Aera-Kerr: Dusk of Desolation: Aera-Kerr, #2

By Kyle Ennis

In the months after the devastating day that the Xerian Daemons mounted their assault on the world, Tyrell Wolf must take it upon himself to locate and gather all the shards of the mighty Prominence Crystal before any of them end up in the hands of the evil demigod warlord, Xeraor.

Along the way, Tyrell makes new allies in rather unlikely ways, faces challenges handed to him by the crippled United States, and learns the secrets of the mystical island of Atlantis after it has curiously resurfaced. To complicate matters, he must fend off a jealous Daemon Hunter who wishes to have the honor and glory of winning the war himself . . . even if it means eliminating Tyrell to achieve such a heroic title.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucembra Print Distributions
• Release date: Oct 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737413639

Book preview

Aera-Kerr

Dusk of Desolation

BY

KYLE ENNIS

© 2022 Lucembra Print Distributions. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-7374136-3-9

Published in the United States.

Lucembra and its associated logo are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Lucembra Print Distributions.

This is a work of fiction. While some places are based on real locations and/or landmarks, other names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, establishments, concepts, religions, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper or website.

Too many people spend money they haven’t earned, to buy things they don’t want, to impress people that they don’t like.

― Will Rogers

Aera-Kerr

Dusk of Desolation

Chapter 1

Seeking Refuge

Marek went about his daily routine of hunting in order to sustain himself in the wasteland where his cabin resided. Months passed since he last had contact with another human being, let alone any animals he had not killed. It had been since the Second Calamity that his isolation began, to be precise. He ready to give up hope, when one day he came across an Oracle Orb, which he recovered from the satchel on the remains of a Xerian Mage. After deciphering its properties and how to use it, he consulted it for any problem he had.

After a long day of hunting, Marek returned home, hauling a deer he shot and wounded with his mystical bow, and decapitated with his sword. Upon his return, he collapsed on the faded sofa for half an hour before skinning the beast and carving out the flesh and meat, which would be his dinner.

Of all fates to befall me, Marek said to himself, I had to be separated from my group. And for all I know, Cora could be dead! These Xerian monsters will pay for making me resort to primitive living, and taking away everything important to me!

Had the world not fallen to interdimensional invasion, Marek could be living overseas in a mansion in Birmingham, with a large sum of money he inherited from his grandparents. When the Second Calamity occurred, however, he had been knocked unconscious only to awaken and find his neighborhood burned to the ground. His beloved fiancée had also vanished on the same day, leaving him devastated. Now, the lone Daemon Hunter lived in a shabby, cramped cabin, desperately lacking food, clean water, firewood, and other supplies.

Armed only with an enchanted bow, a broadsword, a couple of knives, a bolt-action hunting rifle with only a few bullets, and some spellbooks and tomes he had taken from Daemon remains, Marek was forced to hunt wild game in order to procure consumables, relying on his skills and wit to survive.

After preparing and eating his venison, Marek angrily collapsed on his worn mattress. "Why does it have to be like this? As the greatest Daemon Hunter in the world, I deserve more!"

The Oracle Orb on his half-broken bookcase glowed brightly and spoke: "To persist and be grateful are traits you lack; you dwell too much, and keep looking back."

My life could have been better! Marek shouted at the crystal sphere. It was these unwelcome ‘guests’ that had to ruin my chances of having a promising lifestyle! I did not join the Church at a young age in vain! After learning of these Daemons, I worked and studied hard and long to accomplish great feats and become known to all of the Church, yet I now live in obscurity!

"The greatest one is what you seek to be, yet it is Tyrell Wolf the Gods all see," the Orb said in its heavenly voice.

Marek raised a brow. Tyrell Wolf? Who is that?

The Oracle Orb conjured a holographic image of the individual in question within its glowing mist. "He is High Prince Azrael’s newest form, his current incarnation who shall restore the norm."

Marek’s eyes widened. "Zane Azrael has come back into this world? And it’s him? He is the rebirth of the Last Prince? That cannot be! Why have I never heard of him?"

"Limited knowledge did he hold, yet as he learned more, he became more bold, the Orb stated. The greatest hero known is him, indeed. He will defeat the Dark Lord, whose power shall recede."

