The Acolytes of Crane (Theodore Crane, #1)(49)

In the middle of the night, as I lay tossing and turning in my bed, dreaming, I was soaked with sweat. In my fitful dream, I saw myself sitting in a strange room in what appeared to be an industrial warehouse. The smell of dust and oiled machinery hung about in the air like a heavy mist. Moonlight shone through a shattered window; several shadows emerged from the large-scale machinery inside, as well as from the gigantic oak tree just outside.

In the dark, a vile, demonic figure arose from the gloom, directly blocking my view of the window. The moonlight bathed his dark maroon frock. The manner in which he emerged, the sinister pose he assumed—there was no doubt his intention was to frighten, to intimidate, and to terrify.

He stood inside that cold, dark, and condemned room with the shadows as his army.

The brisk chill felt real; goose bumps ribbed my arms, and crept to my shoulders.

Although I had never seen this monstrosity before, I instinctively knew who it was.

‘Odion,’ I said.

The evil Dacturon Omnian didn’t even introduce himself. In one powerful swoop, he grasped me around the throat, and lifted me to the ceiling. I screamed, but no sound escaped my lips.

It was if I was drifting away from my own body. My heart rallied with a pounding ferocity upon the throat grip, but slowed to a faint murmur, as if readying me for death. I felt light and woozy. For some unknown reason, my skin glowed with yellow and green fluorescence. Perhaps the Dietons were frantically attempting to signal protest against Odion’s villainy? Repeatedly squeezing in and then withdrawing his thumb and fingers into my neck, he finally spoke to me as he hissed:

‘You are the human they say will defeat me? Your bones are pitifully weak,’ the devilish demon said, as he laughed from within the hood of his robe, ‘Oh that is right. You cannot speak!’

He drew me in closer as if nonchalantly examining an object under a bright light. I became petrified by fear. My hope dangled like a T-bone next to a rabid dog’s jowl. As if reacting to his touch, my skin turned blotchy and pustular where he clutched my throat.

His free hand grasped the apex of his robe, rapidly pulled back his hood, and revealed the vilest face, pale white, with varicose veins running down his neck. There was total savagery in his eyes—grey eyes, and stunning red pupils.

‘Do you think Zane foresaw this? You know he wants to add you to his collection of Sepherans, which are nothing better than instruments of dead souls. Zane only preys upon those who have no spark of life left, robbing them from the grave!! You cannot see how sick that is?’ He was gazing off to his side as he spat out these words, as if he was confronting Zane in the very room. I tried to squirm, and he leaned in closer, ‘What if I send your grandparents to Sephera? Two adorable souls to become wilted by time and burned by flame, only to be resurrected as particles of matter by Zane? All for vanity!’ The walls reverberated with his guffaws, which sounded more like screams due to the echo effect.

He released his grip ever so slightly and peered at me with eyes of hatred. ‘Where is the research?’

I had no clue what he was referring to, and there was no way I could even summon the breath to answer. I was only left with my power of thought. Nezatron, Nezatron—I frantically delved into my mind, before it turned into a black void.

Over my nanocom Nezatron said, ‘Migalt is closing in on your location now.’

Just as I was about to pass out, there was a flash of blinding white light and a huge bang, as if there was an explosion. Immediately, the grip on my neck was released, and I fell to the floor, gulping down precious oxygen.

Looking up, I saw a glowing, towering angelic figure, as if heaven had intervened. Perhaps it had. Scattered flames licked at the walls and the floor, surrounding my guardian.

It was Migalt, the Bromel, whom I had earlier met along with King Trazuline when I had boarded the Uriel for a very short time. He must have seriously scared the crap out of Odion, because there he lay, kneeling, whimpering like freshly caught prey. It was quite a sight to behold.


What a magnificent creature, this Bromel! He scraped the room’s ceiling with the tips of his monumental twelve-foot wings. In his large hands he held a spear that shimmered with a radiant blue light, brightening the entire room and blinding me somewhat. The majestic spear was humming; every time it crackled, white-hot light burst from the blinding bluish beam.

As if conveying evidence of my guardian’s dramatic entry into this room, the walls were freshly splintered. Migalt had so much power that various cogs and wheels from the industrial machinery in the room had exploded straight off their supports and rammed into the walls.

Odion kneeled before the Bromel, writhing out of severe pain dealt upon him by the aura of the blade. He was clawing away at his own body. It was as if he could not stand the radiating power of the Bromel’s weapon.

‘I am Migalt, and you are not welcome in the mind of the boy,’ he said, as he rose taller, posturing over Odion.

The Bromel was at least twelve feet tall, but Odion showed no fear as he overcame his searing pain and rose on his feet.

‘You don’t get it, you winged-freak? I can go and do whatever I please! There is no touching me here in this realm or any realm. Do you understand me?’ he screamed, as he rose up and punched into the massively broad chest of Migalt.

As if offended by Odion’s assault, Migalt’s spear blazed with a dazzling array of ultraviolet blue. I squinted as Migalt raised the spear high above his head, his muscles striated and flexed. With a mighty heave, Migalt threw the spear and impaled Odion.