a conversation with himself. Then he hears something. It is something new under his feet. Not dirt, not water, not mud but something hollow. Something metallic it seems. Tired and frustrated he drops to his knees and begins to clean off the area around him. He smiles in disbelief as he finds what he was looking for.

The symbol he found hours earlier is finally in his sights again. He does not know what it means, he has never seen it before, but every treasure hunter knows X marks the spot. In this case the symbol should mark the spot of an unprecedented find, and all its glory and credit will go to the one and only Dr. Damon Tueffel. He knows this and he smiles wildly, It is mine. He says to himself again before thinking of the next move.

On the surface, the evening sky blankets the excavation site and the city. Local and imported labourers eat in the communal dining tent. Academic students and advisors go over their findings. They have all forgotten about the lead archaeologist of the project. It is not until Karla enters his study to inquire about a special study night that she remembers. She grabs an associate professor and two labourers to help call him back. They feel a quick gust of wind burst by them with a flutter as they walk toward the entrance of the dig site each holding a powerful flashlight.

The buried archaeologist feels rage overcome him. Ahhh! He screams. He wants nothing more than this discovery. His face dirty and sweating, his hands muddied and bloody, his breathing has halted to a measly wheezing. He has only one idea left, not of retreat but of victory. He plants the two sticks of dynamite as deep into the dirt as he can, surrounding the metal plate. I’m going to blow you up, ass hole. Carefully he lays a trail of gasoline from the tips of the dynamite wicks, along the dirt ground, back toward the opening he came in through. He finds that one litre of gasoline trail is not long enough to keep him at a safe distance, he will need to light it and run and hide as fast as he can.

The greedy archaeologist lights one match. A gust of wind flutters by and the match diffuses before ever reaching the trail of fuel. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. He tells himself. It ignites with one pull, and he carefully sets it down, covering it to block any air or wind or breeze from blowing it out. He ignites the gasoline trail much to his excitement and sees that the dirt is slowing the trail from catching. He uses this opportunity to race back toward the broken wooden boards that led him down here. Stumbling and slipping on the way, he is able to make up some ground and can see the light from the main tunnel. But it is too late.

The earth beneath him shakes and he hears the bang echo through the tunnel. He cannot help but turn back to look and what he sees is terrifying. First, he gets hit with a strong whiff of that peculiar stench, then knocked to the ground by a burst fluttering passed him and finally he sees a rolling flame climbing toward. He turns and climbs as fast as he can with the roaring fire tumbling after him. He tries to duck for cover, but it is too late, the fire catches up to him and with the force behind it, it gobbles the archaeologist up.

Above ground the crew is afraid. They heard the pop of explosive and felt the ground tremble underneath them. The team of four with Karla, the associate professor and labourers feel the gust of wind once again as it leaves the tunnel. Gravel and dirt start to fall from its ceiling and the search crew turn to escape to the entrance, fearing the excavation will cave in. Once they are safe in the camp, the associate professor begins to make arrangements with the proper local authorities for rescue crews.

What are you doing? Karla begs him, her eyes watering as she screams.

Karla, we’ve had an accident on site. I’m following protocol. Dr. Stepan Orlov says with a tremor in his voice, sharing the concern with the young graduate student that they may need to come to terms with the fact that they may have lost Dr. Tueffel.

Deep in the tunnel, agony overcomes the archaeologist. Flames barrel over him quickly before whimpering away in the blackness of the path. He lays there burnt. His skin scorched and black. His hair singed and dirty. Mine. He thinks to himself. All mine. He is delirious and in shock. He hears a hiss from beneath him, but he cannot move. The presence of smoke becomes apparent, and he thinks it is his skin. The hiss becomes louder as the smoke climbs over the rotting body of the doctor. His body begins to cool as the smoke rises through his body, easing the scorched skin. As the pain decreases, Dr. Tueffel regains a bit of his faculties and finally sees the smoke that has wrapped itself around him. It is a black burning smoke that is somehow healing him. What are you – he tries to speak but is interrupted as the smoke barrels into his orifices. It races through every hole and opening throughout the archaeologist’s body; his mouth, nose, ears, cuts and scratches, seemingly suffocating him and swallowing him from the outside. His light blue eyes roll to the back of his head. He gags for air and shakes furiously until he drops cold in the mud. Unconscious. Not breathing. Still and silent.

The smoke searches throughout the unresponsive archaeologist. It seems to have a mind of its own. It wraps itself around his muscles and bones, sizing the doctor up. It notes the length of his body, the width of his shoulders and the strength of his muscles. All of it seems to please the smoky spirit. It sniffs around his memories until it finds one that it likes, the Argentina discovery.

