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For a list of all the Devil’s Pact Chapters and other stories click here

This is a revised version of the story that I published on Smashword starting back in 2014. It is rewritten with much-added material. However, I did have to age up some of the characters so no one is underage in this version.

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Click here for Chapter 6.

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For those of us who remained free of the Tyrants’ control, one of the great mysteries of their rule was the Patriots. They appeared almost immediately to challenge Mark and Mary. From their first assassination attempt in Washington D.C., to their spectacular attack in February of 2014 that left dozens dead in the streets of Tacoma, the Patriots had been a constant thorn in the Tyrants’ side. So why did they mysteriously vanish after almost crashing the Tyrant’s plane on May 1st, 2014?

—excerpt from The History of the Tyrants’ Theocracy, by Tina Allard

Alison de la Fuente

The hellfire missile struck at the center of the mass of Warlocks, consuming them in red flames and black smoke. The shock wave was so powerful, I could see it rippling through the air. It collapsed the side of a barn, blew out the windows of the ranch house, and blasted the animated statues into huge chunks of red clay. Debris flew in every direction and crashed down across the Montana countryside.

The second missile was overkill, striking just feet from the first and collapsing the rest of the barn. A few seconds later, the booms slammed into our position on the knoll. The shock wave struck me. I felt like I had just jumped face-first into a pool of water. My hair whipped about my head, and my ears protested the sudden pressure change. The Patriot’s three sentries only had time to gape at the missiles’ devastation before they fell dead to our snipers’ fire.

“Good kill,” Sergeant Holland radioed to the drone operators back in Langley, Virginia.

“Maybe one person got away,” Desiree mused as she scanned the wreckage with her auraculars. “That blonde woman was through the portal when the missiles struck. I don’t know if explosions can pass through a portal or not.”

“Uhhhh… are those statues still moving?” I asked. Maybe twenty of them, the ones farthest from the portal, were still standing. It looked like they were turning around and walking with a slow, unstoppable gait. “Um… I think they’re coming for us.”

“Send another missile down,” Desiree ordered. “Wipe them out.”

“The drone only carried two Hellfire missiles,” Sergeant Holland answered.

The snipers opened fire, their bullets sending up puffs of red dust, pitting the surface of the claymen. They may as well have been firing BB guns for all the good their shots did. When the lead hulk reached the barbwire fence surrounding the ranch, it just walked through it, the barbwire tangling uselessly about its legs.

Sergeant Holland whistled and waved at our men waiting at the base of the knoll.

The soldiers scrambled up the hill, almost as agile as mountain goats. Two had one-shot missile launchers called LAWs (Light Anti-Tank Weapon), small tubes that they could deploy quickly. They aimed and squeezed their triggers. With a hissing whoosh, the rocket motors ignited and they streaked down the hill in a shower of sparks, and struck home, exploding against the chests of the first two clay men. Clouds of black smoke billowed away, revealing gaping holes blown into their chests. The first fell apart after taking one step, but the second somehow kept coming, still having enough of its mass left to sustain it. Despite the fact that I could see through the damned thing, the clay man kept plodding closer and closer.

“Set out Claymores,” Sergeant Holland shouted.

Three soldiers slid down the knoll and started sticking Claymore anti-personnel mines—small, olive-green rectangles that were slightly concave—into the ground on small legs made of wire. They were powerful, filled with high-explosives and ball bearings, the charges shaped to spray a concentrated area before them with maiming death.

“Call Sam,” Desiree shouted at me. “We need to know how to kill these things.”

I pulled my satphone out of my pocket, looked up Sam’s number in the directory, and called her. It took a moment for the phone to connect to the satellite and another ten seconds before it started ringing.

It rang and rang as the clay men drew closer and closer. They were deceptively fast. While their gait was slow, their stride was very long, and they were already approaching the base of the knoll.

“Pick up, pick up!” I snarled at the phone in frustration.

