Exousia - The Patron Saints of the Damned -Book II

Jodie walked alongside Megan through the humid woods that now smelled of stale pine. His head felt clearer than it had in a long time. Of course … it made sense that the death of his best friend would do that to him. But, for the last several hours, he hadn’t once had to fight his need to charge at something or run away. He was still terrified but not teetering on the edge of insanity. There was only the numb heaviness he felt throughout his body.

This made him feel guilty when he noticed that the power of the woods seemed to be almost thinner than it had, like they were getting close to escape. He could feel the sunlight on his arms and neck, and he could hear what he thought might be wind bustling through the distant trees. And he wasn’t alone; none of them looked able to be happy about the end of the nightmare.

Marshal stared at the ground with a far-off look in his eyes. Derrick walked with the energy of an empty husk. Billy was now the one brooding, though he had lightened up a bit since the night before. And Brennan kept to himself at the back of the group.

Suddenly, Megan stopped unexpectedly and turned around. Then the Woodcutter did the same. Jodie looked at his own chest to see if they were looking at something on him. Then he looked up and realized that their focus was on something behind him. So he also turned around.

Brennan was staring at them, frozen by something he now saw. He stared directly at a place in the woods where leaves were now falling. His eyes widened, and he touched his temples. And, finally, he collapsed.

Jodie rushed to the back of the group, knelt, and placed his fingers on his friend’s throat. The little he knew about counting a pulse, amounted to what he knew from recording his heart-rate when doing cardiovascular exercises during football practice. But he could tell that his friend was alive and that his heart was racing like he’d just finished a sprint. However, Jodie then realized that Brennan had not been the only one to go down. Further ahead, Exousia had also collapsed.

“Is he okay?” Megan asked, kneeling beside him. Her voice sounded choked as she knelt next to him. “He’s not-”

“He’s alive … and his heart-rate’s strong,” Jodie said. He put the same fingers up to his own throat and felt the pulse there. “It’s a little bit stronger than mine.”

“Do you think that maybe it’s them?” Jodie asked, motioning his head toward the woods and shuddering involuntarily. His back suddenly felt more exposed and vulnerable than it had before.

Megan nodded, keeping her head and voice low so that the others couldn’t hear her. “He’s been whispering to himself when he thinks we aren’t watching.”

They both stood there for a moment in uncomfortable silence, looking between the two unconscious bodies. It was terrifying to look at them like this, yet perhaps even more so to be stopped when they were all so close to freedom. But there was something going on, and the best that the rest of them could now do was to look after them.

Megan pointed into the woods. “I’ll go look for water.”

“No way!” Jodie replied, shaking his head.

“I’m already poisoned,” Megan said. “If anyone should go-”

But Jodie shook his head and took a step toward the woods. He wasn’t just going to accept that any of his friends were going to die, especially not now that they were so close. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t go. We’re going to get you to the hospital, and they’re going to fix you up. So, you need to keep up your energy.”

Jodie beckoned Sam, who nodded, stood, and followed. The two of them walked into the woods in general silence until they were out of earshot of the others. There wasn’t a particular reason for this, other than talking in front of everyone else was … difficult. They were all struggling with despair, rage, hopelessness. So, there was no telling what word or emotion could set them off.

Once they were alone, Sam said, “Thanks for keeping me alive.” He swallowed nervously.

“Doing what?” Jodie asked, confused for a moment. “Oh, you mean pulling you along once I stopped going ballistic. How much of that do you remember?”

“Little bits,” Sam replied. “I think it’s slowly coming back to me. But I remember you pulling me along, even when you were … ballistic.”

“Do you remember the bit where I almost strangled Billy to death?”

Sam shook his head.

“I would have done it if Ted-” Jodie choked on his friend’s name and had to clench his jaw to keep himself from crying again. He took a few breaths and then continued. “I thought I tried, but I wasn’t able to get him out of that god damn fucking hole. All I had to do was reach it, pull him out, and drag both of them to the tree. I was going to! But he looked at me, and I thought … no. I made myself think he wanted me to get his brother and run.”

