Chapter 3

A Chapter by KillaColella

It wouldn’t be easy to locate one of the daggers of seven, but I was determined to see it through. When we came back to the Underground the first thing we did was search for Josiah, and then left to find a spot where we could discuss matters in secret. Avoiding the eyes of Afton Lex would not be easy, but I had sent out Hades to keep an eye out if he or any other came by.

Locking the door behind us, Josiah lead us to the east study, a room that’s purpose was only for one to confine oneself in quiet solitude and not be disturbed. The room hadn’t been used in years, I noticed, as dust began to coat the furniture and cobwebs glistened in the corners of the walls. A large bookshelf lay grand across the room, holding thousands of stories and history that had been unread in a long time. He grabbed a large book out of the case, and laid it across a table for us to look upon.

Passages about the seven daggers of Megiddo were inscribed on the yellow, aging paper; the history of them, the myths surrounding them. Everything both true and false that one could know about the daggers. Yasmine peered uneasily at the writings.

“There is nothing in here that mentions where the daggers may have gone?” she asked hesitantly, and Josiah let out a cold laugh.

“Woman, you think that if there was any indication of where they might have gone missing or be hidden, that Nolan wouldn’t have found it already?” he mocked, chuckling all the while, “No, all records of past events with them have been destroyed. No doubt our good friend Gabriel’s doing.

Klaus, you should be the one to search for the daggers since you typically enter the human world the most. Yasmine cannot enter the human world without our help, anyhow. Yasmine and I will have to keep Nolan entertained and busy while you are away. We’ll tell him that you had to leave to capture more souls and could not be bothered.”

“I do have souls to get,” I started, subconsciously fingering the small leather bound book in my pocket, regretting my decision “I do not have time to go searching the world for hidden items. I don’t even know where to start looking!”

Josiah hummed softly, flipping through the books before pointing his long clawed finger at a page, “Make for Israel. No doubt that one of the seven should be buried in the Israelites’ Promise Land.”

“If it’s so obvious why hasn’t it been found before?” I scoffed. He shrugged.

“Maybe nobody has looked hard enough. Either way, it would be in the best interest of us all if you found one. Work at the same time if you must, but it is imperative that you find one before Nolan finds out that you failed.” Josiah bit his lip.

“Klaus…there is something I haven’t told you yet. While you were gone�"”

I cocked an eyebrow.

“They let a soul escape.”

“Morons!” I growled, “Can nothing be done correctly without my being here? Who was it that escaped this time?”

Josiah grabbed a small, crinkled note stashed in his pocket and peered at it, “One Yosef Karem, from Beit She’an. Ha! See my friend, he is going to be in the same country that you are already headed to, you will be fine.”

I knew that name. Yosef Karem was a chemist who had his wife, a pharmacist, prescribe thousands of unauthorized drugs to the public that were quite dangerous to the human body. People had begun hallucinating and murdering each other on the streets due to these drugs, although it was believed that the townspeople had just become savage. I finally got him ten years ago after twenty three years of selling and manufacturing illegal drugs.

“What a coincidence,” I muttered, frowning. Josiah shrugged.

“Maybe it’s a sign. Either way, it is lucky and if I were you I wouldn’t complain about such good luck,” he replied.

And with that I departed, and made way to my quarters so I pack for my trip to the human realm. I had no idea how long it would take to find the dagger, as well as find the lost soul that those wretched idiots allowed to escape. Unlike the souls of the living listed in my book, I had no information where they might be. I could only hope that any news of strange occurrences and disturbances might alert me to where he is. I can only assume that he’ll go back to the place that he once lived, perhaps to take care of unfinished business.

I heard a knock on the door right as I was packing for the journey and looked up to see Yasmine smiling with her hands behind her back. I looked at her quizzically, and her grin grew larger.

“I stole it when Josiah wasn’t looking!” she exclaimed, and brought from her back the book that held all knowledge of the daggers, and shoved it in my hands, “I thought it might be helpful if you look through it some more. There has to be something in it that has been overlooked, I know it.”

I fingered the book absentmindedly, running my hands over the spine and through the thick yellowing pages. I nodded and put it carefully in my pack. She smiled softly and nodded.

“Well, good luck,” she said softly, and closed the door behind her. I sighed, and finished packing, bringing shirts, pants, maps, a canteen, and a suitcase full of enough money to buy a room in a hotel with modern plumbing. And so, with a heavy heart, I made my way towards the portal, and left the Underworld.