A boom shook the air as the first Claymore detonated, finishing off the second golem and spraying a third one with shrapnel, shearing off its arm. It didn’t seem to care. The soldiers opened fire, muzzles flashing, and my ears were assaulted with cracking gunshots. They sprayed the golems automatic fire, chunks of mud flaking off them. Gouges and pockmarks littered their bodies. They still kept coming, the soldier’s bullets too small to hurt something that large made of hard-packed clay.

“How many Claymores did you set out?” Desiree asked.

“Three,” Sergeant Holland answered. “All we had.”

“¡Mierda!”

We were in trouble. And the satphone just rang and rang.

* * *

Noel Heinrich – The Shadows

“Ignore the pain, Noel,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Just ignore the pain. Mark Glassner must die for all the atrocities committed in his name, and his callous enslavement of the world. All humans deserve to be free, and to ensure that freedom, it sometimes means spilling blood. Your enemies’ blood and your own. For generations, men and women have laid down their lives at the altar of Liberty, and today it’s your turn. So keep walking, Noel.”

I stumbled through the Shadows in a haze of pain, my golems lumbering along beside me. I knew my destination, picturing the church in downtown Puyallup, and let my instincts guide me. That’s how you moved around in the Shadows—instincts. What would be a twelve-hour trip in the real world, would take me maybe thirty minutes of trudging through the never-ending mist.

I tried to shove down the agony of my broken arm. I’d bound it to my chest with my torn shirt. All I wore now were my pants and my bulletproof vest, my 9mm service pistol holstered at my waist, a bronze dagger tucked into my belt, and Annihilation, the sword of negation, clutched in my good hand. I held the vile thing in a death grip; the price I paid was far too high for me to lose this blade.

I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, just one more step, over and over. Righteous anger fueled me. And guilt. The innocent girl’s face swam in my mind, pleading. I tightened my grip on the sword, trying to forget that memory. I never could.

The Tyrants had to die!

Their tyranny could not be allowed to run unchecked. I would stop them no matter the cost to my soul! I just needed to keep putting one foot before the other. Step after pain-filled step. Time seemed to lose all meaning in the Shadows, and distance was only a thing remembered from the real world. Here everything looked the same. Gray ground, gray fog.

“Hello, Noel,” a soft voice whispered out of the mists.

She stepped out before me, blonde and beautiful, a sad smile on her lips. A terrible ache grew in my heart as I stared at the spirit. For a moment, my resolve slipped as those memories I had carefully bottled up threatened to burst through me. I tightened the lid on my emotions, and reclaimed my resolve. Nothing was going to stop me, not after all I had done to reach this point. After I had killed—

The girl’s innocent face filled my mind again. Her face was never far, frozen in that awful moment. Her eyes had bulged as her fingers had clawed ineffectually at the garrote. Guilt racked my soul; I could not let her death be in vain! Her death had to mean something! Otherwise, I had murdered her for nothing, and that would mean I was nothing more than a—

I pushed the guilt away; I was a Patriot. I did what was necessary to defeat the Tyrants. I gripped Annihilation, raising the hole-in-reality up, and leveled it at the spirit before me. I had to finish this! I had to kill Mark! No matter the cost!

Even if that meant condemning Chasity to oblivion.

* * *

Alison de la Fuente – Patriot’s Headquarters, MT

“Pick up, pick up!” I screamed at the satphone. “Pick up, you stupid…”

“Hello?”

“Candy, put Sam on right goddamn now!”

“We’re in the middle of something important,” Candy said brusquely. “We’ve found something here at Qumran, call back—”

“Put her on right the fuck now! It’s life or death! We’re under fucking attack!”

“Fine, Alison,” Candy sighed. “You don’t need to be so melodramatic.” She paused, then asked, “Are you setting off fireworks?”

“Those are guns, you stupid cow!”

“Stupid cow?” she muttered angrily. “I should just hang up right now!”

“I’m sorry,” I said through gritted teeth. I wanted to reach through the damned satphone and wring the stupid cow’s throat.

