Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,45
Casca grinned. “I assume you’re not familiar with the seven blades of Megiddo, from the Omen series of films?”
Talon shook his head. “You assume correctly.”
“In the movies, seven sacred blades were created in Megiddo, the birthplace of Christianity, from the material of a comet. These magic blades were designed to kill Satan’s progeny. The Antichrist.”
“Lovely. Don’t tell me this is one of these blades.”
“Oh no, the blades are made up. Pulled from the imagination of some Hollywood screenwriter. But the idea was inspired by this particular item…” Casca pointed at the knife in the case. “The demon slayer.”
Talon eyed the knife more closely. The craftsmanship was impeccable. Its polished steel glittered in the library’s recessed lights. Symbols were inscribed on the blade and the handle was fashioned from the bone of some animal.
“The demon slayer goes as far back as Babylonian times.”
“How much did this toothpick set you back?”
“Let’s say it made for a nice tax write-off, and leave it at that.”
“Does it work?” Talon asked.
“It works.”
Talon studied Casca, but the billionaire didn’t add anything else. Talon sensed that there was a story here but it wouldn’t be told today.
Casca opened the display case and handed Talon the knife. Demon Slayer. The weight of the ancient blade felt weird at first but seemed to adjust to his hand and grip, almost as if it was becoming an extension of his being.
He slashed the air a few times, testing how it felt in his hand. Could eight inches of pre-Christian steel stop a monster like Zagan? Talon wasn’t quite convinced. But he had come to trust Casca.
“Between the demon slayer and the amulet you have a fighting chance at stopping Zagan.”
“That’s all I’m asking for.”
Talon was about to get his rematch with Zagan.
This time around, only one of them would be left standing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TALON STRODE INTO the Omicron lobby around eleven o’clock. The demon-slayer blade was securely sheathed under his jeans, amulet stashed in the pocket of his worn leather jacket.
Talon fixed his attention on the guards fronting the reception desk. Two of the men were approaching fast, expressions serious and focused.
Instead of presenting a security badge he opened his jacket, revealing the dried, crusted blood of the pentagram scar. His express ticket to hell.
The guards relaxed. These weren’t polished GQ types, as he had first thought from a distance. They had cleaned up pretty well, but there was a toughness and an edge to these men. Former bikers or vets. Rough types with hard faces, ropy muscles and cold eyes. The suits and ties couldn’t hide all their tats and scars.
Was the security staff under the spell of the occult algorithm, or true believers of the darkness? Talon wasn’t a gambling man, but he’d bet on the second explanation with them.
One glance at his pentagram and the guards backed off.
“I’m here to see my master,“ Talon said, doing his best to stay in character without overplaying his hand. One of the guards sidled up to him and indicated that Talon should follow him. He fell in step with the guard as they headed toward a bank of elevators.
Thanks to his last, rather memorable visit, the glass palace had lost much of its luster. He’d seen the true face of Omicron — the evil that lurked behind the polished surface.
Walking through the atrium, he stole secret glances at the various workers who passed them. Could it be true? Could all these Omicron workers be gearing up for a mass suicide that would rival some of the greatest cult massacres in history? Were they prepared to make the final sacrifice? They appeared so normal and relaxed, going about their everyday business as if this was another normal workday. If Casca was right, no lunch break was imminent for these techies.
Becky had informed them that Omicron’s server maze was located on the lower level. Access was granted to the top coders and security staff. The guard walking Talon to the elevators was his way in.
As soon as they stepped into the lift and the door zoomed shut, Talon grabbed the man’s neck and smashed his head against the elevator’s control panel — full force. Ignoring the cams, he pulled the slumping guard’s head back by his hair and pressed the demon-slayer blade against his carotid artery. Talon didn’t know if the knife actually possessed the power to slay monsters, but it sure as hell would have no trouble opening up a man’s throat.
“Slight change in plans. Last time I asked for the tour,