Damon Tueffel knew it only took one chance to change things. One shot to catapult him into academic glory, one find to set him upon a glorious pedestal for history. On site in Argentina, many moons ago, outside Patagonia, the young doctorate candidate stood with a colleague. Damon, when we go down, please be careful of the sides. The guard railings we’ve made aren’t the strongest and we’re not quite sure how far of a drop it is. Fellow doctorate candidate Petrius Brand said excitedly in his South African accent. The fair haired and chubby man leads Damon down the excavation site.

Where are we going? Damon asked. He sensed there was something big to be revealed and wondered if Petrius had found something before him.

He was led to a carved-out room beneath the surface. The air was dry, the dirt and sand made it dusty and heavy to breathe. The crackling and thumps of their footsteps were the only thing they could hear. I found something hidden in the room. We were all down here earlier, but I think I found a hidden compartment. Petrius explains as they pass makeshift barriers from weak and old logs of wood. Damon peaks down the side for a moment and drops a rock over the edge. It takes a while before anything is heard. He continues following as the worry about the find and the credit gains pressure on him. He needs to be the one to discover it. He wants the credit to himself.

The colleagues stop in the middle of the carved-out room. What do you see? Petrius asks. Damon looks around but shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders after seeing not much else other than the elements of the Earth around them. Exactly. The young man says as he stomps on the ground. But the stomp does not provide a thumping sound of sand or dirt. It echoes a thump and crack of a wooden plank. I stumbled upon this today but didn’t want to say anything. Figured we could open up together, what with you being my senior student advisor. Damon smiles and pushes his subordinate out of the way with eagerness.

Let’s open it already! He exclaims. The two men heave and pull and kick down the planks until they break through. They shine their lights down the new hole and laugh. Shining back at them are chests and crates, albeit dirty and rusted, of coins.

Yes! We did it! Petrius yells with elation. He stands expecting the same activity from Damon. What’s wrong? We found something, probably hundreds of coins and old currency down there. Damon looks up at him with a smile but confused eyes.

"We didn’t find anything." He says softly.

What? Petrius steps back in bewilderment, his face drops into confusion.

I found it. This is my discovery. He stands slowly as his colleague takes another step back.

Your discovery? Petrius fumes as he swears in Afrikaans before turning toward the exit, The coins are your discovery? He yells again. You can’t – Damon interrupts him with a burst of anger.

Mine, yes mine! This is my discovery! And I can do this, you are my inferior! I am the senior doctorate candidate on this project! This is mine!

Petrius mumbles again in his native language. I’m leaving. He says turning his back and walking in the direction of which they came.

Where are you going? If you leave you forfeit all of this! Damon protests.

I’m going to tell the professor everything, so you can go screw yourself! The pudgy student says leaving.

No! You can’t! Damon runs after him by tackling him to the ground. Sand and dirt kick up as they land.

Get. Off. Of. Me. Ass hole.

The boys wrestle on the ground, inching their way to a barrier. Wiggling free, Damon stands and kicks the downed colleague in the stomach. The thumping sound mixes with Petrius’ agony. You can’t go. You’ll forfeit everything. Damon explains taking a rest from beating him. Petrius rolls onto his back before rolling again to his stomach and spitting out blood. He grasps at his surroundings for help in standing. He finds the dirt wall and digs his hands in it to pull himself up. But the boy is weak and in pain, he slouches over putting some pressure on the nearest railing for support. Watch the railings, you imbecile. Damon taunts.

Fok jou. Petrius replies in Afrikaans as he tries to stand straight. But the pain in his stomach is too much and he recoils again, this time faster and harder than before, putting more weight and pressure on the already weak railing. It cracks, buckles and snaps. Both boys’ eyes widen in terrified surprise. Petrius’ balance falters as he drops to a knee. Damon steps up with great hesitation then stops as he sees the ground soften under his colleague’s knee. And as the earth gives way, Petrius falls, fast and loud. His screams echo and fade until the sound of him hitting something stops everything. Damon’s first thought, It’s mine.

This pleases the smoky spirit. His greed shall be a source for it to feed and regain strength. The dark cloud of smoke revives the archaeologist instantly. With a gasp Dr. Tueffel takes a breath and his eyes return to their original place. He scatters to pull himself together and races up to the opening he once came. Sitting there breathing heavily, he pauses. He takes a deep breath in and begins to laugh. His eyes darken, his face crooks and his laugh becomes more sinister with every passing breath. The dark spirit has taken over.