A boom rocked me, the second Claymore detonated, blowing the legs off a golem. It fell to the ground in a cloud of red dust, then flailed on the ground with its arms, before its broad hands found purchase on the slope. It started dragging itself up the knoll.

Great.

“Now put Sam on before we die, you stupid fucking cow!” I snarled, so angry my words almost ran together.

Candy snorted and then spoke to someone, her voice muffled. There was more rustling, then Sam answered, “Hey, Alison, what’s so important?”

“We’re being attacked by claymen,” I told her, such relief surging through me. Sam would know how to save us. “The Patriots created them.”

“Claymen?” Sam frowned. “I’m not sure I’ve heard of that.”

My stomach sank. “Really? Only heavy explosives seem to do anything to them. And we’re running out of those.”

“Hmm, describe them in detail.”

“They’re tall, maybe ten feet, and made of red clay. They don’t feel pain or anything. They’re like animated statues. We killed the Warlocks who activated them, but now they’re attacking us.”

“Interesting,” Sam murmured.

“It’s really not! These things are practically unstoppable!”

“They sound like golems,” Sam said. “It’s a Jewish legend. Supposedly they’ll obey any command that their Warlock gives them. Is there anything written on the golems’ foreheads?”

I peered through the auraculars at the nearest golem’s forehead. There was something on its temple. Yes, two Hebrew letters. It was hard to make out which three as the golem lumbered forward. “Yeah, a two-letter Jewish word.”

“That would be met, I believe,” Sam answered. “It means death in Hebrew. Without a Warlock to guide them, it will just kill the nearest humans until it is deactivated.”

“So how do we deactivate them? Outside of brute force?”

“Oh, destroy the word on their forehead,” Sam explained. “That’s probably what actually stopped them. The blast probably disrup—”

I hung up—I didn’t have time for one of Sam’s long-winded explanations—and screamed, “Shoot for the forehead!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sergeant Holland shouted back, ejecting the magazine smoothly from his weapon and jamming in the next one, and started firing.

Bullets began peppering the golems’ faces. The damned things were so close, so I drew my Colt .45, and aimed the pistol at the nearest one’s face. My hand shook with adrenaline as I unloaded the clip. I missed with every shot.

“Shit,” I muttered.

I ejected the clip, fumbling with the replacement magazine. The first golem collapsed in a heap of red rubble from the soldiers’ fire, then a second and third. It was working! We could do this. I slammed the magazine into my pistol, released the slide, took a deep breath, and aimed carefully.

“You can do this, Alison,” I whispered, then fired, emptying my entire clip in two heartbeats.

And missed with every goddamn shot!

I didn’t even hit the fucking golem’s giant torso. Shit! The damned thing was almost as big as the side of a barn. And I did so well on the practice range. I ejected the magazine, my hands shaking violently. I tried to calm them down, breathing deeply. How were all these soldiers so calm? How could they face down unfeeling and nonliving mounds of clay walking towards us like it was just another day at the office?

“We need to retreat!” Holland shouted. Half of the golems were destroyed, but the other ten were so close, about to summit the knoll.

“Fall back!” Desiree ordered. I didn’t need to be told a second time.

Two of the soldiers, Millner and Vasquez, kept shooting, providing cover for our retreat, as the rest raced down the slope of the knoll. It was two miles to where we parked the vehicles. Two miles across broken ground and scrub bushes. We’d never outrun the golems. That didn’t stop us from trying.

Fear spurred me as I ran down the hill, heedless of how dangerous it was. I didn’t care that I might trip and fall and break my neck; I just knew that if those things caught me, a broken neck would be the least of my problems. The hill was dotted with olive-green brush that ripped at my arms as I raced by, leaving stinging cuts I barely felt. I reached the bottom of the knoll, thrilled that I somehow didn’t fall, and I put all my effort into running as fast as I possibly could. I wasn’t going to die here, killed by some fucking golem.

I stepped in a jackrabbit’s hole.

