CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

 

In the depths of the Netherworld where darkness reigned supreme, Apollyon—the Beast of the Abyss, led his horde on a relentless pursuit. Their frayed black wings sliced through the pitch-black skies, casting foreboding shadows that draped the cursed landscape below.

     

A group of Fallen Angels desperately searched for a way to break free from their infernal prison. In their past lives, they were radiant beings in heaven, but now they were doomed to an eternity in these wretched depths. With desperation consuming what little remained of their virtue, they clawed their way up towards the surface, desperate to stop Apollyon and his diabolical plan.

     

But The Beast, with eyes blazing with infernal fury, would not allow such defiance. His horde, a congregation of malevolent entities, descended upon the fleeing angels like a swarm of ravenous insects. The very air shook with the sound of screams as celestial forces clashed in an epic battle that echoed through the cavernous abyss. The Fallen fought valiantly; wielding their once-divine abilities in a desperate struggle for survival. But against the overwhelming numbers of Apollyon’s army, their efforts were futile. The demonic minions, twisted and grotesque yet strangely alluring in their forms, tore through the angels with a merciless hunger.

     

As the cosmic battle raged on, Apollyon himself moved through the chaos like a dark specter—graceful yet menacing. His spear, an artifact forged in the fires of Hell, sliced through angelic flesh with precise cruelty. Each strike sent heavenly blood splattering across the obsidian land—a macabre tribute to eternal suffering.

     

Screams of agony resounded in this infernal symphony as one by one, the Fallen Angels were brutally eradicated. Once shining beacons of goodness, their feathers now fell like charred ashes upon the blood-soaked ground. And in the midst of it all, Apollyon wings stretched wide as if to embrace the very essence of damnation itself.

     

In a desperate attempt to escape their fate, the once-proud angels were left shattered and vanquished. Their celestial light extinguished, replaced by an all-consuming darkness that suffocated their very souls. With a triumphant sneer, Apollyon reveled in the desolation he had wrought upon the fallen, his malevolent laughter echoing through every crevice of the accursed realm.

     

The tale of their doomed escape reverberated through the halls of the Underworld, a chilling reminder amidst the damned that hope was futile.

     

Only Bernael and Ezziel survived the carnage. Separated in battle, the two were forced to seek refuge in the human realm. Each driven by determination and a fierce will to survive as they searched for not only each other but their one-time ally—and now enemy—the archangel Gabrielus and Sariel the dreaded Angel of Death.

     

But even as they ventured into the treacherous world of humans, they knew that the threat of Apollyon was far from over. The Beast’s presence loomed over every corner, its insatiable hunger for destruction lingered like a dark cloud over their heads.

 

 

 

October 12th:

     

Off the western coast of North Sumatra, in the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean, a sinister force unleashed a cataclysmic event. A dark entity, concealed beneath the ocean's surface, triggered a colossal earthquake, its epicenter situated approximately one hundred miles north of the Simeulue Islands. The quake, a seismic juggernaut, emanated from a point nineteen miles below the ocean floor, violently uplifting the seabed by twenty feet. Along the subduction zone, where the India plate converges with the Burma plate, nine hundred ninety-four miles of fault line slipped fifty feet in two distinct phases over several harrowing minutes.

     

The initial rupture, propelled at a staggering momentum of six thousand three hundred miles per hour, commenced off the Aceh coast, coursing northwesterly over a span of one hundred seconds. Abruptly halting, the rupture then resumed, marking the onset of a second phase hurtling northward at a speed of four thousand seven hundred miles per hour, menacingly targeting the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.

     

Stretching over two hundred fifty miles in length and sixty miles in width, this rupture achieved unprecedented proportions—the longest ever recorded, boasting a moment magnitude of nine-point-three on the seismograph, ranking as the second most formidable tremor in history. Its duration, a record-breaking five hundred to six hundred seconds, induced seismic vibrations worldwide, resonating as far as Alaska. The tremors reverberated through Bangladesh, India, Malaysia, Myanmar, Thailand, Singapore, and the Maldives Islands.

     

The released energy, a staggering 0.08 gigatons of TNT, equated to the power consumed by the entire United States in eleven days.