Hmmm . . . Marek folded his arms, ". . . well, I guess being a common warrior isn’t so bad. I could be in a worse spot; I still have my knowledge of mythology and Mana, without which I would possibly be dead, but . . . He narrowed his eyes, gazing through the cracked window. . . . perhaps I could meet up with this Tyrell Wolf, if I am able to locate him?"

The Orb responded calmly as ever. "To ally with him, will no doubt, prevent your demise from coming about. Join his group, and with him you’ll be, the most powerful team the world shall see!"

Marek looked back at the Oracle Orb. Do you know where he is?

"Indeed," the Orb replied.

Marek smiled gratefully for a moment, and began to pack everything he would need on his trip. While he anxiously anticipated crossing paths with Tyrell Wolf, he also yearned heavily for some human interaction once more.

****

The convoy rode in several vehicles on a road in the middle of a large prairie, just after dusk. They approached what looked like a massive city that had a towering steel fence, with anti-climb plates on top, set up around it.

Finally! Garth said. I thought we would never find another city!

Yeah, Tyrell responded, I just hope they aren’t in as bad of a spot as we are . . .

Uh, let’s see, Naomi said, checking her smartphone’s navigation app, according to GPS, it’s Nashville.

As the refugees approached a gate in the wall, the lead truck was stopped by two guards in military armor armed with assault rifles.

Sorry, one of the guards said, no outsiders may enter. Only residents.

Tyrell sighed. Listen, we’re running low on supplies. We need to go in.

Look, I don’t make the rules, but we don’t allow non-residents in Nashville anymore, the guard said.

A few convoy members stepped out of their vehicles, making their way toward the gate on foot to see what the holdup was.

But we need food, Tyrell’s mother said to the guard.

And water, his father added.

Power for our cars and trucks, too, one of the other adult refugees said.

. . . Ammunition, as well, another refugee chimed in.

Look, everyone, the guard said, we’re under strict security measures right now. There are a couple of refugee camps not too far from here—

Please, sir, my sister is really sick, Tyrell said, thinking worriedly about his younger sister, Claire, who had come down with pneumonia a couple of days ago. Others are sick too. And some are injured. An older gentleman we rescued, Mr. Clark, had a few of his ribs broken when we were fighting off Dae . . . uh, thieves.

He assumed the guards would not take him seriously about the Daemons.

And he was struck in the side with a mace—er . . . crowbar. He still hasn’t recovered, Tyrell said.

The guard stared at the ground as he scowled impatiently.

Mrs. MacLeod is pregnant, Tyrell continued, and I don’t think walking long distances and sitting on the hard surface of a pickup truck’s trunk is doing her much good, either.

Both guards shook their heads. Sorry. We wish we could let you in, but it is against emergency regula—

CLACK-CLACK.

Tyrell jumped at the noise, and emerged from his brief shock to see the two guards lying on the ground. He turned to see two of the refugees holding suppressed rifles, smoking from the muzzles.

"What the hell are you doing?" He shouted at them.

They lowered their weapons.

Sorry, one said, but we gotta get in. We ain’t gonna last much longer if we keep traveling with what we got.

Tyrell looked back at the corpses of the guards as they leaked dark red blood into the soil. His abdomen felt as though it had just been forcibly hollowed.

So, you think it was necessary to kill them? He asked.

Don’t worry about it, son, his father said. I don’t see any cameras or other guards. We should get rid of the bodies, though.

While a few men wrapped up the bodies of the guards and took them far from the gate to bury them, others stayed to clear the bloodstained earth. Before the bodies were carried off, though, the convoy stole their keycards to open up the large blast door in the wall, which led to a short tunnel.

Wait here, Tyrell said to the survivors, I’ll scout ahead first.

He took the Dragon Vein whip from his belt clasp, peering around the corner before walking into the cubical tunnel. Holding the whip over his shoulder, he scanned the area for anything that would appear out of nowhere. As far as he could tell, though, no one was around. On the other side of the wall was a lone avenue that lead through a small suburban region.

Clear! Tyrell called back to the convoy. Get all civilian vehicles in. Leave the business and military ones in a hidden area on the outside of the wall. We’ll attract less attention that way.

