(A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! The general consensus seemed to be that I should go ahead and post this... Since, people who don't want to read it don't have to, obviously. So, here you go!)

The God Killer

Chapter One: Play

Erela's roommate Julie usually got home around five in the evening and stayed in for the rest of the night. However, with the help of Erela, Julie had finally gotten herself a boyfriend. All three of them were overjoyed. Erela liked being alone at her apartment… it made her feel like maybe she might actually live all on her own, which she desperately wanted.

Also, Julie was unreasonably disturbed by Erela’s hobbies. Her panicky disapproval was enough to chase off any decent spirits who might seek contact with a mortal.

Erela had always believed herself in possession of the gift of seeing between the mundane lines of reality and into the truth of the world beyond. She had experienced a handful of things that were hard to explain without the existence of a spirit world. Her fascination with death and the dead had led her into the subject of the occult. It was only natural to be curious about such things.

Erela shifted in the mirror and glanced at herself and her long brown hair, hanging in loose waves over her black robe. Her nails were long and strong, slightly pointed from her regular manicure. She bent down and lit the last of the five candles, glancing at her pale reflection in the mirror as she blew the flame out on the incense and replaced it back in the holder on her vanity.

Her room was a bit like the inside of a genie’s bottle. Her bed was just a silk mat on the floor, covered in soft black and purple pillows. Red silks were hanging from the small black chandelier in the middle of the room. Her vanity and an old chest where the only pieces of furniture in the room, the rest was just pillows and poufs; in sombre colours, black, grey, red and all the colours that passed between them.

She had drawn a pentagram on the floor in the centre of the room. Each of the five candles rested on a point. She stood in the middle and faced her palms outward, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath before she started.

Her mantra was simple, when she was younger she had created a number of complex limericks, but the results they yielded were always about as good as the plain language she used as a default. Today was nothing special. She was just excited to be alone. Without Julie around she could hold her first séance in months and maybe read her cards before dinner.

“All strangers are welcome here,” she spoke quietly, “any wander is welcome… spirits come find me. All strangers are welcome here.” She repeated her mantra and felt something strange, but kept going. It seemed like the room was getting even darker.

“-spirits…” she stopped speaking as the sound of a laugh caught her attention and she opened her eyes, startled. She had never heard a voice so clearly before. It was like he was standing right beside her ear. She turned her head to face her invited guest but she found herself alone in her room. All but one of the candles had gone out when she had her eyes closed.

Erela stood in the silence and listened for a long moment, but there was nothing to suggest that she wasn’t entirely alone, “Hello? Is there someone there who would like to speak to me?” she asked calmly, having done this before. She held her breath and felt the blood leave her face as a shadowy figure moved against the floor. The dim light from the last candle was illuminating the wooden grains as something moved inside the centre of the star. It was a back and a pair of arms, lifting the shoulder and head from the earth. A man was pulling himself from the wood like it was liquid, he kept his head down as he trust his legs out with a sickening crack and bits of wood dribbled off of him like droplets of mud, only to reform where they belonged in the floor.

He hoisted himself up from the ground and Erela barely caught sight of a pale face in front of hers and then he vanished.

Stunned, Elera felt her heart slamming into her ribs. She had never experienced anything like that before… “Are you still here?” she asked in a shaking voice.

“Yes,” said a voice, once again, too clear. A pale face loomed back into view onto the light of the flame. The gold flickered across the beautiful features as he blew the last candle out.

For a moment Erela stood frozen in the dark with her incredibly solid guest floating around her. In an instant the light of the chandelier turned on and Erela screamed in surprise. He was standing an inch away, his pale blue eyes were bright and clear, gazing down at her amused.

She lost her balance and fell backwards into one of her poufs.

“I’m sorry!” said the man through his laughter, “But your face-”

He wasn’t a spirit at all. He was entirely solid. His voice was as real as anyone's she had ever heard and tinged with an English accent and he was laughing at her. “-Who the hell are you?!” Erela demanded.