 

 

     

 

 

On the tranquil Mai Khao Beach in the northern part of Phuket Island, Thailand, Bruce Wren and his girlfriend, Elizabeth Bernhardt, were savoring a well-deserved working holiday. Bruce, an investment banker, had journeyed to Phuket on business for a client who owned one of the island's largest rubber tree plantations.

     

In the past, tin mining had been the island's primary source of income, but a decline in tin prices prompted the local economy to diversify. Two key pillars now sustained the island's prosperity: rubber production, making Thailand the world's leading rubber producer, and tourism. Bruce found himself on the island for both reasons.

     

Inviting Liz to join him on this trip was an easy decision. It had been a while since either of them had taken a break. Their last trip together had been to New York City for New Year's Eve the previous year. Although Times Square had been bitterly cold, being New Englanders and fueled by ample alcohol, they had managed to stay warm and enjoy themselves. However, this excursion to an exotic beach held a special allure, and Bruce had seized the opportunity when it presented itself. When his business trip arose, Liz, a tax lawyer at a mid-size firm in Boston, was miraculously available to accompany him.

     

Now, they found themselves on the pristine five-and-a-half-mile stretch of Mai Khao Beach, where sea turtles came to lay their eggs on the glistening white sands. Bruce had hoped for a secluded and isolated location, and he had found it. After all, he had something exceptional planned for this week.

     

One morning, he stepped onto the balcony of their room at the five-star Mai Khao Resort & Spa, located right on the beach. The early morning sky was painted in shades of orange and red, foretelling the day's impending heat. He took in the breathtaking sight and turned back to the room, where he watched Liz, still asleep, roll over and smiled at her.

     

They had been together for almost three years, and Bruce remembered the moment he became infatuated with her at a mutual friend's birthday party, how hopeless he was in keeping his mind and eyes off her. The way her blue dress embraced her body perfectly, how her blonde hair fell across and framed her face beautifully, and then there was that smile of hers.

     

He became so besotted he had trouble engaging in conversations with friends. Every time he heard her voice and laugher his blood ran cold. Just the sound of her shoes walking across the floor caused his heart to race. He had always thought of “love at first sight” as a mere expression, but at thirty-three years old, it had happened to him.

     

When someone kindly introduced him to her his world turned upside down, he fell in love with the simple touch of her hand, leaving him utterly smitten.

     

The previous night, he had taken her to the southernmost point of the island, the popular Brahman Cape, to witness a mesmerizing sunset. This was where he had planned to take advantage of the rare combination of vacation and scenic beauty. With a picnic in tow, he led her up a lush hillside, and as they watched the sun disappear into the azure sea, he asked her to be his wife, to which she ecstatically responded, “Yes!”

     

Returning inside, he closed the screen door, letting the morning sea breeze waft through. With no intention of going back to sleep, he slipped into bed, moving close to his still naked fiancée, and began kissing her neck. She gradually woke with a smile, allowing him to take the lead. Liz always enjoyed making love in the morning.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

 

 

Deep within the Indian Ocean, inconspicuous waves traveling at an astonishing speed of six hundred twenty miles per hour moved toward unsuspecting coastal regions.

     

Beneath these seemingly harmless ripples, the wounded Ezziel unwittingly advanced toward an unknown shore, initiating a fateful sequence of events destined to forever alter the lives of Bruce and Liz.

 

 

 

 

 

After making love to Bruce, Liz got out of bed to get ready for her 10:30am appointment with the spa downstairs. She still couldn’t believe Bruce proposed last night. She hadn’t seen it coming. She thought she could always tell when he was up to something, that he could never surprise her. That was up until the big one and then—wham, he got her. She’d actually lost her breath for a moment.

 

She could not help but look at her new ring. It all seemed like a dream still. She half expected to look down at her hand this morning and see just her plain bare finger, but the ring was there. It really happened.

 

While making love her eyes kept falling on it. She loved the way it made her feel. She’d never felt more complete than when looking at that ring while making love to the man who gave it to her.

 

After freshening up, she walked to the balcony to catch the morning sky before it disappeared. The landscape looked stunning in the early dawn light, the sea was smooth and blue and already people were swimming, boating, and taking their morning stroll along the beach.

