Destiny Defied by J. A. Marx

Author:J. A. Marx [Marx, J. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781938092329
Publisher: Write Integrity Press
Published: 2013-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 36

Feverish and weak from hunger, Lord Vétis bound the hutia, his midday meal. These four days in the same clothes plus dreamless sleep among vermin evoked too many memories of his cesspit existence as an orphan in the alleys of Lisbon. The orfanato that took him in had been a negligible upgrade from street living.

A gust of sentimental satisfaction lifted his mood as he pierced the hutia. Even back then, Vétis ruled his domain and dominated his fellow orphans.

Father Raposo’s departing words on Vétis’s day of release haunted him. You’ll never survive without God.

In case the dead priest was listening, Vétis restated his conviction. “It is God who will not survive without me.”

Their farewell exchange had been the only memory he’d kept of his youth. He had successfully eliminated the rest. So why, at this hour and location, were these emasculating memories re-emerging?

A commotion by the boathouse drew Vétis through the dense vegetation to the edge of the beach.

The island mates were boarding a raft with fishing gear.

The Forces oblige me. He’d use their absence to prepare for tonight’s ceremony. His damaged feet carried him toward the bungalow.

He had left Portugal at age eighteen. Within a week, he encountered an insignificant order of insurgents, disillusioned and embittered against the system. Vétis discovered his destiny through their leader, Rakshasa, presently an Ipsissimus level VI in the Temple of Set. Out of their alliance developed Potestas et Lux.

Your era has expired, Grand Master. Shortness of breath slowed Vétis’s ascent up the deck steps. “I blight this snakebit island.”

Fletcher’s Cay had a reputation of mythical notoriety amongst the Lux. He had once ridiculed those prone to believe superstitions.

Marshaling his strength, he entered the bungalow—And halted.

Heart pounding, Vétis steadied himself against the round table. “What do You want from me?”

Omnipotence bled from the drywall. The beamed ceiling whispered Vétis’s birth name, the one he’d traded for his Temple pseudonym: Vétis, tempter of the holy.

He gnashed his teeth at the Presence. God had his chance to make a difference back in Lisbon. He failed. Compassion made humans weak. Hope was a ruse. The promise of eternal heaven was merely a ploy to suppress the mortal soul.

Vétis lived to disgrace Him. “To hell with Your mercy.”

Sudden trembling hobbled his courage. His stained spirit horrified him. To a depth never thought conceivable, he identified with the indignity of those he defended by trade. Dissenters. Racists. Traitors. Militants. Whenever an underground player needed someone pardoned, and had the money to pay for it, Vétis exercised strategies to exonerate the worst of souls.

Today, he’d vindicate himself. “You can never defeat me.”

He stole what he needed and bolted from the dwelling. A criminal on the run. As he circled the boathouse, he stooped to pick up the blood-caked cloth slipping off his foot. He stuffed it in his pocket. Then, with his mutilated toes uncovered, he veered from the main trail. He bent no branch and trampled no plant, leaving no sign of his presence.

Several meters into the vegetation, he reached his campsite and dropped to his knees.

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