Looking sheepish, the man shrugged his shoulders, “I’m not a demon, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

That was exactly what Erela was thinking. He was almost human—but what she had seen was not the work of a man. This was something more. He was dressed in all black. Black boots, black trousers and a loose black shirt that fell open in front to reveal a few inches of pale flesh below his face. It was a very good looking face. His features were almost too pretty to be masculine. He had wide blue eyes that deceptively suggested innocence. His hair was long and black, around his face like curtains.

Shaking, Erela got to her feet and stood her ground in front of him, “Who are you?” She said again, using the authoritative voice that she had cultivated from talking with very violent spirits.

He held his palms upward in front of her with a passive smirk, flicking his eyes briefly across her, “As you demand… My name is Jack.”

“Jack.” She repeated his name back to him. “Why have you come here?”

“You did invite all strangers,” he laughed, “And it was really hilarious, I wanted to see your reaction to me... I've been watching you, Erela, and I've yet to see that beautiful face of yours change expression even once." The back of his hand caressed her cheek, "I was curious," he whispered leaning in closer. He vanished again.

For a moment, Erela stood totally alone in her genie bottle. Her heartbeat was still loud and her blood was racing fast. She looked around the room, but the utter silence suggested that she was alone.

"I wanted to scare you!" he appeared behind her, wrapping his arms across her shoulders from behind.

Erela jumped, but wasn't nearly as shocked the second time, she pulled away from him on reflex; whirled about to face him.

"I wanted to ask you why you're always trying to be alone... you're perfectly capable of having a man in your life—it took you about two days to find someone for Julie, and you easily could have had him yourself, and instead you seek to be alone."

"I don't like people."

Jack rolled his eyes, "I love people."

"Maybe it's different when you're not one of us."

"I'm insulted!" said Jack, "Don't I look like a person?"

Not really. Erela scanned him again. There was something too polished about him. He looked young—probably in his mid twenties, but he held himself with much more confidence than any college-guy she had ever seen. There was something vast and wise buried deep under the mischievous humour in his eyes. There was more reflected in the glimmering sheen of his eyes than the little room around them had to offer. Part of him wasn't here, but this shadowy, human-shaped appearance seemed to the mortal girl to clearly be lacking in some mysterious human otherness.

Jack allowed her to look him over, lifting up his arms and turning around to show off his nearly-human body. "Come on Erela," he said, suddenly knocking her from her impromptu daydream, "Let's go out—get something to eat."

She blinked at him, "You... wanna go out?" she said tonelessly. This was not what she had ever been expecting to happen if she made contact with someone from the other side. She had always assumed that the entity would send a short, cryptic message or try to possess her. She'd never considered the possibility that he might want to take her out on a date.

"Sure. I'm not busy. Neither are you. We should do something fun, don't you think? I like you Erela," he shrugged, perfectly nonchalant. Now he looked like a college student. The demon she had summoned was flirting with her. "We could stay in, if you'd rather."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Promise to keep a secret?" Jack challenged her playfully.

"Who's going to believe anything I say about this?"

"Fair enough... I'm the god of shadow," he held a finger to his lips, miming silence, "Some had called me the king of secrets, the master of illusion and chaos... Loki."

"Loki," she repeated, "You're the Loki?" she didn’t look convinced, “I thought you were just a spirit.”

“I’m the ghost with the most, babe. What kind of ‘just a spirit’ can do this-” he reached out and took her hand, twirling her into his arms in one swift movement. He leaned in and dipped her low to the floor—Erela let out a small squeal just before he kissed her. She was so surprised that she didn’t even try to fight, but kissed him back on reflex. “-or this,” he let her fall softly into one of the poufs on the floor as the room around her suddenly faded.

The soft pillows and lush drapes had been inexplicably replaced with warm winds, and a wide open expanse. The horizon on either side of her was determined by flat, golden hills of soft sand. Overhead, a sun-filled sky was cooking what few clouds dared to venture forward, dissipating the mist in a searing instant, while Erela came to accept her new surroundings. She whirled about and felt at the soft, silken material that was suddenly wrapped up all around her. She was wearing some kind of blue robe complete with a fringe of jangling coins.

