Blood Promise: Watchtower 7

Chapter One

I'd give my left wing to feel the sun against my cheek one last time. Oh, right, I no longer have my wings. Thanks, brother. Sarcasm swept through my soul like a snake's venom.

I sat, perched, beside an old bank building, the larger-than-life name long lost to time. I remembered the name, of course. I remembered everything. I could pluck any memory and pull it to the forefront as easily as I could pull a thread from my tattered jacket.

My gaze shifted from the decaying building, up to the gloomy, storm-scorched sky, and then over to the beam of light that glistened from the roof of the tallest skyscraper. The only skyscraper. The structure wasn't close. It was, in fact, a several-hours-long hike across the bridge and up Church Street. But it was its towering height and brilliant lights within the circle's gloom that made it shine like a beacon―a brilliant magnet drawing souls to its doors like mothmen to the flame. No building anywhere near as tall had been left standing after the devastation. And the skyscraper was one of the few structures still powered with electricity.

My brother Xaphan was there, in the shimmering fortress of glass, and I hadn't seen him in decades. Not that I wanted to...see him, that is. We shared the same fallen status, the difference being that he embraced his new role in this dark society.

He was the Commander in Chief, Emperor, Czar, the demon lord in our post-apocalyptic world. He'd come into power through the use of fear and held his title through destruction, discord, and sin. Humans had not been surprised when demons finally crawled out into the dim light. The world had been primed. Because it had not been through nuclear war, natural disaster, or planetary catastrophe that the civilized world met its end. Doomsday came to pass thanks wholly to the destructive force known as magick.

The resulting world was one I never wanted to deem acceptable. One I prayed everyday would be saved. That I would be saved. For there had been a time when I found comfort and joy in the company of my brothers and sisters. A time when I used my gift often and freely. The time was before my fall, almost eight hundred years ago. A mere flap of a wing in our flight across the ages. Now, in this new, cursed world, I was simply waiting. For what, I could not say. Forgiveness, maybe?

With a firm grip on my bag, I jumped off the side wall down to the busted sidewalk. Mud and water squished beneath my boots. The streets, once crowded with people and vehicles, were now washed in sludge. Red sludge. A result of the rising water table and red tide. The high salt content made the water undrinkable, just as the algal bloom made the fish inedible and the air mildly toxic. This was our daily curse, the destruction wrought by darkness and its ensuing discord.

The avenue upon which I made my way was busy with street vendors and traders-the reason I'd come here. In this new world, this was the closest thing to a market. Most blocks were quiet, aside from the occasional brawl...or worse.

Since the devastation sixty-seven years ago, living conditions had turned the surviving people into cockroaches, scurrying from sight, hiding in the shadows and from social interaction. In my timeless existence, I'd been privy to many plagues set upon men. The one we all now lived was the most demoralizing to which I'd played witness. The fact that I'd had to personally participate, I'm sure, had no effect on my judgment.

I crossed the street, my sights set on the busiest of all the traders―the fishermen. A nasty side effect of my condition was that I needed to eat. Not as often as the humans, but my body needed substance at least once a week.

The freshest catch hung from posts wedged deep into the muck and busted asphalt. Beyond, in an old, converted steak house, the team of fisherman stockpiled an assortment of items. One might find day-old fish, shellfish, grassweed, rat meat, and on occasion, a few canned goods. Although, the appearances of luxury items such as canned food were becoming fewer and far between. Most supplies had been exhausted years prior.