On the surface there is a ton of commotion. Two local security guards stand in front of the entrance. They hear another bang behind them. They turn and see a scattered light in the distance, so they rush in as a crowd gathers around the site. Moments later Dr. Damon Tueffel walks out of the dig site with the two security guards. His skin still dark from the burns and dirt, his hair ruffled and dirty but still blonde and nothing more than a few bumps and bruises and scratches along his exposed skin.

Karla sprints toward him. Her eyes red from excessive crying, but this time the tears are of joy. The guards bring the archaeologist under the shade and get him water while emergency responders rush to aid him. He waves them off, refusing help. He feels fine, just dehydrated. Dr. Orlov is smart to dismiss the media, releasing a statement urging them to allow Dr. Tueffel to recover in peace.

Karla notices something peculiar though. The security guards do not leave the archaeologist’s side and she notes the strange relationship and devotion they have for her admired academic advisor. She also notices the subtle differences in him. Still tall, dark and handsome, broad at the shoulders and strong in his grip, there is something else about him. His dirty blonde hair still flows, but with bloodied highlights. His sky-blue eyes have darkened to a black, but most concerning is his smile. It is no longer charming but twisted. It seems ingenuine and mysterious, hiding a darker agenda. She does not like what she now sees, but knows it is too late. She has invested so much into this man. Her academic career rises and falls with him, and she would be lying to herself if she said all those late nights with him did not mean anything.

Karla, darling. Can I speak with you? Dr. Tueffel’s voice and speech seems altered. The short blonde student walks toward him timidly, afraid of what he might ask of her. I’m sorry, he says softly as he stands from his chair in his study room. She is a bit taken back by the comment. I know I went down there alone and made a real mess of things. I know you’ve been very good to me, personally and with this project. He continues with a sly look of sexuality, I just want you to know how much I appreciate you. His voice teeters on the romantic. She blushes as he rests his hands on the sides of her shoulders, grasping her and pulling her in close.

She looks up into his new dark eyes. How they have changed so fast and so drastically into so much darkness, she does not know. Nevertheless, she is lost in them. They have their own sense of intrigue and beauty. She giggles awkwardly and tries to look away in innocent shame, Oh, but she can’t, no problem. She manages to say as she shakes from being speechless.

No. He says, guiding her face upward by the chin. She is locked. She is lost. She is his. Thank you. He finishes before kissing her soft lips. He pulls her closer while their lips are still together. She breathes a deep breath before melting in his arms. He pulls away, still close to her. The same smoke from the tunnel appears and bridges their open mouths. It fills Karla, causing her to gag and shiver for a moment. Then it overcomes her, taking control. She opens her eyes. They are no longer innocent. No longer blue. They have been filled with the same darkness as the archaeologist’s. She is lost. She grins devilishly. His revenge begins.

CHAPTER 3: MEET & GREET

The flight from Toronto lands and the camp program students await their luggage after an uncomfortable five-hour flight. Ah, I hate flying! Raphael is quick to comment as he and Michael stretch and wake themselves up. The girl from the gym joins them.

Hey Gabby. Can I call you Gabby? Sorry. Michael says confidently then races to apologise.

She laughs, Yeah, no. That’s fine. Hey Mike, Michael? She shows the same courtesy of asking while luggage passes by them.

Mike is good. He smiles in response.

And hey Ra– She is cut off.

DeSantos, Raphael DeSantos. The slender and smitten friend says winking and extending his hand toward her. Gabrielle accepts the handshake with a smirk and sigh of laughter, only to learn his intent is to kiss her on the back of her hand. She pulls it back quickly and giggles awkwardly. Michael just smiles to the side.

Can you guys watch my stuff real quick? Gabrielle asks, I’m just going to run to the washroom and freshen up a bit. The boys nod and are happy to oblige.

Smooth move, Double-O Desperate. Michael says when Gabrielle is out of earshot, mocking his friend’s James Bond impression and advances. Raphael responds with a quick jab to the shoulder and a sheepish smile.

The boys’ travel backpacks slide down the carousel; two bandanas wrapped around the straps, one a Canadian flag, the other Italian, help Michael focus on his; and a rainbow coexist tag marking Raphael’s.

"You’re really going to put the moves on, eh? Try to be all Casanova and stuff?" Michael asks in a bit more sincere tone, picking his bag up.

I don’t know. The future doctor tries to play it cool as he pulls his bag from the carousel, Maybe. We’ll see what happens. Probably, yeah. The boys laugh. She’s so pretty. Raphael adds.

As Gabrielle returns, she notices the boys have their luggage, and hers is coming around the belt. She reaches for it in front of her new friends.