The damned thing was practically invisible, dug into a tuft of yellow grass. My ankle twisted. Pain shot through my calf, blazing white-hot. I fell forward with a loud gasp, landing hard on my hands and knees. I couldn’t lie here; those things would tear me apart. I pushed back up, struggling to stand. I put weight on my hurt ankle. It folded up like a cheap chair.

“Fuck!” I cried out, clutching it.

“Alison!” Desiree shouted, kneeling down next to me.

“I think I messed up,” I said, trying to grin through the pain. I failed.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing my arm.

Desiree put my arm over her shoulder and helped me up. She supported me. We struggled forward since I was reduced to hopping on my one good ankle. Behind us, I could hear thudding footsteps. I glanced back and saw six golems striding down the knoll after us, Millner’s ruined body clutched in one of the golem’s fists like a bloody, torn doll. Vasquez raced ahead of the advancing golems, running like the Devil himself was licking at his heels.

“Let’s go!” Vasquez shouted, grabbing my other arm and, together, he and Desiree half-carried and half-dragged me away from the golems.

We didn’t go fast. There wasn’t much that I could do. I opened my mouth, prepared to tell my wife to leave me, but she shot me a warning glance that said: I love you, so I won’t leave you behind to be torn apart. That forced me to struggle and use my one good foot, trying to push us forward as they carried me. The other soldiers quickly outdistanced us, and the golems kept advancing like a force of nature, uncaring, unfeeling, unmerciful.

Holland and the other soldiers reached a line of scrub, and turned to provide us covering fire. Another golem collapsed behind us, but those thudding footsteps grew closer and closer. Two more collapsed. A grenade sailed over our head, exploded, and I screamed in pain as something hot seared into my ass.

“Faster!” I urged, glancing behind me to see a golem only ten feet away, his arms outstretched. Christ, his hand was bigger than my head.

The gunfire was dwindling; the soldiers were running out of ammo. They drew their sidearms, carefully aiming, and opened fire at the golems. I could hear the bullets whistling as they flew right over our heads. I scrunched down, trying to hunker my head out of the soldiers’ line of fire, and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see what killed me. Whether it was the golem’s grasping hand or my own men’s bullets, I didn’t want to know.

See what your stupidity has done! my subconscious railed. You never should have left his side!

“I’m sorry, Masters,” I whispered; I didn’t want to die. I wanted to be at Master’s and Mistress’s side forever with Desiree. “I’ll wait for you with Chasity and the others in the Shadows. Yours forever.”

* * *

Noel Heinrich – The Shadows

A battle raged around Chasity and myself, the other ghosts attacking my golems with silver swords. The golems would punch, but their blows were ineffectual against the spirits, unable to hurt those who were already dead. But their damned, silver blades could hurt my golems, hacking and biting into the clay, and sending chucks flying off to be dissolved by the mist. One golem collapsed, too much clay missing from its legs for it to be able to stand.

None of that mattered as Chasity stood before me, a silver blade in her hand. “Out of the way, Chasity,” I growled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me,” Chasity answered.

I raised the black blade, the tear in reality, and Chasity’s eyes fell nervously on it. “Don’t be too sure, Chasity.”

“Watch out,” Karen called out from where she watched on the sidelines. “That’s Mishbath, the Blade of Annihilation.”

Chasity’s eyes narrowed, but her resolve never wavered. “Turn back, Noel.”

“I can’t,” I hissed. “He deserves to die. To have never even existed. I will set mankind free from his tyranny!”

“Please, Noel,” Chasity begged, “Don’t make me kill you. Remember that night we shared? The passion?”

“I remember that you threw your life away protecting them the next morning!” I screamed. “They made you their slave and then forced you to sacrifice your life. Just like all the other ghosts here! They are monsters, Chasity! Now step aside, or I will deliver oblivion to you!”

“Mark’s the monster?” Chasity asked, eyeing the blade with disgust.

Purple face. Bulging eyes. Hands scrabbling at the garrote.