After getting the desired vehicles and trailers through the wall, they started the drive through the outskirts of Nashville.

Surprisingly, the city appeared to be intact, almost as though the Second Calamity had not occurred. Tyrell’s hometown back in Colorado, Belmont, had been almost completely destroyed during the demonic invasion. He always had an overwhelming pang of homesickness whenever the horrendous memory crept up. But in Nashville, no buildings were collapsed, the roads were in good condition, and as they drove through the suburban regions, there were streetlights glowing, lights in the houses, some people walking, and even a few cars driving around.

Tyrell was not sure how people still had access to electricity. Perhaps labor groups would be dispatched to set up solar and wind generators? But even if they were armed, the Xerians could still prove to be a real match for them. And he knew Nashville was powered by nuclear plant several miles from the city itself, but was unsure if it was still operational. Regardless, how they got the power for the city grid and automobiles did not matter to the convoy.

All they needed was to resupply, recover from traveling, and treat the sick and injured refugees. Hopefully, this would not be an issue, since it looked like Nashville was still economically functional. A white-hat hacker they rescued, Klaus Jameson, was able to locate and obtain millions of dollars from multiple bank accounts with a makeshift computer cluster he assembled and linked to the internet (surprisingly, many servers in the Worldwide Web were still operational).

They would be able to use the money through credit and debit cards, as well as wire-transfers, to electronically pay for everything they needed, provided that such currency was still used in the city. Why Klaus decided it was a good idea to keep the money, no one was originally sure, but Tyrell now believed they owed him for having done so.

After driving through a large region of windmill and solar parks that looked as though they had been constructed recently, they entered downtown Nashville, which was bright with colored neon lights and people and music. After being absent from any thriving civilization for months, tears filled Tyrell’s eyes as they entered this dazzling environment.

There were, however, many things different than what was expected. Several market stalls were erected outside the shops despite them being open and operating as normal. Tyrell assumed that many people were trying to make as much as they could in order to live under such confined conditions and keep up with the rising prices. He noticed this when they passed an electric vehicle charging station that offered vehicle recharging for seven dollars per kilowatt-hour. That was ridiculous! He could understand electricity being hard to generate in these dangerous times, but was it really necessary for the businesses to skyrocket the prices?

Large LCD screens had been set up on the sides of some of the hi-rise buildings, and volumetric displays hovered above the skyscrapers themselves, all relaying live-streaming broadcasts saying that the war between these strange, bizarre creatures was under control, and that there was no need to panic.

What were they talking about? This war was not at all under control. With each passing day, it got worse. With how powerful the Xerian Daemons were, they would eventually make it beyond the wall surrounding the city, Tyrell thought. There were a few strange flying creatures that Tyrell and the convoy encountered, and the gravity-bound Daemons could pose a threat even within the safety of these walls, as well as all the other creatures corrupted by evil power that have entered their dimension.

But for now, Tyrell just wanted to cast aside his concerns and get some real rest. He had not gotten sufficient sleep for nearly three months. Sleeping from eleven o’clock at night to six o’clock in the morning was not exactly the best routine to follow, but he was used to it. They needed to stay up late to set up a single-night camp after a long day of traveling, and get up early to save time for when they moved out again. Also, each of them would rotate through a cycle by taking turns to keep watch in case any monsters approached and posed a threat. At least they would not have to go about that routine for a little while, Tyrell hoped.

All they need to do is find a place to stay. Since the Wolfs’ dog, Rosaline, had come along with them as well, the place would have to accept pets.

They decided to park the vehicles in a multi-level parking garage across the street from a fairly large hotel building that was supposedly pet-friendly. Hiding their weapons and crystals in their bags, they hauled the luggage across the street, slow from exhaustion. All of them were well aware that bringing weapons into a hotel without permission could spell trouble, but they did not have the time or patience to get said permission. Lives were in their hands.

The woman at the front desk looked at the group, frowning and rigid as they entered.

Well . . . the receptionist said, staring, . . . you all look like you’ve been through a lot.

You’ve got no idea, Tyrell’s father said.