Jack had vanished somewhere into this desert where he had taken her. "Jack?!" she called, turning around again, her voice lost in the desert wind.

The sound of sitar music turned her attention toward a small oasis that had appeared about thirty feet away. A single desert palm tree was an umbrella for a small rocky pound. Underneath the tree was a figure, the sitar player. Erela hurried to meet him.

Jack was lounging under the tree, plucking at the sitar and tapping his foot along with the music. He too, had suddenly changed from his sombre black clothing to a flamboyant suit of gold and green silks. His funky, curly shoes were bejewelled, and beside them on the ground was a beautiful and elaborately decorated hookah, about three feet high, the coals were flecked with orange. The mouthpiece was balanced between Jack's lips. He was wearing a pair of black sunglasses, but aside from that detail, he looked like he belonged in this enchanted desert.

Erela knelt down in front of him, "Where are we?"

"Your room, still," Jack said while he paused in his song and took the hose away from his face, blowing out a little mist. He offered Erela the mouthpiece, "I'm a master of illusion, I told you," he grinned up at her, "Not into Arabian Nights? Whatever you want-"

Before Erela could close her lips on the mouthpiece the desert faded as rapidly as it had come—now there were in a deep, dark forest. Skeletal black trees reached up into the pitch-black sky of a mysterious midnight. Her silky desert robes had been replaced by a simple white dress; a nightgown.

The sound of hoof-beats was growing angrier. A caravan of horses and whooping riders was approaching her fast from within the darkness. Through the mist, the first of the riders broke free and hit the path right in front of her, gracefully leaping over gnarled tree roots. In the distance, a larger crowd was coming up fast, chasing the first rider.

The black horse slowed to a spot in front of her and Jackshade reached down to pull her into the saddle, his wide grin appearing underneath a wide-brimmed black hat, "Whatever you may be in the mood for."

What sounded and felt like an arrow just released from a bow grazed past their faces. Erela jumped and grabbed a hold of Jack's shoulders as he urged the horse to climb back up to a gallop. "We can have a lot of fun together Erela. I can create kingdoms for you..."

They had outrun their mysterious pursuers for the moment. The horse was fast approaching a stone bridge that stretched between a wide canyon to bring them towards a black castle in the distance. As they crossed the bridge, Erela glanced back to see the mob of horseman appearing through the trees.

At the edge of the bridge, the horse started to slow. At the steps of the castle he stopped. Jack dismounted and helped Erela down. Rationally, she knew they were in no danger, but she still felt anxious, inexplicably, as Jack allowed the mob to catch them. A dozen horses raced across the bridge and surrounded them in a circle lit with torches. Erela half-hid herself behind Jack's arm, clinging tight to his dark cloak.

"Then again," Jack had to yell over the noise of the mob, "Maybe I'm not the hero—I could be the villain," with that, he wrapped one arm across her chest from behind and brought a silver knife to her throat, threatening. Erela squealed and glanced up at his face from her awkward position, "If you're into that," he winked at her and like the desert before it, the castle and the forest were gone.

Now Erela was alone again, lying in a soft bed, looking straight up at an stunning stained-glass ceiling. She sat up, feeling at the cloth of an elegant gown as soft as the sheets she was lying on. She was in a lovely furnished bedroom, fit for a princess. Quickly, she hurried from the bed to the window and gazed out at the kingdom beyond the castle. She was just starting to wonder where Jack was hiding this time when a gloved hand appeared on the window ledge. Jack hoisted himself up over the side and landed with a jangle of bells; he was in a jester suit, big bold red and blue trimmed with silver and gold. His silly belled hat and shoes matched perfectly, and the make-up on his face was immaculate, he wore red lipstick beneath a little black mask.

"Ta-dah!" he whirled around to show her the outfit, "Armour is a bit overdone, don't you think? Harlequin suits me."

