The Angel and The Beast

by Virginia Wallace

The world of men has fallen.

The predictable demise of the ‘New World Order’ led to a truly new social order: the rise of of the Ancient Ones, with the angel-born Nephilim as their masters. With the mighty dragons at their beck and call, the Nephilim wasted no time in creating a nightmarish world in their own image.

For centuries, the Sardonican Church maintained some semblance of order in the more civilized nations. Now, the Church is being challenged by a mysterious rebel leader known only as ‘the Dark One.’ Among all the Nephilim, there has never been a warrior more formidable—or more feared.

Something evil lurks in the Dark One’s blood; this much is obvious. And that reality begs the question: is a man nothing more than a product of his bloodline, upbringing, and environment? Or rather, is his identity forged by his actions? The fate of the civilized world hinges upon that terrible question.

Whatever the case may be, Karis—the erstwhile Angel of Death—is about to discover the answer.


“So tell me, Reaper,” said Leif, lifting his teacup once more. “How much did they pay you to end my life?”

            “Enough,” said Karis dismissively. “A girl needs to eat, you know.”

            “That she does,” agreed Leif. “And thus, I bear you no ill will. But tell me, Fallen One . . . do you love this Church you serve, or are you just doing a job?”

            “That shouldn’t matter to you! snarled Karis. “Your fate will be the same, whether it’s for gold or for love.”

            “You speak the truth,” said Leif, setting down his teacup. “But the Church is desperate now, is it not? The Dark One is leading his armies relentlessly toward Moravia, bent on toppling the rule of the Church. What will you do, Assassin, if he succeeds?”

            “He will not succeed!” said Karis firmly.

            “So said the Church of yesteryear, as well,” said Leif with a chuckle. “But your fate is your own to decide; mine has befallen me at last. Perform your task, Reaper.”

            “Raise your arm,” said Karis, looking away. “Above your head.”

            “Right or left?” asked Leif.

            “It doesn’t matter,” said Karis, reaching for her belt.

            The old Nephilim raised an arm over his head, smiling as he stared the Reaper dead in her black eyes. Karis drew her dagger from her belt.

            She struck in the blink of an eye, downward into the armpit, and straight into the heart …

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