Sam put his hand on Jodie’s shoulder and replied, “We both knew Ted … and that’s exactly what he did.”

Jodie let out several silent sobs. His heart was broken and yet … these words of grace and assurance were exactly what he had needed. There was a long pause, and then they continued to walk. There was a faint sound of trickling, but it wasn’t obvious where it was coming from.

“Sorry, I know you weren’t asking for that,” Jodie said. He lowered his head and tried to focus on getting the water. He stayed like this until he felt something strike his shoulder hard enough to leave a small bruise. Sam was facing him, with a small and empathetic smile and his hand curled into a fist. Jodie stared at him for a moment and then broke out into a fit of laughter. He couldn’t stop, even when fresh tears began to roll down his face and he needed help just to stand. He laughed until he felt a stitch in his side and his lungs burned for air.

Sam patted him on the back as he panted for air.

Jodie sobbed a few times before he was able to stand and wipe his wet face with his sleeve. He stepped over a small hill. On the other side, he saw a small water stream. He removed his shirt and dunked it in the water.

Sam did the same. Then he wrinkled his forehead like he’d thought of something that didn’t add up and said, “You said last night that something in the woods was supposed to be turning us against each other, right?”

“Yeah?” Jodie said, with a shrug. He’d forgotten that Sam hadn’t been around for the Woodcutter’s attempt at explaining what had been happening to them.

Sam continued, “They can’t really make us … evil. Like, if I wanted friends to actually betray one another, I’d make them fight over a hot girl or a million dollars. What we’re going through is breaking us down, sure. But it’s also making us … weirdly better. So, are the things in the woods just stupid or is something else going on?”

Jodie nodded, a dark feeling of foreboding coming over him. “We need to get back.”

-O-

Emma crouched over her mother’s body. Wood splinters and glass shards were beneath her crumpled lifeless form. Broken furniture and electronics were scattered across the floor of the living room, seeming to encircle the woman’s body. She felt her breath deepen. A raging inferno burned inside her, but it was different than what it had been when she’d strangled the boy. It scalded, scarring and numbing all the nerves inside her. It made everything … quiet.

The father stared at the scene in disbelief, breathing so softly that it could not be heard. “It … was an accident.”

Emma touched her arm and felt the heat ebb from it. She felt the priest’s presence by her side, though his body was more like a shadow that seemed to psychically dissuade notice.

Father Ammon reached down and offered a large black fruit, like a plum. On first look, it appeared to be ordinary. But upon closer inspection, it had a warmth to it. “You can leave all this behind you.”

Emma touched the fruit. Soon, it felt like flames rising into his chest, throat, nostrils, and mouth. She held the fruit and stared at her mother, hating her as much as the man that had killed her. Waves of power and fury poured through her veins—replacing the empty feeling in her chest. This was what she needed, to feel again, to feel something other than the all-consuming nothingness of being unfeeling and alone. She looked up to see where her father was, but the man was not there. His voice was coming from the kitchen, apparently calling an ambulance.

“Someone I love used to tell me that we cannot ever forget that we have a choice,” Father Ammon said. “I offer you the power to choose what you are, what you do. You will make the choices that will determine the fate of this world and my own. You will be Exousia.”

Emma clenched her free hand into a fist … and then released it. She began to walk to the door.

However, her father was there before she reached it. Sweat dripped down his face, and his entire body seemed to be shaking. He said, “Before the police show up, I need to hear what you are going to say to them.

Emma glared at him, pure loathing in her eyes.

“You do not look at me that way, ever!” Her father roared as he slapped her hard enough that the fruit dropped from her grasp. His eyes flared, and he balled a hand into a fist. But then he shook his head, towered directly over her, and shouted, “Go to your goddamn room!”

Emma curled her fingers and clawed at her father’s face.