The receptionist asked no more questions about their situation. It was true they were all quite filthy from the long journey. Even after bathing and washing their clothes as best as they could with boiled river and lake water treated with trace amounts of bleach, it never seemed sufficient for a thorough cleansing.

I’ll do a head-count and check us all in, then, Klaus said.

He walked up to the desk to get everyone a room as quickly as possible, and would also give credit and debit cards when he was able, each with a share of the money he obtained. While Klaus got everyone accounted for, many of the refugees sat on the benches, chairs, and floor of the lobby to wait. There were easily twenty or more in the group, so this would take a while.

Tyrell lowered himself to the floor with his back to the wall. His legs ached from alternating between walking and sitting in a truck repeatedly. His scarlet hair and face were covered in a thin but noticeable layer of dirt, his jacket stained with some kind of slime (monster blood, he assumed), and his jeans had several small tears. He laid against the wall, taking deep, grateful breaths, trying to let the tension out of his body. He was so tired, his eyelids felt like they were attached to lead weights.

After Klaus assigned group members to their rooms, Tyrell strained himself to stand and walked with his family to the elevator. The Wolfs had been given room 215, and fortunately, everyone else would be on the same level, not too far from each other.

The room was fairly large; it had a living room with a futon sofa, a master bedroom with two queen-sized beds, and a kitchen. The place was really fancy. Tyrell again felt indebted to Klaus for providing them an elegant suite. Tyrell agreed to let Claire have one of the beds while he took the futon in the living room. He folded down the sofa into the bed position, put his suitcase next to it on the floor, pulled off his jacket and top, leaving his sleeveless white undershirt, and took off his boots and socks. Immediately, he collapsed onto the futon, pulling a blanket over himself. His jeans and belt were left on, but he was too lazy to worry about them at the moment.

Tyrell would worry about brushing his teeth, taking a shower, treating his wounds, and getting himself in better condition tomorrow morning, because right about now, he was far too sleepy to care about anything else. Squinting, he could see his parents in the other room laying Claire down on one of the beds, who was unconscious and pale.

We’ll get her to the hospital tomorrow once Klaus gives us a credit card, Tyrell’s father said. Until then, just give her water whenever she needs. Good night, everyone.

Night, dad . . . Tyrell said, absently.

As he laid after the lights went out, Tyrell almost cried from the delightful feeling of sleeping in a real bed again, rather than a sleeping bag on a hard gravel surface underneath a tent, or in a cramped vehicle. He missed the way it felt. Before five minutes passed since he laid down, he was out like a light.

This had been a journey he would surely not soon forget.

Chapter 2

Daemon Hunter?

The following morning, Tyrell awoke to aching, dull pain cascading through his being. He did, however, feel more mentally rejuvenated than he had been for the past three months, or even during school. Come to think of it, he would have started his Senior year in high school a few weeks ago, had the Second Calamity not occurred.

Tyrell lost many nights of sleep due to the thought of what happened to his love interest, Kira Birkin, during the initial Daemon attack in Belmont. He could only imagine the fate that has befallen her. The thing that made him fear the worst was finding her crystal-spear he created for her, abandoned and bloodstained. He was unsure if it was her blood or another’s, but she was nowhere to be found. To this day, without the faintest sign of her, he clung desperately to the hope she survived, yet it was bitterly tinged with the thought of her demise. This constant internal battle of hope and fear always left him with a pounding headache and a sinking heart.

In any case, Tyrell slowly stood, his sore muscles weighing him down. Peering into the master bedroom, he saw that his mother and father left before he woke up. Claire was gone from her bed as well. Tyrell assumed she was taken to the hospital to have her pneumonia treated. For the past few days, she was in bad shape; she was pale, spoke hoarsely, and was too weak to assist the convoy. Despite her insistence to provide support, everyone practically forced her to remain laying down.

Tyrell went straight to the washroom where he could finally take the long, hot shower he looked forward to. He remained under the warm, sprinkling jets for no less than half an hour, cleaning every last area of skin and hair on his head, diminishing half the soap bar in the process. His cuts and scabs stung as he cleaned them, but he managed to bear the pain to ensure they would not be infected. He also shaved off the minute hairs growing on his face and chin that he was never able to properly get rid of for months. Brushing his teeth was also a must, as they were a sickening hue of yellow by now. It took three brushing sessions to get them looking normal again.