 

Liz then looked around the resort where she and Bruce had spent the past few days. She loved the way it looked here and wished there was somewhere like this back home. As a little girl, she fantasized about being a princess. Too bad, she couldn’t have visited this fairy-tale palace back then.

 

Smiling, she left for the spa.

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce opened the fridge. His original plan was to get a glass of ice tea, when the bottles of Corona caught his eye. Normally he wouldn’t drink beer this early in the day, but his work with the rubber tree man was over and this was his last full day here. He was on vacation and he had reason to celebrate.

 

With the Mexican beer in hand, he walked through the large apartment-sized suite and entered the bedroom, picked up his laptop, and stepped out onto the terrace. This was by far his favorite part of the room. He laid the computer on the table. Even on semi-vacation, he checked work e-mail and the stock market. Citigroup might be able to go without him for a few days, but Bruce could not go without Citigroup.

 

Finished, he logged off and heard people yelling on the ground. He walked over to the balcony and recognized the family from a few rooms down. The majority of the commotion came from their ten-year-old daughter, something about geography class and a tsunami.

 

“What’s going on out there?” asked Liz as she entered the terrace.

 

“Not sure, how was your appointment?”

 

“Great, you should give it a go.”

 

Not the least bit interested, Bruce smiled.

 

She glanced out at the ocean and frowned. “Does the water look weird to you?”

 

“A little, it receded a bit earlier, but seems to be coming back now.”

 

“Could it be some kind of storm coming in?”

 

He shrugged, uncertain. “Could be. The water has begun to bubble and boats on the horizon are bobbing.”

 

“What kind of storm starts like this; sure, looks different from anything I’ve seen in New England?”

 

They watched a yacht tip vertically in the bay.

 

“Hold on a second.” Bruce ran inside for a pair of binoculars. Putting them to his eyes, he watched the yacht. Coming in beyond it was what looked like a large wave. He mentioned this to Liz and she looked at him questioningly.

 

“Did you just say large wave?”

 

“Looks like it, yeah; in fact, it looks like a very large wave.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

October 13th:

 

        

Nestled in the heart of New Hampshire’s White Mountain region, the charming community of Harrow exuded a small-town friendliness that would make Norman Rockwell proud. Though it was uncertain if the famous artist had ever ventured to this picturesque town, its quaint charm and old-fashioned atmosphere would surely have inspired him.

     

Harrow was a postcard-perfect village, with colonial-era buildings lining narrow roads that seemed to wind endlessly through the peaceful landscape. It was a place where gas station attendants still pumped your fuel, men held open doors for women, and everyone knew each other's name. In this town, homes were left unlocked and hayrides and covered bridges were simply a way of life.

     

Surrounded by majestic mountains, dense forests, and crystal-clear lakes, Harrow was a natural playground that had captured the hearts of campers and skiers for generations. In the summertime, the town glowed with emerald green trees and sparkling blue swimming holes. As winter arrived, a blanket of snow transformed Harrow into a magical snow globe, while autumn brought a vibrant canvas of fiery reds, oranges, and yellows.

     

But not all visitors came to Harrow for its stunning scenery. Some sought out the darker side of the town—the rumored unnatural ugliness said to reside within the mysterious Harrowing Hills.

     

The Hills were a magnet for curious travelers, drawing them in like moths to a flame. Even as the leaves changed and the air turned crisp, they descended upon the forest in droves, trampling recklessly through the once-pristine woods. They left behind a trail of destruction and desecration, their careless footsteps crushing the fallen beauty that so many had come to admire.

     

Blinded by their own curiosity and ignorant of the town's warnings, these tourists ventured into the Harrowing Hills as darkness descended, chasing after twisted legends and turning a blind eye to the black magic that permeated every inch of the forest.

     

Every year, without fail, some of these misguided adventurers would stray from marked paths and wander into uncharted territory. And while some were lucky enough to be found and rescued, others were not so fortunate.

     

The townspeople had a complicated relationship with these outsiders. On one hand, they relied on the income generated by tourism. But on the other, they resented having to deal with these intruders who showed little respect for their land and traditions. It was a constant battle between needing the revenue and wanting to rid themselves of these outsiders.