However, her father caught her wrist and struck her across the jaw with an open hand for a second time. The man opened his mouth to shout something else, but then looked up and froze in fear.

Ammon now stood there, fully visible, with fury on his face. Like in the park, wings sprouted from his back, his outfit had been replaced by armor, and his eyes were black. He backhanded the man with an effortless movement and sent him sliding across the tiled floor. Slowly, his features twisted and become something that … was not him. A bloodthirst fell upon his features as he towered into the kitchen.

Her father looked around desperately for anything to defend himself. It was then that he saw the black fruit lying next to him. It was busted up, and the crimson juice leaked onto the floor. An odd look befell him and he reached for it.

Suddenly, everything else around Emma seemed to stop and become quiet. Both Ammon and her father were frozen in place. Emma looked at the kitchen clock and realized that it wasn’t moving. Turning back, for a moment, she saw herself. Was … this all happening in her mind? Emma looked down at the fruit, the dark crimson plum resting on the floor. She needed it, needed its power. She couldn’t go back to the cold nothingness of before. It wasn’t just this, it was a lifetime of abuse and neglect.

But an unfamiliar, psychic voice spoke. “If you eat of that fruit, you will be enslaved to the same madness as Ammon.”

Emma shook her head. No … it was the only way she could feel again, the only way she could become something different, the only way she could escape this world of pain she’d been born into. The key was power, the power of the fruit. With it, she would be the one to hurt those who actually deserved it. Like her father … who had beaten her, who had laughed in her face!

“You won’t take the power,” the new voice said. “It will take you, just as it has taken the one who promised it to you. He is obsessed with his quest for his own power. Just like you, his efforts are rooted in all the pain he’s witnessed and endured. Like you, he only wishes to bring an end to it. But now an obsession controls him and drives him towards a course of destruction for himself and everyone else. Once you drown your heart in obsession, it will never go away. Eventually, your enemies will be gone. Then there will only be the emptiness, once again.”

“Then...” Emma whispered, feeling the last reserves of rage leave her body. In their place, she felt only the vast nothingness and uncaring. “I have nothing.”

“Nothing is freedom,” the voice said. “It frees you from obsession, obstruction and even fear. It is the place where you have nothing to lose and can only move forward. And for you, it can be the birth of something beyond the corrupting influence of unbridled rage, madness, and desperation. I can teach you power that comes from self-control and self-reliance, a true ability to choose. Not based on feelings, obsession, needs, or emotions, but on what your mind and heart know to be logical and true.”

“You want to teach me to be alone and empty?” Emma asked, without even the strength to put emotion into his question. That was what it sounded like … but it wasn’t what she wanted. She just wanted to feel, and to know that there was someone who would always care.

“Though the priest may care about you, he must do as he is commanded by his obsession and his madness, as will you. The path toward a better future does not feel good as giving in to your primal needs. Freedom and truth are a frightening path, and they only give the satisfaction that you can take out of them. But it’s real, and it will make you truly strong. It is only within truth where you will find other hearts that yours can connect to, without losing yourself to their wounds.”

Out of the nothingness, a figure began to materialize. It appeared first as a shadow, and then slowly took more defined characteristics. The shadow was taller than anyone that Emma had ever seen, a dark-skinned angel with gray wings. He wore ancient armor beneath a gray robe that covered his entire body, and a sword that hung from his waist. Wrinkles lined his forehead, eyes, cheeks, much like an old soldier. But he did not look weak or decrepit. His skin was ashen with little, if any, flesh tone to it. His ears had a slight point to them, but not unnaturally. And his jet-black eyes were scarred, with tiny, white imperfections.

Once again, Emma knew that this could only be one creature … another demon. But he was unlike anything she’d been told or imagined. He seemed calm and rational, with eyes that bore their own share of pain. And, unlike with Ammon, there was no … fiery obsession within them.