I pushed down the guilt. “He’s enslaving the world; he needs to be stopped, Chasity.”

“He’s making it a better place.”

“Of course you think that. You’re still his slave!”

“I am,” Chasity asserted, voice full of pride. “And that’s why I can’t stand down. He’s my Master.”

“And you threw your life away for him!”

“No!” There was anger in Chasity’s voice. “My death was not in vain! He learned compassion from it! He stopped seeing us as merely things, but as humans with hearts. That’s why he set you free! He felt guilty for what happened to me. He learned compassion from my death. He’s only human. He’s made mistakes!”

“He’s a beast! A monster! He unleashed Lilith, and look at all the harm she’s caused!”

“Lilith tricked him!” Disgust curled Chasity’s lower lip, her eyes flickering to the abomination clutched in my hand. “You summoned Ashtoreth, and you call him a monster? He’s never murdered anyone! I know what you had to pay to own that blade! Whom did you strangle?”

Bulging eyes and a purple face staring up at me.

“I did what I had to!” I spat.

“The excuse of a tyrant.”

“I am a patriot!” I shouted, rage screaming from my lips. I swung the blade at her face.

The mists parted before the blade, snapping back like a taut string severed; the fog screamed in my mind as oblivion claimed a small portion of it. Chasity raised her silver sword. Negative black struck shining silver, the blades locking together with a sickening screech that vibrated my bones. I drew back and hammered another blow at her. She parried. Again and again I slammed Annihilation at her. Again and again she blocked my fury.

“Are you so eager for oblivion?” I snarled. “One slip-up and you’re gone, Chasity! Just let me pass!”

“I will face oblivion for him,” Chasity resolved, her face fierce and beautiful, her voice full of passion. “He is my Master.”

I had tasted that passion before. Memories of that night—her last night alive—of rapture we’d shared flashed through my mind. We’d loved each other passionately. This woman had consumed me with her ecstasy. The emotions I’d beaten down into the depths of my soul after Chasity’s death came rushing out, screaming in protest as I strove to drive my blade into her body.

“Please,” I begged, trying to bottle them up again, but they were like a gas hissing into the atmosphere, impossible to collect again. “Please don’t make me do this.” Tears rolled down my cheek.

“Then stop! Walk away.” Her sapphire eyes softened. “I loved you that night. Maybe, if I hadn’t died, we could have been something more.”

Her words slapped me. I stumbled back. No. Be strong. Liberty had its price. Blood must be shed, even if it’s the blood of your friend, your lover. With an animalistic scream, I leaped at her. Annihilation swung through the mist, the fog crying out in pain as the blackest blade cleaved through the vapors toward Chasity’s body. For just the merest moment, profound grief and regret flashed across Chasity’s face, then iron-hard resolve glinted in her sapphire eyes. Her sword stabbed forward.

It didn’t hurt as her blade slipped between my ribs.

Annihilation fell from my suddenly useless hands before the abominable sword could connect with Chasity. For a moment, I stood there, impaled upon the silver blade, staring into Chasity’s ice-blue eyes. Her face broke and twisted into sadness. She reached out with a trembling hand to grab me, but my legs buckled and became useless. I slid backward off her blade, moving out of reach of her hand, and landed on the ground with a grunt.

I stared up at the never-ending mist as my lifeblood spilled out, staining the gray ground red. I shivered, a numbing cold spreading through my limbs. Chasity stood over me, tears running like silver rivulets down her cheeks. She bent down and picked up the terrible blade.

“Do it,” I whispered, the guilt consuming my soul. I had murdered that girl for the blade. She had been so full of life while I was only full of death. “Send me to oblivion.”

She swung the sword at my head.

Only it missed, burying in the gray ground just above the crown of my head. Something inside me snapped, the chain wrapped around my soul—my slave chain—was severed, setting me free from bondage to Lucifer. Free from his torment, but not free from my punishment.

“I don’t deserve this,” I sobbed as Chasity knelt down next to me, grasping my hand. A rough, wet cough rattled out of my throat. Copper filled my mouth. “She was an innocent.”