     

For centuries, whispers and rumors had swirled through Harrow about the infamous Black Forest—a place where malevolence thrived and spirits roamed free. Despite countless tales, no one had ever confirmed its existence. Yet, eerie echoes carried on the wind through the Hills, haunting remnants of past suffering. Some believed these were lost souls still crying out for aid that never arrived, while skeptics dismissed them as mere winds rustling through the trees.

     

But deep down, a pervasive unease gripped everyone, hinting at something ancient and ravenous lurking within those woods. The cacophony of shrieks and squeals that echoed through the town served as a chilling reminder of the darkness entrenched in the Hills.

     

Reverend Jack Levi, known for his level-headedness, had lived in Harrow all forty-seven years of his life and cherished his community. However, he could not bring himself to love the Hills and had avoided venturing into them for most of his life.

     

However, today something drew him back into their depths. and it wasn't the haunting cries that brought him there, but the desperate pleas of Mrs. Jane Moore.

Her son, Thomas, had gone missing—just another twelve-year-old boy caught up in his own adventures, perhaps? He may have just gone off to catch bugs or chased after a curious animal; but during their family dinner in the Hills' picnic area, they had lost sight of him, and it only took a moment for Thomas to disappear.

     

Four hours had passed since then and for Mrs. Moore, it felt like a lifetime. Each passing second was filled with worry and fear as she frantically searched for her beloved son amidst the whispers and shadows of the Hills.

 

 

 

     

 

The sun had been setting for nearly half an hour, casting a warm orange glow over the dense forest. Jack trudged along the muddy path, his feet sinking into the soft ground with each step. He should have turned back when the sun began its descent, but he couldn't shake the memory of that lost little boy's face.

     

Suddenly, Jack stopped and scanned his surroundings. He hadn't seen or heard any of the other volunteers in quite some time. Had he veered off course without realizing it? The thought made him uneasy. It had been over three decades since he last set foot in these woods, and everything looked unfamiliar.

     

He turned and retraced his steps, desperately trying to find something recognizable. Every tree and rock seemed identical, making it impossible to discern a direction. As someone who grew up in the area, Jack knew all too well the dangers of getting lost in the New England wilderness. And even if he wasn't familiar with this specific area, he had seen enough news stories about hikers and campers who had gone missing in these mountains.

     

The sky continued to darken, increasing Jack’s chances of spending the night alone in the wilderness. When he came across a fallen tree, he decided to take a break and assess his situation.

     

As he sat on the damp ground, a loud croak caught his attention. He looked up to see a massive raven perched on a nearby branch, eyeing him curiously. Jack couldn't help but feel relieved to have some company in this desolate place.

     

From the right, a sharp cry pierced through the air—louder and more raucous than the first. Jack's eyes darted to the source of the sound, where he saw another raven perched on a high branch. Its powerful wings spread wide and shook with such force that even the thick limb beneath it wobbled. Feeling a sense of unease wash over him, Jack decided it was best to slowly stand and walk away from the agitated birds.

     

As he continued on his path, he noticed three more ravens gathered together in a small group ahead. Passing through a cluster of white birches, he couldn't help but notice all three bird's heads turning in unison to follow his every move. Glancing back once he had put some distance between them, Jack was surprised to see not only those three still watching him intently, but also the two from earlier had joined them.

     

A strange feeling crept over Jack as he watched all five ravens seemingly communicating with one another in their own avian language. Feeling suddenly exhausted and worn-out, he quickly turned and walked away, trying to put as much distance between himself and the intelligent yet potentially menacing birds. Even though they were considered harmless towards humans, the phrases “a murder of crows” and “an unkindness of ravens” echoed in his mind, reminding him of their predatory nature.

     

He trudged on, keeping his head low as he made his way through the thick trees. But then, to his surprise, he stumbled upon a strange clearing in the midst of the dense forest. This was something he had not expected to find. The ground here was no longer covered in moss and undergrowth, but instead a peculiar greenish-yellow soil that emitted a pungent sulfurous odor.

     

The air grew thick and heavy as he walked further into this new landscape, the scent intensifying with each step. The sight of the vibrant yellow earth against the backdrop of looming trees was both mesmerizing and unsettling.