The demon said, “The fruit he offers is more than just power for the taking. He and I can mix a portion of our souls with those of other beings, including humans. But Ammon has mixed his soul so many times that the madness and pain of every soul he has ever touched are shared. If you take his power, you will absorb all of that into your own soul.”

Emma looked at the fruit on the kitchen floor and said, “He told me that I am destined to fight him. I can’t do that … he’ll destroy me.”

The demon nodded and began to unfasten a clasp on his left shoulder. He then undid the opposite one, and his leather chest-piece fell away—revealing only a thin, black cloth covering his chest. He then knelt to the ground and removed a hidden blade from his metal boot. Without standing, he took the knife in a firm grasp and jabbed it into his own chest. His face cringed, and he took a ragged breath. But he maintained control and cut through his muscle and bone.

The demon took the piece of what could have only been his heart, placed it into Emma’s free hand with his own trembling one. When he did, she was brought instantly back to her body. Then the demon said, “I cannot promise that you will find all that your heart craves—acceptance, unconditional love, family, or the feeling that you belong. But I can promise to teach you to find the same inner peace that I had to find for myself. I can teach you to find your own freedom and destiny.”

Though Emma so desperately wanted all that the priest had offered, she knew that this demon’s words were true. The choices were between immediate relief from her pain … and a long journey into something unknown. Emma stepped in the doorway between the kitchen and living room so that she could see both of her parents. If she knew anything, it was that she didn’t want to live in the same instant gratification and numbing of pain that they had. Even if nothing awaited her at the end of her journey, she could at least be in control of herself.

Emma lifted her hand to her mouth. She very nearly vomited as she tasted the sulfuric and bloody piece of soul. It seemed that disguising it as a fruit would have been more appealing. But, like with the rest, eating a piece of fruit would have been an act of self-delusion. So Emma managed to consume it. As soon as she had, pain shot through her stomach and she fell to a knee. And though she could not see it, she felt a slight burning as a thin scar made its way across both her eyes. Then there was a sharp pain that felt like a knife cutting from her stomach to her chest. She heard a slight cracking sound as something pushed through her sternum. It was a small, silver ember that moved slowly until it had burrowed its way into the hole left in the demon’s chest.

Then, as soon as it was over, both Emma’s and the demon’s skins began to mend themselves. They looked at one another for a moment. It was over, and the psychic connection in which time had slowed down was falling away.

“Ammon said I could be … Exousia,” Emma said, remembering the priest’s words.

“The power to choose,” the demon said, and he looked at Ammon in the room over with an odd sense of … what seemed almost like longing. He shook his head and returned his attention to her. “Now, you really can be.”

“And who are you?” Emma asked.

“Dufaii,” the demon whispered as his form became nearly invisible.

Emma looked around her as the world began to move again. And in that moment, she made her first choice. None of this would be her. Her life before, all the pain, it would be a stranger like her former name. She concentrated on this until the kitchen, the house, and everyone within seemed like strangers. They were distant memories that no longer meant anything. And the longer she looked, the more foreign it all became. By the time she looked at her father, there on the ground, there was hardly any amount of recognition. Her human existence was now a dormant piece of a new whole, as if it had been a chemical mixed with another to create an entirely new compound.

And that new whole was called Exousia.

Young Exousia turned, walked out of the kitchen, and made her way toward the front door of the home. She opened the front door, but quickly found herself being lifted by her shirt and dragged back into the house. Her adrenaline kicked in, and she sent a savage punch into whoever was holding her.

The man released her with a gasp of pain.

Exousia then struck him in the hip, feeling an unnatural amount of strength being exerted by her body. There was a snap, and the man went rolling across the foyer, and back into the kitchen. He tried to stand back up but collapsed. Eventually, he resorted to dragging himself across the floor, toward the child he thought was his daughter.

The priest … Ammon … stepped over the man to approach Exousia. His eyes began to blink and twitch, as if he were having a small seizure or stroke. His eyes were still gone, no longer the same calm demon as before. His voice broke and became strained when he said, “What are you doing? I thought you wanted the power to feel again and to hurt those who have brought upon you so much needless pain!”

