Blood of the Ancient - The Helix Rebellion saga #1

Chapter 13

An emotional pain snatched at his heart, delivering dark, tormenting memories of his murdered comrade. Like a burning knife twisting in his chest, searing the tissue of his internal organs. He struggled for control as blood boiled over, and the flames in his soul threatened a fiery eruption. He knew anger was consuming him, and he could feel the hatred straining against emotional barriers, desperately attempting to escape his trembling body. He steadied himself with a hand on the window, aware that he was fighting a losing battle with his power. He stared at his weary reflection, breathing heavily. It's...too...much...

The pain, the brutal memories, his unhealthy desire to put down President Malik. It was too much. As the internal walls restraining his powerful emotions broke, he released an almighty roar.

He quickly turned from the glass, aiming his palms in front of him. The energetic force he generated blew over the heavy bookshelf, a brown sofa flew through the air into the open kitchen at the far side, slamming against the sink with a crunch. A table leg snapped as his giant sword glided through the air into the bathroom door, bursting from hinges and clattering onto the floor beyond. The sound of crockery and glass shattered against a wall somewhere in the kitchen, pots and pans rattled with terror on their shelves.

When Logan calmed, he focused his exasperated mind on the great-sword, sensing the minute vibrations that the weapon imprinted upon the atomic structure of the room. When he felt the connection, he yanked at an invisible wire. The sword instantly jerked at his command, slicing its way back through the air with the hilt landing perfectly into his waiting grip. In one fast and fluid motion, he swung the sword in an arc, bringing it down in front of him with a powerful chop, housing the blade several inches into the wooden floorboard. He grinned at the progression of his acquired skills and looking up, halted the jingling swing of a cheap chandelier high above him with the flick of a wrist. The tingling sensation originating from the bands was like a drug, it flowed along his arms into his body, caressing muscles and soothing bones on its journey.

Now all he needed was a way in, a beginning to an inevitable end. He took a deep breath as the sound of his apartment phone rang somewhere, quickly moving through the scene of destruction to find the handset.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, it's Rhea. I wondered if you were still interested in the job offer that we spoke about. My boss wants to fill the position as soon as possible."

A malicious grin took over Logan's face, for fate had finally arrived, blessing his story of revenge with a long awaited beginning. "Yeah...I am." He'd been perfecting his new craft and honing his body for a full year, putting himself through a rigorous training plan. He secretly believed he could match even the great Samiel in the sword arts now, though the Malikan Army's First Class Marshal had fallen off the radar recently.

"That's great!" Rhea announced cheerfully. "There's a briefing at Willard's tomorrow morning in North Barlow, can you make it?"

"I'll be there."

"Great! See you tomorrow."

He hung the phone when she left, and turned his attention to the destruction behind. Who the hell's gonna clean this up? He sighed, knowing the answer to his question. He glanced over at his duffel bag; it was ready packed in case he needed a hasty departure - after all, he was a wanted criminal now, and Malik would steam-roll the entire town if they believed him present. He yawned heavily as he leant down for a fallen clock, realising how long he'd stood contemplating at his window. "Guess I'll clean up in the morning then..."

***

'Be careful Logan.'

Logan rolled his head over a lumpy pillow, sensing the darkness outside. He'd woken early. Who the hell are you? He wondered, the girl's image was a regular occurrence in his dreams now, and almost daily did he hear her mysterious words. He rubbed his eyes to clear his barely conscious mind, her hazy image slowly drifted apart. He had given up trying to understand its meaning.

After breakfast, Logan slung the great-sword onto his back and collected his bagged equipment. As he grabbed the keys from a wall hook by the door, he hesitated briefly at a photograph of his father that was pinned to the wall. He traced his outline with a finger, remembering the good times that they shared during his childhood. His father was his hero, and an amazing man. But that was before. The memory of finding his corpse at the bakery still haunted him. Logan shook his head, he couldn't think about that just now. The magnetic door lock clicked as he left.

The buckled lift juddered and rocked its way to ground level. When its doors finally screeched open he stepped out into the fresh morning breeze, breathing in a lung-full of frosty air that swirled around the apartment block. An early bird chirped happily from a secret nest, and rodents attacked rubbish bags in the back lanes. Logan glanced at the twinkling constellations still visible in the sky, and swung a leg over his two-wheeled beast sleeping under the canopy. He clicked the key into its tight socket and pressed the fingerprint identification, the HellCat roared to life, howling as he twisted her throttle. Before the neighbours came out cursing, he flicked the gear stick and thundered down the cobbled road that led to the main highway.

As the wind raced through his hair, his mind wandered once again. He struggled trying to put together the pieces that had led to the path he was now travelling. How did things get so bad...? He cast a glance at the sky, barely concentrating on the road, and sighed at the majestic crescent shape orbiting quietly beyond the clouds.

"Lunis, you better watch my back."