Beit She’an. A small city in the northern districts of Israel, hopefully small enough that Karem’s capture would not be so bothersome. After finding a hotel room, I took a taxi to the closest archeological dig. A group of American archeologists and historical researchers were excavating the ancient city.

I threw on my sunglasses and walked towards the group. I eyed the guards quietly watching the researchers, making sure that they would not do or say anything contrary to the government’s policy. They stood tall and firmly in dark olive uniforms, shiny black revolvers hanging dangerously at their hips.

As I made my way over a tall, dark observer approached me, his tan hand slowly folding over the handle of his weapon. I smiled slightly, pulling an ID out of my wallet. Klaus Fortin, lead Human Bones expert, Oxford University. He studied it for a minute before handing it back and nodding, walking back to the mass of Observers glaring at the archeologists. Waiting for one to screw up. For one to claim to have found something that portrays anything other than Dionysus as deity. So they can put a shiny bullet through their brainy skulls.

I crouched down next to a woman who was brushing off the desert’s golden sand from a white skull. I felt her tense, and she looked over at me curiously.

I pointed to the skull, “Looks like a happy guy.” I joked about the decayed smile. Not even a blink. I coughed, bringing out my ID. “I flew down here to assist this team.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Who called you?”

I looked over at the aging man who was obviously the lead archeologist of the research team, “Doctor Richard Benson, of course.”

The woman raised an auburn eyebrow but said nothing, looking back at the skull and grabbing a shovel, “Well, I got to find the rest of him. Wonder what happened to him?”

I didn’t have to be a leading Human Bones expert to know what happened to this man. I was there. I know exactly how he died, where he died, and who the man was. Not that she could know that. “Our friend died well over a hundred years ago.”

She pushed her shovel further into the sand, “What tells you that?”

I studied the woman for a little bit. She seemed intelligent, not someone who would usually be easy to trick. Still young, but no longer naïve, perhaps in her early 20s, just fresh out of college. Long limbed, tall, and strong. Her skin was tanned from frequent exposure to the sun, but you could still see the light freckles that graced her arms and the bridge of her nose. Auburn hair, tied back in a loose ponytail under a baseball cap, and her dark brown eyes peered straight into mine as if she could see beneath my rouse.

Of course I had to tell her something though. I knew that the man had died from prolonged dehydration after days of inflicted torture. Not a good man, and he rightfully deserved his punishment; when it was finally time to retrieve his body it was so thin that every bone in his body jutting out like a broken toy doll.

“The body deteriorates at this level after forty to fifty years, when all the tissues become dry and brittle. Bones may last for hundreds of years in the right soil.” I answer slowly.

She continued to dig and at last she found the rest of his body, endless bones coming out of the ground and painting a picture of a human man. Tall legs, thin fingers, and skinny, deteriorated bones of the ribs. It had been years since I’ve seen the remains of a human body; once I gather the soul, whatever remains of the body is left to the human world, and I never really thought about the rest of them. I just saw a pile of bones in the sand, while a human looks at it with empathy and wonder. I looked at the woman, who was slowly and methodically dusting off the bones and setting them down with care. She had no idea what would happen to her. For all she knew, this is all that lies ahead of her. Dust and bones.

She sighed, grabbing her water bottle and taking a giant swig. She peered hesitantly out of the corner of her eye at the Observers before looking back at me. She swallowed, before extending her hand out to mine, “By the way, my name is Sydney. Sydney Chorster.”

I shook it, surprised about how rough her hands were and how long her fingers were. She was smaller than myself, but strong, and her iron grip depicted the hard life of the times she’s going through.

“Klaus Fortin,” I responded. She nodded, and seized the humerus bone and twirled it in her hands.

“What do you think happened to him?” she wondered, eying the object with both fear and curiosity. I kneeled down next to her, taking a flashlight and eyeglass and pretending to examine the body.

“Suggesting from the decapitation of these bones, the shrunken discs, the unevenness of the vertebra, this person was severely dehydrated. The process only takes a process of a few days, leaving me to believe our friend did not suffer long” I answered, and dug around in the sand a bit to find rusty, metal chains, the size of bowling balls. “He was held prisoner.”