Erela was laughing softly into her palm, eyes still glued on Jack in his silly outfit.

He smirked and slid up to her, wrapping her against his side in one arm, "So, Erela my love. Shall we play?"

25 Years Later.

Cherry

Click.

I looked up—lost my concentration on the water and my board. Someone was standing very still on the shoreline. I started to lose my balance and quickly had to pull my focus back on surfing. The loud and merciless wave was shoving me harder towards the sand, I couldn't lose control without regretting it right now—this monster I was riding was gigantic, easily the biggest wave of the entire day. I forced myself to ignore the glimmer on the beach. The day was overcast but warm, in the subdued grey light of the afternoon, I felt a little more like myself than I had in a few weeks. Surfing was actually taking my mind off the drama of life. Then I saw him again, a tall figure standing on the shore with a black box in front of his face. My foot slipped against the side of my board, I fell forward hard, cursing in my head, before my face hit the board full-on and the wave carried both of us into the screaming depths of whitewash fury. With my leash tangled around both legs and my nose throbbing with pain I tried to calm myself and let the wave pass. It could only batter me for so long before it approached the shore and ran out of power.

I gasped for air and inhaled a mouthful of salt-water and blood from my nose. Standing up in three feet of water with my board upside-down and floating off to the side. The water was calm for a moment after the wave had knocked everything about. I knelt in the water and washed the blood from my face and out of my mouth, sliced my hair back and rose up in time to grab my board and keep in from being pulled along in the surf. I felt at my face, but I was fine. The bleeding had already stopped and the pain was going away.

Now I could see what this guy was about. In the grey evening, I could only make out a couple of figures on the beach, all of them spaced out away from each other. The sight that was tripping me up was coming from a man with a camera. He was still taking pictures of me, even as I tucked my board under one arm and walked out of the surf towards him.

"Hey!" I yelled, coming to a stop about ten feet from him.

He jumped and looked up, suddenly noticing that I wasn't in the water anymore, "Hi there," he smiled, a pretty white smile that looked all the more bright with his rich cinnamon coloured skin.

"What are you doing?" I hissed at him, "I'm trying to concentrate—it's a little hard when some perv is trying to get all my angles."

The smile disappeared and he abruptly looked embarrassed, "I'm sorry—I didn't even think... I guess, it is a little creepy, isn't it?"

"A little," I growled.

"I'm sorry, you're just... really good!" he laughed shortly, "That wave was perfect, and the water—the way it looked with the colour of your suit was really stunning, I had to try and catch it."

I looked down self-consciously. I was the only person on the beach who wouldn't be at all bothered by the chill of the grey evening and the cold water. I was wearing a green bikini, the other surfers had opted for wet-suits. Maybe I was asking for it. "Yeah, it was a really sweet wave," I continued, unwilling to back away from my point yet, "I know—it pummelled me after I got distracted and fell. Did you get a picture of that?!"

"Yes."

"Fabulous."

"I'm really sorry," but he was still chuckling to himself, "I'm Miguel," he shifted his camera into one hand and reached out for a shake.

I hesitated, but finally took his hand. He had a nice strong grip and I finally noticed the solid muscle that built off from that hand to cover the rest of him. He was a good looking guy, and I wasn't used to noticing those kinds of things. I realised in my mind that he must be especially nice looking if I was actually going to take notice of it. His features were all quite dramatic and his eyes were bright and stunning; he looked like he had wandered off the cover of a paper-back romance novel.

"Geez, you're so warm!" he said, referring to the skin of my hand.

I took my hand back immediately, blushing.

"I just mean that I figured you'd be all numb and cold from being in the water—you feel like you're one of those girls whose been lying in the sun all day... if there was a sun out today, I mean," he blushed too, nervous, "I-I'm sorry," he said again, "I didn't mean to creep you out or make you lose your concentration... I just saw an opportunity for a really nice shot and I had to take it. I'm a photographer."