“I don’t care about him,” Exousia replied, regarding the man with nothing more than disgust. “I’m done with who I was … and whatever he meant to me.”

“I see, now,” Ammon’s eyes narrowed in an expression of subdued fury—a look that indicated that he really did understand. His anger grew until his breathing became ragged, his jaw tightened, and his eyes began to shift into a look of animalistic rage. He knelt beside the man, who had crawled as far as the foyer, and rested a hand on him so he couldn’t move. Then the madness in the demon said, “You think that you can fight me; that you can win this challenge? I don’t have time to waste against a pathetic human! I’ll show you what playing the game against me will be like.” He lowered his head and whispered something into the man’s ear.

The man looked confused at first, then his terrified eyes became mellow and drunken. And after a few seconds of that, he began to regard Exousia with a look of resent and hatred. “You are just like her … you just want to see me suffer. You want to take away everything I’ve worked for, send me to prison, humiliate me!” He reached for the fruit on the kitchen floor, took it, and bit into it. As he did, his forehead wrinkled even more, and his eyes seemed to bulge in a fury that was eerily similar to that of the insane priest. Then, hobbling, the man stood and took aggressive steps forward.

Dufaii appeared at her side and shouted, “Get the fruit!”

Exousia dashed past the man, dropped, and picked up what was left of the fruit. When she touched it, she was surprised to find that none of the fury from before filled her. She was now immune to the effects.

The man reached down to grab her.

But Exousia hopped backward and evaded the man’s staggered lunges. At first, she did not know what to do with the fruit. All she knew was that he had two insane enemies, both connected to it. In fact, she could feel an energy connecting it to both of them. She could sense their fear and the chaotic energy that now flared within them. And she could feel their hearts beat.

tru’dum, tru’dum tru’dum,

That was the sound of the man’s pulse.

It was then that Ammon lunged. But he was stopped and cut off by Dufaii. The two began to struggle, and the fight moved gradually further away. This left Exousia to focus on only one enemy, whose heart-rate had picked up a bit.

tru’dum, tru’dum tru’dum.

Exousia felt the rhythm and replicated it as she instinctively squeezed the fruit to match. This seemed to have an effect, causing the movements of their hearts to beat even quicker to match.

The man staggered backward in fear, placing a hand on his chest. His face twisted and he writhed in pain. He tried to cry out, but his voice was caught in his throat. He thrashed and squirmed but to no avail. His pulse was growing faster. But it was no longer the hand imitating the heart, rather, the heart imitating Exousia’s ever-quickening hand. The man gripped at his chest, but there was nothing to grip, fight, or resist.

tru’dum, tru’dum tru’dum tru’dum, tru’dum tru’dum

The man ripped open his shirt and began to claw at his own skin. His fingernails carved out think chunks of skin and flesh, but the pressure would not subside.

tru’dum, tru’dum tru’dum tru’dum tru’dum tru’dum tru’dum tru’dum

Finally, Exousia sank her fingers into the fruit—making it explode with gushing juice that splattered all over her hand. It trailed down her arm and dripped upon the floor. It only took seconds for the effects to transfer. Blood seeped from the man’s eyes and nose. He collapsed from the wall and fell with a thud.

Exousia slowly walked out of the kitchen, feeling exhausted, angry, and somewhat ashamed that she had been forced into doing the thing she had chosen not to. She turned and looked at the woman who remained in the broken pile of glass, wood, and plastic, just as before. She realized that he had already forgotten almost everything about her. Then the last of her memories of the woman vanished and became nothing. The woman became a stranger.

Exousia turned around in confusion. When she did, she saw the demon, Dufaii standing there. There were a few cuts and gashes throughout his body, but he seemed to have come out of his fight victorious. In his hands was an over-sized green hoodie. He took the article of clothing, helped Exousia to put it on, and then the two of them left together.