We didn’t have long to ponder in silence before an Observer came up behind us, dark and brooding and ready for some action. I felt the cool end of the rifle against my back as he pushed me, glaring down, “And what’s this boy.”

I smirk up at him, the hot sun burning my eyes and I grab my tools, getting up to eye level. He wasn’t much taller than I, but broader, and he was under the false confidence that he was stronger too. Hazel eyes glared down at me under thick grey eyebrows.

“We found someone,” Sydney spoke up, slowly picking herself up from the sand and dusting herself off, “A man, buried in the sand, his bones decapitated from dehydration and days of repeated torture. We found these,” she held up the rusted, broken chains, “with him.”

The man’s eyes shifted from mine to the chains and narrowed. And I knew what he was thinking. Eighty years ago, Dionysus was just beginning his reign of terror, and he had a team of soldiers, you might say the first prototypes of the Observers, who would slither from town to town to recruit young men and women into the force. Because he was so beautiful, intelligent, and powerful looking, he was looked upon by citizens in wonder and glory. He sang promises of wealth for all, peace for all, and the end of all power struggles and war within the world. His leadership was viewed as a saving blessing by many, although not all were swayed by his unearthly charm.

Long before the US rebellion took place, those against Dionysus were starting revolts way in the beginning of his term. Those found guilty of mutiny were taken care of secretly, privately by his soldiers. Underground, most of the time, in secret storage areas made by his people in most of the biggest nations in the world. Most of the revolutionaries were killed, though many were let out in society as a warning to the world, their eyes burned out of the sockets, tongues chopped off, limbs torn off. There was one French commander who had all thirty two of his teeth ripped out one after the other.

Our friend was one of the revolutionaries who were killed through torture, as it was the time when the soldiers were coming up with different ways to inflict pain slowly and efficiently. Scott Nasser, a trained rebel sent to gun down the soldiers’ camp in Northern Israel, was left by his team to the mercy of the soldiers when he was discovered. Neither side is very affectionate to its forces.

Sydney diverted my attention to the present, “We’re going to need a historian to figure out the story behind him,” she explained, and looked over the hunched back of an aging man “Dr. Benson should be able to explain it to us.”

It was then I realized how dense she really was; someone who studied in archeology or any form of history should be able to put two in two together, and realize he is a rebel captive. The soldier must have been thinking along similar lines, for he loosened his grip on his rifle and maintained a less threatening stance. He still kept a wary hazel eye on me though.

“I’m afraid we are going to need to confiscate the remains of this body to be further studied by our own researchers.” his voice boomed, and he waved over the group of men who were currently enjoying harassing a scrawny, mewling scientist by waving his glasses in the air.

“Wait,” she started, her eyebrows narrowing in naïve confusion and she started to wave her hands wildly as they began picking up the bones and shoving them in storage containers. They were not very delicate with their handing and the young girl gasped as they threw them in violently, shattering some of the frail phalanges. “Why? We have a special authorization by the government to study these, why are you�"Dr. Benson, please tell this man what’s going on.”

The old man looked decades older than he actually was; the weariness of the times were painted on every wrinkle and crowfeet embedded on his frail skin. The Observer towered over the doctor, and the old man sighed, before looking forlornly at the young spirit glaring openly at the law.

“Sydney,” he started, a thick graying mustache bobbing up and down as he spoke slowly and deliberately, “I had signed an agreement that the government may have the authority to obtain, study and examine any of the findings discovered on our trip. We have no control over what they can or cannot take.”

Her eyes widened, “Why would you sign such a thing?” she gasped. This girl really was dense, I thought. Perhaps she was a daughter of the wealthy, maybe one of those politicians or businessmen close to the Tyrant that she was completely blind to the government’s corruption. Sydney shook her head, “No, this is the first almost full bodied human remains I’ve found, I won’t let you take this away from me!”

The Observer grinned, and grabbed the girl’s chin forcefully and making her look up at him, “If you knew what was good for you, girl, you’d leave us to our business and go back to making sand castles or whatever you spend your days in the sand for.”
She scowled, “Why you�"” I had to grab the girl’s shoulders to stop her from attacking the soldier, and he grinned in amusement snapping his fingers and the rest of the soldiers followed him into a large truck. We watched it drive off into the distance, leaving the team without something to research and with hours of digging to come. There was a collective heave of sighs as everyone went back to their spots to try and find a better artifact to bring back to the University.

