Years ago, the Order of Virtues waged war against God's angels. It began when the archangel Michael was summoned to a disturbance-a disturbance that soon turned into an ambush. The Order of Virtues, however, was defeated, despite their surprise attack. They were banished to Earth, where they now wander, infecting human souls with evil. Atnis Trepe is a young man back in his old neighborhood, there to take care of some family business. Soon, strange things begin to happen. Atnis feels as though he is being watched. He has terrible dreams-possibly visions, though he can't be sure. Then, he discovers a mysterious winged dagger in his coat pocket. How did it get there, and who did it belong to? Meanwhile, members of the Order of Virtues are in no way resigned to their lives on Earth. They want to challenge Heaven to another battle, but to do so, they must find the "Sword of Glory" which they believe will enable their victory. Atnis has no idea that he is the only thing standing in their way-and that soon he will become a supernatural force to be reckoned with.
The Descendant of the Order
By H. D. DoyleiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 H. D. Doyle
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-1988-2Contents
Introduction....................................................ixChapter 1. The Descendant of the Order.........................1Chapter 2. The Fallen From Grace...............................9Chapter 3. The Present.........................................20Chapter 4. The Confrontation with the Dark.....................28Chapter 5. The Interlude.......................................37Chapter 6. An Old Friend.......................................46Chapter 7. What a Mess.........................................55Chapter 8. Framed..............................................64Chapter 9. Escape and Retribution..............................71Chapter 10. The Showdown.......................................86Chapter 11. The Sword of Glory.................................94Chapter 12. The Battle for Glory...............................102
Chapter One
The Descendant of the Order
Looking out at the sunrise there forms a beautiful horizon, which gives way to the whispers of rolling grass covering a vast landscape that rests against a cobblestoned wall. Despite the beauty of the land, the sound of war interrupts the serenity just beyond. Upon approaching a slightly opened pearled gate, two beautiful marble pillars stand with random dark and light colored blotches. A sign with funny shaped letters that make up the city's name is perched atop them. In the distance, there are sounds of metal clashing loudly and erratically like wind chimes in a breeze. Entering through the gates, bodies of warriors lying in pools of blood encompass a golden colored ground, which looked to be hand carved from golden stone. There are large squares of green grass, well kept that jut out from the huge marble buildings. The acerbic sounds of steel crashing gives a grim picture of what this battle has produced, chaos is rampant and fevered. On the winding cobblestoned streets and green patches of grass lay slain bodies, mangled from war, which have quickly colored the grass a hideous brown color.
Michael, the Arch Angel looks on in unrest from the railing of his Masters balcony; as he watches the battle for reign over his kingdom it is disturbing. Suddenly summoned, Michael turns to see a guardsman trying to hold his position against a warrior at the entrance to one of the stairwells. Michael runs hurriedly in the direction of the desperate cries for help from his comrade to offer assistance. As he gets closer to where the two men struggle, he witnesses the opposing warrior getting the upper hand on his comrade. The two wrestle as the blade is just inches from his comrade's throat. In an instant, the struggling assailant freezes, the guardsman sees his eyes widen and his mouth open slightly, exposing teeth that are grimy and chiseled. The guardsman, also frozen, looks on as the horrific events unfold in front of him. The head of the enemy suddenly and violently jerks forward, as the sword's point bursts through his forehead, leaving a gaping wound. In that moment, seconds seem like hours as the blood starts to form around the protruding steel. Michael retracts his sword slowly from the head of the enemy, and blood pours from his head like a waterfall. The enemy falls forward; his body limp from the fury Michael has just unleashed upon him. The guardsman throws the lifeless body of the enemy to the ground like used paper, and grabs Michael by his forearm. With gratitude and thankfulness, the guardsman yells, "Thank you Sir Michael". He then goes off to continue to fight for his kingdom and his Lord. As his comrade leaves, Michael looks around, astounded and yet confused. With tears in his eyes, he slowly shakes his head. Michael looks upon all the senseless deaths and calamity, which has plagued his once serene and peaceful golden city.
As the battle continues, Michael wipes a tear from his eye, and looks out to see The Chief of the Order of Virtues, as he engages one of the soldiers. The Chief swings his sword toward the warriors armored chest plate, splintering it. The warriors chest explodes, blood and bone pour from his wound. The soldier falls to the ground with a solid thud, as his blood pools around him. Before he dies, his head rolls to one side and his eyes rest on Michael who observes from the distance.
Enraged after watching one of his men die, Michael sees another soldier approach the Chief and swings wildly at him. The Chief raises his shield and absorbs the blow. The Chief retaliates with a forward thrust to the abdomen of his foe. The warrior tries to extricate himself to keep fighting, but cannot. He loses his will and his blood all over the ground as he struggles to stay alive. The Chief retracts his sword from the fallen soldier and continues to seek out more opposition. Michael watches as another soldier charges towards the Chief; swinging his sword eye level, the Chief takes off the soldier's head just above the eyes exposing part of his brain. Not realizing the death stroke, the soldier tries to keep advancing but falls clumsily to the ground, headless. His blood spurts from the wound as if someone is squeezing it out of him.
Michael and the Chief eyes meet, and they start to run towards each other, but before Michael could engage, an opposing soldier attacks him. Gripping the handle of his weapon so tight, his hands begin to sweat, he swings the Sword towards his opponent's chest with so much strength and hatred, that he splits him in two. The enemies top half falls backward; his insides have mushroomed over his hips. The angel falls into a red heap at Michael's feet. He turns and with a look of disdain, rushes into the never-ending battle to face more of the opposition.
Michael engages another one of the Chief's men; he trembles with anger at the senseless acts of disobedience and defiance that he can hardly hold his weapon steady to prepare for the attacks that seem to keep coming. His adversary swings his sword at him; Michael grits his teeth, and frowns like a wild animal, never taking his eyes off his opponent, he deflects with his shield, retaliates with an angled strike full of rage, and catches his adversary on the collar separating him. The enemy falls to his knees grabbing the sword where it lay in him; Michael then lifts his foot, places it on the lower torso of the impaled warrior and pushes him to the ground, which relinquishes his sword from its resting place. He leaves his foe collapsed, blood flowing from his wound like an untamed river.
As the battle continues, more of the revolting soldiers are dying. The Chief and his second commander viciously slash and decapitate their foes; they make their way toward the chamber, where their Lord has retreated. Guardsmen with tridents and swords in tow try to head off the opposing soldiers, but fail in their attempts.
Bloodied and battered, the Chief of the Order of Virtues and some of his warriors breach the gates of the inner courtyard to reach the royal chamber. Michael sees them and departs hastily after them. Warriors lay dead on the ground from both sides as if placed in position to remind of what wars can produce. Some are lying with eyes affixed on a distant view, while others lay with eyes closed, some even missing! Most have been violently shredded and torn, as the sounds of metal are still clashing. The air is thick with the smell of iron and rotting corpses, a color of crimson mists over the still fighting soldiers. The color armor of the warriors is brownish with a rusted tint whereby before, it was a...