Let me get that for you, Raphael jumps in trying to pull her suitcase off, but he is noticeably struggling.

Michael laughs hysterically before providing words of support, C’mon you can do it! Raphael finally gets the suitcase to the floor in front of them, Such a strong man. Michael adds.

Shut up. His friend responds with a shortness of breath.

Gabrielle laughs it off Such a kind gentleman you are Mr. DeSantos. She plays to his earlier introduction.

Oh my God, lady. What’s in that thing? Raphael asks, flabbergasted.

Michael tests out the weight, thinking his friend is just being a baby. Oh my God, honestly what is in here? Michael reiterates, surprised by the weight himself.

What? A girl’s gotta accessorise. Gabrielle states walking off.

The boys follow. You could probably tone it down a notch, Michael whispers to Raphael about his aggressive courtship.

You’re probably right. But damn, that thing was heavy.

Yeah, it was.

They arrive at their host village late in the evening. The roads are less refined than cobblestone. The grass burnt and dead, filled with sand and dirt. Palm trees stand tall but few, other trees seem broken and weak. Houses are made of wood or cement, few are made from brick. The smell of manure and humidity can find you at any moment. But the bus passes by a mural on a cement wall. Its colour helps it stand out as it shows a large light halo to cover the background in mixtures of yellow, white and cherry; a white dove in full wingspan is placed over the heart of a bearded man. He is looking downward, hiding his face holding the dove close. Faded white strokes successfully outline angel wings flowing beside him. It is a small sight of beauty amongst an overwhelming sense of poverty.

When they arrive at their lodge, they are given room assignments and some time to freshen up. Alright everybody! Listen up! A short man yells as he steps onto a chair so that he can see all the counsellors and they can see him. I am Alan, you all should know because I interviewed all of you. He begins with a bellow and a laugh. Bald, bearded and fat with muscle, his voice booms with a tone that makes everyone listen. You have all been given your room assignments. You can go freshen up and meet us in the dining hall in about an hour. Many of you are new and don’t know each other, so we will get to the pleasantries when we eat. After that we will head back to the rooms. Lights out at ten tonight. Tomorrow is our first day at the community centre, we’re gonna get right into things. So go freshen up, eat up, meet up then rest up! See ya in a bit! He says excitedly. In his third year as the director of the program, he is always eager to start the first group social and mesh with everyone. The crowd of students turn and head to their rooms, some loud and boasting with their friends, others a bit quieter and shyer.

Michael and Raphael have had their request to room together successfully answered. Gabrielle, on the other hand, will be rooming with someone she does not know. She does not mind at all. The French-Canadian girl is used to jumping headfirst into situations and being able to take things head on. Growing up as an only child in a military family, she had nobody to play with at home and home moved pretty often. Instead of becoming an introvert and shying away from certain things though, she was always able to go out of her way to become more social and make connections and friends.

I always seemed to befriend the new kid. She tells her tablemates at dinner. Michael, Raphael and her new roommate, Lisa, sit listening. Probably because I was always the new kid. My dad is in the military, so we moved around a lot. She continues her story of why she chose to attend this camp. It’s one of the reasons I got into languages. Bouncing around from base to base you meet a lot of people from different backgrounds – French, She points to herself, Italian, pointing to Michael remembering the tag on his luggage, Middle Eastern or Asian, whatever. She pauses for a moment.

Spanish? Raphael asks, eyeing her intriguingly.

Well, that’s why I’m here. An old friend of mine I met in grade two is from El Salvador, Delmy. She answers.

That’s so cute! The new girl in the group says. Are you guys still friends? Lisa asks in a hopeful manner.

Gabrielle shakes her head, No, we unfortunately got separated. She answers, her big eyes fold and look away. Raphael’s eyes are fixed on her. But when I saw this was in El Salvador and remembering all she had to say about it. I couldn’t pass it up. The redhead says quickly trying to raise spirits again. Plus, it’ll be good to practise my Spanish.

That’s cool. What other languages do you speak? Michael adds now.

Well, I’m French-Canadian, so French. My mom’s from Belgium so I know a decent amount of Dutch and German here and there, and then Spanish and obviously English. She answers cordially. Everyone at the table has their eyes wide, stunned at her resumé of languages.

Wow. Michael laughs leaning back, And here I am using apps to try and learn some Italian.

Oh my gosh! That’s so amazing, I’m jelly! Lisa announces loud and proud and high pitched.

Tie s como la práctic si que? Raphael responds suavely. The table stops to laugh.

