Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,25
in his hand pulled him out of his dark thoughts. It was an incoming text message from an unknown number. The ominous text read: We’re ready to begin. A second later, the cultist’s phone chirped and the Skype logo flashed on the screen.
The perverted monsters on the other end of the line were eager to bear witness to the latest sacrifice. For a moment, Talon hesitated. What should he do? His eyes fell on the dead cultists.
If they wanted a bloody show, they’d get one.
A show they wouldn’t soon forget.
***
The jumbo-sized screen inside Omicron’s auditorium came alive with a HD view of the eco-house. Zagan wore his trademark suit and robot skull-mask, projecting the image of a high priest from some dark future. Shifting his attention to the incoming image, Zagan immediately recognized that something was wrong. Someone had flipped the script on him.
Onscreen, a camera panned through the living room and captured a disturbing set of images. Instead of a hapless victim, the lifeless features of Zagan’s followers jumped into view, the bodies neatly lined up side by side. Dead eyes peered back at him and the entire congregation of coders. The atmosphere inside the vast assembly hall changed immediately as the sound of typing fingers gave way to shocked silence.
The camera zoomed in on one of the dead cultists, revealing the Tarot card positioned right below the man’s face. The card showed a skeletal knight in black armor astride a white horse, one hand holding up a black banner.
THE DEATH CARD.
Zagan struggled to make sense of the image.
Talon’s raspy voice offered an explanation. “Death is coming. For all of you…” With this sinister promise, the screen went black.
CHAPTER TEN
THE DUCATI ROARED as Talon pulled onto Highway 101, headed for Silicon Valley. He didn’t quite know what to expect as he closed in on the address Casca had texted him. What qualified as “home” for a billionaire moonlighting as an expert on the weird? Subconsciously he was expecting Wayne Manor, and the gated, sprawling estate didn’t disappoint.
The electric gates whirred open and Talon entered the meticulously maintained grounds. He shot down the tree-lined, graveled driveway, past a foaming fountain and a stately garden. There was a beauty here but also a forlorn, deserted quality. Thousands of dollars were spent every month to tend to the property’s natural beauty, without a soul around to enjoy it.
Talon killed his engine near the main entrance and parked beside the BMW. Moving swiftly, he mounted a series of stone steps that snaked toward the mansion. The two members of Casca’s security team he’d sparred with earlier were waiting for him. Their faces remained unreadable but they kept a respectful distance as they escorted him into the lavish home.
“Sorry about the other day. No hard feelings, I hope,” Talon said. He didn’t want any resentment to fester now that he was working with the billionaire.
“Just part of the job.” One of the guards winked; apology accepted. They led him down a wood-paneled hallway into a vast library. “Mr. Casca will be right with you.”
The security guys left but the door remained open at his back. Talon studied the library. Recessed lights conjured moody shadows inside the museum-like chamber. For a moment he felt like he was back in the occult bookstore. The walls were either lined with ancient tomes or covered with an assortment of classical paintings. Talon marveled at a medieval depiction of beaming angels and red-skinned demons locked in an intense, existential battle.
The eternal conflict between good and evil raged on.
Talon’s eyes landed on one of many glass display cases on the library floor. Each case contained exotic items capable of inspiring nightmares. There was an eerie voodoo doll. An obsidian skull. An assortment of cursed objects that Talon couldn’t quite identify and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
He stepped up to a case that held a leather-bound tome with strange, hieroglyphic-style writings. Talon scanned the illegible scribbling and became convinced that the dark letters hadn’t been etched in ink, but human blood. His stomach roiled with revulsion as the irrational thought seized his mind. The book seemed alive, pulsing and oozing with raw, unnatural energy.
What made a man collect such morbid items? Was Casca just a bored rich guy, out to shock his well-heeled friends when they visited?
No, Talon knew there was a method behind the billionaire’s madness, a reason for his obsession. Scanning the ancient depictions of heaven and hell, he wondered what demons drove his new benefactor.
“The Grimoire of the