After drying and putting a clean set of clothes on, Tyrell combed his hair . . . which led to something catching his eye. He pried apart two areas of hair to see that it was darkening to a burgundy color at the roots, which gradually and smoothly lightened to the natural, bright crimson color. His hair was not cut for several months, so it became somewhat shaggy but still held its original shade of red on the ends. The darker color might have been caused by a Mana effect, but still it puzzled him. Benign as it was, he set aside this issue, as it did not bother him much.

There was a small envelope on the kitchen counter with a small note next to it that Tyrell saw upon preparing to leave the suite. He walked over and picked up the note to read it:

Tyrell,

We took Claire over to the hospital to see if they can help her get better. Your father and I are out right now, but Klaus dropped off some prepaid cards in this envelope before we woke up. You can take the debit card inside and go out if you want. Just come back before 9 this evening. Love you.

-Mom.

Tyrell set down the note and took the card out of the envelope. He figured he could probably do some shopping, since many of his clothes were getting worn out. Perhaps he could get information from people around the city about what they know about the Daemons. Or . . . perhaps he should stop worrying so much and just take a break. He thought about some things he could do, like go to a coffee shop, get a book from the bookstore, take some of his friends to see a movie, maybe to a buffet restaurant, or an arcade, take a walk through a park . . . well, anything to help him feel more at ease. But, being precautious, he tucked a dagger from his bag into his boot before leaving.

As Tyrell took an elevator to the ground-level, a girl with long, straight hair, a color somewhere between blonde and brunette, entered as well. For the brief descent, he noticed her constantly eyeing him, her mouth flat and thin. He could not tell if it was supposed to be a smile.

They both got off on the ground floor. She waved and Tyrell hesitantly did so back, and they parted without a single word. Thoughts ran through his head why she was looking at him like that, but could not come up with a good answer. Was she suspicious because she had not seen him around? Or had they met before and he could not recall? He did not know, but figured that it was too trivial to care about all day.

Tyrell left the plaza and walked through the streets. Many of the stalls covered several areas of the wide sidewalks with the merchants calling out to people passing by.

Jewelry for sale! The finest gold and diamonds in Nashville!

Fruit and vegetables, all organic and ripe from the orchards and crops!

Ammo for pistols, rifles, and shotguns! You’re gonna need it to stay alive in this hellhole!

Many of these stall merchants seemed shady, so Tyrell did not stop to talk to anyone. Occasionally though, someone standing against a building spoke to him directly, asking things like Hey, wanna help me take over the city? or "Interested in some . . . gear?"

Again, this made Tyrell uncomfortable, so he walked away without answering. Things drastically changed since the Second Calamity. In Belmont, there were never market stalls set up, except for things like the Farmers’ Market or gun shows. And random people would never ask for any business on the street . . . unless they were black market dealers, con artists, or some organized crime group. When many of these sleazy people stared at Tyrell as he walked by (sometimes lowering a cigarette or silencing a boombox), he got the urge to pull out his dagger, but his conscience reminded him it was not worth the risk.

After getting through the gloomy district, Tyrell arrived at a large mall, which after months of travel through dusty plains, thick mud, and monochrome forests, looked vibrant and clean. It was alive with people and music and lights. Of course, he did not have the time for sightseeing, so he proceeded to the necessary stores to pick up what he needed.

Repeatedly using his debit card (and punching in the PIN number written on the back), Tyrell purchased several new sets of clothing, new boots, dehydrated food, a prepaid smartphone, a laptop computer, a wireless internet router, and some LED flashlights with optional red filters. Being stingy with money as he was by habit, he only bought essential equipment before messing around with the money Klaus looted, despite it being in the millions range.

It was about halfway through his shopping that Tyrell noticed someone was following him. It was a young man with a mullet of platinum-blonde hair, fair skin, and broad shoulders. After catching a few glimpses of him, he then decided to confront his stalker.

Alright, game over! Tyrell said as the young man quickly pretended to be looking at a sign on the wall. Why are you following me around?

The person turned to look back at him, before speaking in what sounded like a trans-Atlantic British accent. You are Tyrell Wolf, are you not?

". .