You is like practice yes we? Gabrielle mocks the translation, Cute. The tables smirks except for the suave boy who sits firm in his case, responding only with a couple pumps of his eyebrows and a cheeky smile.

Then he laughs it off. That’s amazing though, Raphael adds, that is definitely something to admire. He says cordially.

Gabrielle pauses and blushes at the compliment. Thank you.

Well, Lisa interrupts the moment, my turn! She is excited to share her thoughts and feelings with the table about why she chose to attend the camp. Her high-pitched voice matches her petite body and chubby cheeks. She states animatedly about how cheerful and hopeful she is about changing the lives of the younger campers she will work with, before rambling off on a tangent about her high school cheerleading days and how she hopes to make the squad in university the following Fall. Her twinkly attitude fills the table with annoyance.

Ah, to be young again. Michael says sarcastically when she is done. The table laughs, although Lisa’s is a nervous laugh, not entirely understanding the comment.

What about you guys? Lisa asks the boys, wide-eyed expecting a grand story like the girl’s.

Well, I’m going to be a teacher. Michael answers short and sweet.

Yup, and I’m here because, well, someone’s got to look out for him! Raphael adds with a grand grin, clapping his buddy on the shoulder. Gabrielle smiles and laughs at their simplicity. Lisa just folds her lips into a smile to hide her disappointment but to acknowledge their answers.

CHAPTER 4: THE PROGRAM

The morning comes. It is earlier than most students are used to. Luckily, they have a thirty minute bus ride to the village where they will be working. The road is unpaved and makes for a bumpy ride. Most students try to fall asleep to chase dreams that abruptly ended. Not Michael though. He is exhausted and restless. Uncomfortable and unsettled. He feels something is off. What’s the matter, Miguel? Raphael groggily asks with a cultural twist on his words.

Michael thinks for a moment about his abrupt dream last night. One that caused him to toss and turn and wake up sweating just before the alarm. In it he is playing football. It is a memory of his final game; McMaster Marauders against Laval Rouge et Or for the Vanier Cup at the Rogers Centre in Toronto. An off tackle run play is called and Michael receives the ball. He watches himself take the handoff from an out of body and bird’s eye view. His number thirty-four runs fast into a blocked hole filled with McMaster and Laval linemen alike. The final play of the first half goes nowhere, and the whistle blows with Laval leading McMaster twenty-one to three. The crowd falls silent as the dream thrusts Michael back into first-person inside the locker room.

Cleats clatter on the cement. Helmets are thrown into lockers. Curse words are slurred out as the Marauders are down on themselves. But it all falls silent in this dream. The focus is on the running back, number thirty-four. He stands and the noise and sounds start crawling back. What’s going on out there, fellas? He starts sober. The team takes note of their captain in the middle of the room. We’re better than this score, gentlemen! His voice rises with passion. We worked too hard and too damn long to let our heads hang now. Offence! Knock those French pricks off the line, put them on their asses! Give me a hole and we will make them pay. Give Tommy some time so he can let it fly, Michael gestures to their quarterback, and receivers. Catch that motherfucker and bring it to the house! He exclaims as he watches a fire ignite in his players’ eyes, and a smile bursts onto their faces. Defence! They ain’t stronger than you! They ain’t tougher than you! Make them feel it. I want to hear it. Pop! Pop! Pop! He claps along to his tempo, Every time they touch the ball. At the end of this game, gentlemen, he pauses, taking a moment to look at each and everyone of his teammates, and to see everyone of his teammates looking at him, at the end of this game, Laval, all their supporters, all of our supporters and everyone watching at home will know, he ups the ante one more time, reaching a passion that can only be rivalled by a fire feeding on gasoline, that we are the best damn football team with this ‘M’ on your chest! The best damn football team on the field! And the best damn champions they have ever seen! Pads begin to clap, roars begin to rumble. Are you with me? He exclaims. Everybody stands wide-eyed and fierce, making their way to huddle around their leader. Are you with me? He repeats. The team roars in exultation.

As they re-enter the stadium, something is wrong. The memory of the game sees McMaster pull through and complete an extraordinary comeback, with twenty-eight to twenty-four victory and the Vanier Cup. But this is not a memory, it is a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare.

Michael rushes to the stadium leading his team to the field. He stops abruptly horrified at what he sees. A giant smoky figure shaped like a dragon lands firmly in front of their tunnel. His team rushes forward onto the field but Michael’s legs cannot move. He hears the crowd scream in terror and watches as both the McMaster and Laval football teams get attacked by this nightmare. Michael’s legs still will not work, they move too slow for him to run, his voice too soft for him to scream. Then as he drops to his knees,