"How do I know you're really a photographer and not just some idiot with a camera?" For that matter, what's the difference?

"Well, I could show you my portfolio. Can I buy you a drink?"

That was fast. I flinched, my gut reaction was to say, 'No, I'm seeing someone.' but my gut reaction was interrupted by an unexpected wave.

We were standing by the ocean—but we weren't that close. It was unusual for that much water to suddenly crash into both of us (but mostly Miguel). The spray rained down hard as we both stumbled and Miguel fell backwards onto the beach. As quickly as it had appeared, the wave retreated back into the ocean. It wasn't much of a change for me—I'd already been sopping wet, but now Miguel was sitting in the sand, dripping salt-water all over. He groaned as he stood up, his jeans wet and heavy against his legs and his white t-shirt suddenly see-through. He had managed to keep a hold of his nice black camera.

And I was laughing. "I'm sorry!" now it was my turn to apologise, even if he didn't entirely understand what for, "Is your camera okay?"

"Yeah—I brought a water-proof one just in case something like that happened," he assured me, smiling as I dissolved in giggles again.

"Alright, alright... I'll go with you, I owe you that much," I said, still trying to contain myself.

He didn't understand exactly what that meant, but he seemed happy enough that I'd agreed, "Great!"

"Let me just put my clothes back on."

"Wait—what's your name?" he stopped me by putting one wet hand on my surfboard as I turned.

"I'm Cherry," I turned my giggling into a smile. I left him to try and clean himself off, though it was useless, the poor man hadn't even thought to bring a towel. My purse, clothes and towel was sitting in a big pile underneath the pier. I walked under the shade to find my little camp. Out of the sight of the rest of the beach, I saw a tall black-haired figure in a long coat. "Jonah—I don't know what you expect..." I started to say, before I got close enough to realise that it was not Jonah who was waiting for me under the pier.

"Cherry, my love, you are so much fun to watch."

"Hi Jack—I thought you would be Jonah."

"No, he's off sulking."

Sulking didn't seem like a good word to use. Jonah sulking was decidedly more violent than normal sulking. Jack handed me my skirt, and t-shirt, eyes out on the water. "So did he send you to tell me something?"

Jack shook his head, "No, my little goddess. I actually came to say that I wanted to talk to you."

"Now? I've got a date."

"I want you to ditch your date."

"That's not very nice, I just agreed to go out with him, and Jonah practically drowned him because of me-"

"-Cherry, I'm being very serious."

"So am I—we'll talk later tonight, alright? Are you busy?"

"No—but Cherry,"

"Jack, I'll talk to you later," I said firmly.

The shadow god looked like he wanted to argue but instead he slipped into the blackness of the pier's shadow and vanished, I looked around to see that Miguel was approaching me. That was strange. I furrowed my brow at the spot where Jack had been standing.

Officially, gods we not supposed to be seen by mortals at all, but Jack wasn't known for adhering to the rules. Why had he disappeared so fast?

"I'm just parked across the street... I don't really know my way around San Clemente," he admitted, "maybe you can tell me where a good place is."

"No problem, will my board fit in your car?"

"I've got a truck."

"Perfect."

We started to walk up the beach, to my back, I could hear the waves of the ocean, in perfect timing to compliment my fluttering heart. The ocean's music was loud today... it sounded angry.

Song of the Chapter: Anberlin, The Feel Good Drag. A year and a half ago, I went surfing and got the idea for Valkyrie Tempest. I spent a few hours at the beach that morning and I had this song stuck in my head. I knew I wanted to throw it on the list at some point, but I didn't think it really worked until right here.

(A/N: This is a sequel to my story Valkyrie Tempest, about a modern-day collection of gods. Cherry in particular. However, I'm purposely trying to write it in such a way that it can all be understood without prior knowledge of the first book. Trying, keep in mind. Also, I'm going away for eighteen months starting January 7th and will be unable to update after that, for a year and half... so, keep that in mind if you want to read this. It's going to be a long time before it's complete.)