Dr. Benson studied me carefully under his ancient eyes.

“And who might you be young man?” he asked carefully. Sydney twisted sharply to frown at me, grabbing her tools and research papers to her chest as if I were about to steal it from her.

“He said you invited him here,” she exclaimed, “He said he’s a Human Bones Expert, from Oxford.” Dr. Benson shook his head at her, and they stared at me distrustfully. Oh, how I hated humans; naïve one second, distrustful the next. They were so quick to jump to conclusions, when in reality they knew only so little about the universe. If they only knew what I knew…

However, it’s my job to act as one of these creatures, and I know how to play my part well. I force a smile, a dazzling white grin that charms much of the human women, even the elderly ones and on the occasion men. “My name is Klaus Fortin, and I am indeed an expert from Oxford.” I explained, “I have come on my own in search of a few artifacts that I wish to locate, and I figured that the best place to start would be confiding in the top researchers in country on this matter.” That’s it, lay it on nice and thick. Humans love flattery. They are all just appetites waiting to be fed.

He seemed to appreciate my compliments, however, and when I went to show him my ID seemed content at its authenticity. He glanced at me, “Come this way, Mr. Fortin.” And I followed him, with Sydney right behind me just in case I ran off with something I suppose, idiotic woman, to a large tent. Tables were lined up with hundreds of little artifacts the team had found, ranging from the dirtiest scroll to the most intricately carved pottery you’d ever seen preserved. Old dresses, fabrics, a small child’s wooden doll all scattered the tables, delicately placed on clean white sheets. A refrigerated truck was parked by the tent, in case they found anything they needed to preserve; a body, perhaps. Not that it was needed now.

I stared at each article carefully, trying to remember a time when these would be considered new and sacred to humans everywhere. Now they were just considered rubble, worthless by the eyes of many but these few humans who take interest in the past. I wonder why they bother sometimes; humans can never find out the true meaning of anything while they are still alive and breathing.

“So Mr. Fortin,” Dr. Benson started, sitting his fat bottom on a chair and reclining back, his hands on his large stomach as he peered quizzically, “What is it that you are searching for?”

I grabbed the satchel that Yasmine had bought for me and took out the large ancient book, clearing a table and placing it on it carefully. To my knowledge, no human before today had ever set eyes on an object from the Underworld, especially an object such as this one. One that could potentially damage the world as we know it if fallen into the wrong hands. The doctor slowly rose from his seat, peering at the object with both fascination and horror. Sydney reached out to open a page. Curiosity killed the cat, they say.

I snatched her wrist, chocking back a laugh as she gasped angrily and flung it out of my hands, holding it to her chest and rubbing it. I smiled slightly as she glowered, “Did I say you could touch?”

Sydney hummed in response, leaning back and fro on her toes as she stared at the book. “What is it?” she asked politely, or as politely as somebody who is trying to suck up to someone they don’t like can sound. I ignored her and looked towards the doctor, who was studying the cover of the book as someone with the wisdom beyond his years. I nodded to him, indicating that he may touch it and he glided his fingers over the hard, dark cover, over its spine and along the pages.

“It’s written in a language I have never encountered before in my many years,” he whispered, taking in the language of the Underworld. An ancient language, one that we barely use anymore except on the occasional ritual or ceremony that requires a passage read. But it’s a harsh language, similar to Russian perhaps if I had to compare it to a Human language, and no longer the common speech of the Underworld.

I cleared my throat, “Yes, well I had been given this as a family heirloom from my grandfather when he passed away. While many of the writing remain unclear to me, there are translations next to the pages in both Latin and English.” I explained, wondering how I could convince these people to help me when I could barely enlighten myself. The doctor seemed interested but the girl appeared skeptical, as if I was a part of a cult or dangerous religion.

“Anyways, there is a legend in here about the seven daggers of Megiddo,” I saw Doctor Benson’s lips purse slightly, “I am sure you have heard of them, and think it more of a fairy story than actual legend. But my family has reason to believe that they are out there, and this book provides information on each of the daggers and where they might be located.”

“So what do you need us for?” Sydney spoke up, crossing her arms. With the sun shining on her the girl’s hair was a radiant mix of orange hues, from the darkest scarlet to the brightest yellow, like the sunrise at daybreak. It was fascinating.

“I need someone to help me find them without running into trouble with the Soldiers,” I explained, “A team, if you will, so I can be granted permission to search various areas throughout the Middle East in search of them.”