Chasity stroked my face, bent down, and kissed me on the lips. When she pulled away, they were stained red. “We all make mistakes, Noel. Some are just worst than others.”

“I’m scared,” I whimpered. The cold spread through my torso. My vision shrank, leaving only Chasity’s beautiful face. “Don’t let me go.”

“I won’t,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry, Roxy,” I cried out. That was her name. Roxy. She’d run away from home. Fled from one horrible adult to an even worse one. She had wanted to be an actress, heading to Hollywood on what would be her big break.

I stole that from her for something as meaningless as vengeance.

My eyes closed. Regret filled me. That was living: regretting all the hurts you heaped on your friends, your family, on strangers; regretting all the missed opportunities. All the chances to have fun, to take risks, to experience love and companionship. What was the point in living if you never actually lived? I had let the anger and rage at Mark consume me, burning out all the good parts of my soul and leaving behind only ashes. Regret.

My heart slowed. All feeling faded away from me, the clammy mist upon my face, the rough ground beneath my back, the shuddering pain in my torso. Every sensation was bleeding from my body except one single hand gripping mine, full of love and forgiveness. I clutched at that hand as I hung over the precipice of death. I didn’t want to be alone and full of regrets. I wanted love. I wanted Chasity.

My heart stopped beating.

My soul fell into the darkness. But I held on to Chasity’s hand with a death grip, unwilling to let go. I was like a woman hanging from a cliff mere moments from plummeting to her death. Her only hope of surviving is a strand of flimsy grass. So she clutches it, knowing the blades are too weak to support her weight, but not caring because she so desperately wants to live that she’ll do anything, no matter how impotent, to survive.

I didn’t want to plummet off my cliff, so I clutched Chasity’s hand with all my strength—my blade of grass—and hoped for a miracle.

Sometimes, miracles happen.

I opened my eyes. Chasity’s face shone above me. I sat up and left my physical body behind. The mist assaulted my corpse, dissolving it like Styrofoam in nail polish remover. Joy surged through me. I wasn’t going to be alone! I hugged her, and kissed her on the lips, warm and wonderful. Her arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, and her lips kissed down my cheek to my ear.

“I didn’t let go,” Chasity whispered. “You’re one of us now. Somehow, your soul is tied to mine.”

“I chose love,” I answered, caressing her cheek. “I didn’t want any more regrets.”

* * *

Alison de la Fuente – Patriot’s Headquarters, MT

I was braced for death. Readied for it.

And it didn’t come.

Instead, there was a groaning noise and a loud thud as something heavy crashed into the ground behind me. The gunfire stopped. The soldiers cheered, whooping and hollering with unabashed joy. I forced myself to open my eyes and look back. Strewn across the ground behind us were six piles of red clay, one just feet away. A small line of crumbling clay, leading from a huge mass, ended just inches from my foot. The thing must have been just heartbeats from wrapping its strong hands about my neck and squeezing the life out of me.

Shouts of joy roared from the soldiers.

Shakes wracked my body as Vasquez and Desiree set me down. We were alive. Energy surged through me. I grabbed my wife and kissed her thoroughly on the lips. We survived! She held me tight, trembling in my arms. We defeated the Patriots, stopped their attack, and lived to keep serving our Masters. Desiree thrust her tongue into my mouth; my fingers stroked her neck and cheeks, savoring her warmth, her life.

I was so happy I didn’t even feel the pain in my broken ankle.

I saved Master and Mistress. I protected them. We’d foiled the Patriots, maybe even destroyed them, and that was amazing. And if we hadn’t, I’d keep fighting. I’d hunt them all down. All the Warlocks who threaten them!

I saw that same determination in my wife’s eyes. I held her even tighter, grateful that Master brought us together.

To be continued…

Click here for Passionate Love, Chapter 1.

Click here for Servants’ Tale, Chapter 4.

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I have released a part 43 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!