Hope & Fury (Heroes & Demons Book 2)
Chapter 35

The rumblings of thunder above him did not detract from what he was about to do, what he was already well into the process of committing. A sin to some, a grim business for others – and in his case a confirmation of a sickening truth. There was no rain yet, which was good – it would make the whole process far easier.

He worked with a clear but thoughtless purpose. Each moment his mind was occupied with its current task. After they touched down at the tarmac Rick’s first stop had been the hire car company. Given the time of night and paying on the company account didn’t take him any time at all. He turned off his phone, removed the battery and placed it calmly back in the glove compartment. He knew there would be questions, interruptions and distractions. For the next few hours, he didn’t want any.

He drove carefully and casually, not wanting to attract any attention of any sort. He was not a boy racer by normal standards, in fact barely ever drove in his life considering city living – but still, it paid to be careful. His first destination was a simple one – a small B&Q on the outskirts of Wilmslow. He bought a shovel, paid with cash and left.

His next was a road opposite the Manchester football ground. Not the city, not the united – the one everyone forgot about. It occupied a rather modest stadium some way outside of the centre. It was also a wide dual lane road on which people regularly parked for no reason. So he parked for no reason, turned off the engine and simply sat there in the dark.

The traffic died down to a complete stop, the occasional dog walker and jogger continued to pass by until midnight rolled around. Then they too stopped passing by. The sky above continued to grumble occasionally, but as of yet no rain and that was good. Perhaps just the threat of the rain was keeping any more undesirables from passing him by. Maybe it just wasn’t their kind of night.

The world stopped and he began.

He stepped from the car, having already knocked off the internal light to remain in darkness. He moved around to the boot, pulled out the shovel, and made his way across the road. See, the Manchester FC Football ground was not the only thing on that road. On the other side, there was one of Manchester’s largest and most open cemeteries.

A place where one person, in particular, had been laid to rest.

The fence was not extensive, he managed to clamber up and over with ease, chucking the shovel over to a soft thunk ahead of him. The diffuse streetlight through the lining of trees managed to make it passable, though he paused momentarily to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It also gave him time to scout the area.

It was quiet, there were no cheeky Goth lovers or even a stray cat. There was only quiet and the rustling of the leaves.

His purpose continued. He moved forward to the spot, the gravestone a little more worn now than the last time he’d visited. The ground beneath his boots smelled like day-old wet grass, an earthy and honest smell. He set to work.

The rhythm was a frenzy, his mind absent and his body working. The shovel dug into the thick and somewhat moist earth, tipping across to one side with each backward stroke. Again and again, he continued for time unknown, maybe hours, maybe days, maybe only moments. He couldn’t stop, though he knew what he had to do, he couldn’t stop. The fever was upon him, the desperate need to know, to be sure.

By the time his shovel struck something harder in the soft dirt, he was breathing hard, a light drizzle had set in and soaked his over-clothes to the bone. He’d thrown them off already to lie in the dirt above his new hole in the ground, he was now clad in his deep navy BioSuit, the water absorbed so quickly and easily. The only place he felt the rain was on his bare face. It felt good, even if everything else felt wrong.

He fell to his knees, digging at the dirt with his hands, pulling it away until the top portion of the coffin was exposed. The sky above cracked with lightning, the thunder rumbling seconds later and the sudden drizzle burgeoning into a thick and meaty torrent. He knew he didn’t have long but finally, somehow, something began to break through and he hesitated.

“Coward.”

He didn’t have time to react, a hand thudded against his shoulder and with one inhuman pull threw him back into the dirt side of the hole he’d dug. It tried to claw at him, to hold him but he pulled away, looking up at the man in the red-gold armour. It glistened slickly with the rain.

That easy grin looked down at him, the one he remembered, stretched across one he didn’t.

“Hey lover,” he mocked, “come for answers?”

Rick expected another blow when he raised his fist but instead it came down shatteringly onto the remnants of the coffin lid. Thankfully Rick found himself unable to see from where he was half laid, half sitting – his back against the muddy wall.

“Wow, I do not make an attractive corpse,” he commented, turning back and admiring himself, “I must prefer the live version they made me.” He dropped a sickening wink, “So do you, I know.”

“Was it always you?” Rick asked him. The man in the armour grabbed him by his throat and dragged him unnaturally high.

“Always asking irrelevant questions,” he sneered. Rick felt thrown, this time clear of the hole he had dug. He expected to land on grass, only first his back slammed awkwardly against a polished smooth headstone before he tumbled onto the slick and muddy ground. Lightning cracked again as he got to his feet, this time in time to see the man had joined him on the surface. Rain threatened to blur his vision until he stopped fighting it and realised he could still see perfectly.

Rick swung a punch that was blocked easily, a blow coming to his gut and cutting off his wind. He was thrown back again, this time sliding a little in the growing mud. The attacker advanced again, this time to gloat,

“You think of yourself with power but you know so little. I remember everything, you know. Not the pitiful life before – though I’m told it was particularly pathetic. But since that hospital room. God, it’s so bland looking back at it now, so unassumingly weak.”

He seized the opportunity to direct a stream of water into his face, temporarily blinding him and allow Rick time to jump to his feet. They traded a series of blows but it was clear already he was dealing with something far more advanced in hand-to-hand combat, and with the same shattering blows that Ben used to be able to conjure. He finished with a thundering blow to Rick’s right shoulder that nearly broke the clavicle and which definitively dislocated the joint.

He cried out in pain that was beyond the physical and fell to his knees, cradling his injured shoulder.

“Who are you?” he spat out, awaiting the answer he expected.

“Can’t we just…be?” the man mocked him again, leaning down into his face. He sneered, “Fine, have it your way.” He stood his tallest, his arms open wide, inviting, and boastful.

“I am Atlas. Dominion of Earth. Titan of Atlantis. Horseman of the Apocalypse. I bring your fate. And I bring you War.”

He leaned down once more, his booming voice barely a whisper above the thunder and rain.

“I could kill you here and now, end your pain.”

Rick began to laugh, despite everything he began to laugh, despite the pain it caused in his shoulder they shook with the uncontainable force of it. Confused, Atlas leaned back.

“What?”

“No last name? Who do you think you are, Cher? Fuck off…”

A boot to the face and Rick thought no more.