“And why can’t you do that yourself?” the doctor asked, “You’re a leading Human Bones expert, surely you must know someone from your field or the University you studied at that would be willing to help you on this…treasure hunt.”

I stifled a curse at the human; I knew that it would not be easy, but I am not one to be ridiculed, especially by an old man and an obnoxious little girl. I grunted, stuffing the book in my bag and striding out of the tent, annoyed at their arrogance. If there is one thing I cannot tolerate is the human belief in superiority. Absolutely insulting.

The sand was beginning to find its way into my boots, the hot gravel beginning to blister and burn my toes. I felt like an idiot, I didn’t even need the humans, really. It was just a minor inconvenience not to have them, if I got caught by an Observer. Unauthorized digging and excavation in government areas often resulted in a public guillotine extravaganza or the much enjoyed event of the decapitation of limbs. Not that anything would happen to me, of course, but inconvenient none the less. If they provided the papers and documents needed then I could excavate the world for the daggers and nobody could cry nay.

I could easily force them to hand over the proper documentation but that seemed highly unnecessary to me. I was just about to go back and force them to sign them when I was pushed forcefully to the ground, my face plunging into the hot sand and burning. I growled, lifting myself on my arms and knees and looking over to see the cold steel end of a shotgun in my face.

“What do you really want, Fortin,” Sydney spat distrustfully, positioning the gun so it would blow off my forehead to the heavens, “And no lies!”

Aha, I thought. She followed me. It could only mean one thing…curiosity.

That’s the one thing you can always count on with humans, their natural insatiable curiosity and desire to learn. I didn’t move a muscle, watching as she cocked the gun slowly and readjusted it in her small hands. “I was not lying, Ms. Chorster.” I answered, and she just seemed more confused, “But this is indeed something that I would appreciate help from. Even just a couple of signatures and some documents would prove helpful in a situation such as this.”

She continued to stare, but lowered her gun slightly. She bit her lip, as if fighting a barrel of emotions all at once. “So…what are these daggers anyways? Why was the professor so skeptical?”

To disclose or not to disclose, that is the question. The girl is predictable, not very clever, and is far too trusting for her own self-worth. I mean, she may think she has the upper hand here, as she awkwardly swings the pistol around her clumsy hands, but I could take it out of her reach and pin her in seconds. Although, her aggression and curious desire to know things does make her a somewhat tolerable asset to my mission.

“It is the belief in my family that there are seven daggers hidden throughout the world by an underground society of Priests,” she snorted in response, “It is my desire to find them.”

She bit her cheek, “And why, pray I ask, are they so important?”

“They are supposed to be the keys in successfully creating the end of the world.”

The girl blinked, before guffawing loudly, holding her stomach as her body quivered in amusement. Unattractive. Tears were brimming at the edge of her eyes, and she wiped them away furiously before ceasing her laughter. She smiled, and her mouth stretched into a very thin line as she tried to contain herself, “Alright, I’m in,” she replied, “But doesn’t that make us the bad guys?”

Right. She must be insane for believing me so quickly. From my experience, most humans would assume that I was crazy, and rant about how they had to stay away from me. Or at least badger on with questions for another thirty minutes.

I quirked an eyebrow, “You believe me?” I asked wondrously. She shook her head, smiling all the same. So goes the human stereotype of red heads being intelligent out the window.

“No, but it’s interesting none the less,” she smiled, and started playing with her pistol, “Plus, my main reason for being here in the first place was to find some ancient artifact to bring back to the university. But it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen any time soon.” She quieted suddenly, looking around quickly as if just realizing what she was saying out loud.

“There are no Observers around, you can relax,” I scolded her. She shrunk, putting a strand of glistening red behind her ear and shrugged.

“You’re not some insane man who is going to kill me in the middle of the night, are you?” she asked casually, if not really caring whatsoever. I shook my head, and she decided to take my word for it. We walked back to a row of Jeep Wranglers near the tents, and she walked towards a bright orange one. She reached in her pockets and grabbed a chain full of an assortment of silver and golden keys and grabbed a large black one. She clicked her tongue and opened the car doors, preparing to set off into the desert towards unknown places. I sighed, grabbing a cigarette and placing it between my lips.

We set off, a pair of elderly eyes inspecting with confusion and pity.

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