Saint Sin: Pride and Innocence

By Shade Sanctus

Can the fight between heaven and hell be dictated by a single person? Can his allies dictate the sway of influences? Artemis is a boy with unbelievable power, joined by companions with not-so-normal talents as well. Skimming the line between good and evil, will Artemis save the world or condemn it to eternal damnation?

Can Artemis fight his true nature? Or will he deliver Earth to one of his parents? With the intervention of his half brother, who wants to attain the realm his father so eagerly fights for, can Artemis stand up to all the forces stacked against him? Unorthodox heroes become his allies. With their loyalty in slight question, can Artemis sway the tide of this eternal war, or is there something bigger at play?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649520395

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Saint Sin

Pride and Innocence

Shade Sanctus

Copyright © 2020 Shade Sanctus

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2020

ISBN 978-1-64952-038-8 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64952-039-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Detective

The Holy Unholy Son

Wake-Up Call

Angels in Purgatory

Damnation in Purgatory

The Chase

Interrogations

Dæmeon’s Scheme

The Apple of Eden

Love Affairs

The Blue Fighter

The New Dark Lord

The Heinous Battle

The Fallen Detective

The Fruit from the Tree of Life

Dæmeon Redux

The Massacre

The Resurrection

Revelations

Sounds scream from a remote alleyway in a cosmopolitan city that resides in the heartland. It is the city of Omaha. Someone rustles through the darkness. Several figures in hoods follow this individual into the darkness. The woman sprints by a pile of rags. The hooded figures plow through the pile, knocking into something underneath it.

Someone help! the woman screams as she runs into a dead end. She turns her back to the wall, knowing she is going to be raped and then killed.

No one’s going to save you, girlie, the foremost hooded figure states, pulling out his switchblade. His two fellow companions bare lecherous grins on their faces. The hoodlums start chuckling to themselves.

Please, anyone! I need help! The woman falls against the wall.

I told you already, no one’s coming. The police are too busy dealing with higher-class criminals, and any noble pedestrian walking by can’t be bothered to step into a dark alley by themselves. You’re screwed bitch! The leader toys with his victim as he slices her shirt open.

Help!

Girlie, if you don’t stop screaming, I’m gonna slit your throat and fuck you as you choke on your own blood.

You’re such a gentleman. A voice catches the leader’s ear. Then he feels a hand placing itself on his shoulder. He turns around to see that the pile of rags they ran by has a form. Whoever this guy is, his face is hidden and both of his arms are wrapped in leather.

Who the fuck do you think you— the lackey to the leader’s right says before he gets grabbed and is flung to the side wall.

What I want to know is, who do you guys think you are? This guy is strong, inhumanly strong.

Boss? The other, conscious lackey trembles. Everyone can hear it.

Idiot! The boss pulls out a pistol. He tries pointing the barrel at this unknown man, but he is too close. The ragged man grabs the gun and pulls it out of the leader’s hands like it was covered in grease. He tosses the gun down the alleyway.

Take your buddy and get out of here. If I ever see you again, I will end you. The two thugs are sure the voice is coming from this man, but it seems to echo around them. The lackey looks at the boss, and the boss looks back. They bolt past the man, too scared to go back and pick up their fallen comrade.

After the ragged man makes sure they are gone, he pulls down the rags that were masking his face. The woman is in awe of the events that just happened. She could not understand what had transpired. She looks onto her benefactor’s face.

He is a young man, possibly not any older than twenty, but he is an oddity. He has black hair. His eyes are strange. Both of his eyes seem very clear, almost perfect. His eyes are the shade of hazel, but the oddity about them is that they have a diamond-shaped pupil, similar to a cat’s eye.

Th-thank you, the woman can barely utter those words as he turns around and starts walking away. He heads out onto the lit street. He is five feet from leaving the alleyway when his left arm lunges out and claws into the wall. He drags himself forward. Cement rubble falls off the wall in streaks. The man’s left hand does the damage. Sharp talons slice into the stone. They seem to be piercing through some sort of glove on his hand.

Please, not tonight. Please, God, he mumbles. The woman sees the streaks in the wall; something is wrong with this boy. He seems to be struggling with himself. He gives a sigh and pulls his hand off the wall. He turns around to face the woman. She jumps as she sees his eyes. They are not eyes anymore. They glow like something from the fires of hell. He inches his way back down the alley.

If the city had not fallen silent to the corruption of crime and sin, it might hear a helpless woman scream in a dark, lonesome alleyway throughout the night.

Chapter 1

The Detective

Days later, across the city a police assembly is established to discuss the rising crime rate, homicide rate, and other law violations. Most of the city’s police force is meeting at the Hall of Justice downtown. Gossip and chatter drown out anything that might sound productive. The sheriff of Douglas County steps up to the podium in this very stark, gray room with hundreds of fold-out chairs set up in rows.

Attention! Everyone, attention! The sheriff needs to get to business. The sooner this lecture is over, the sooner these men and women will be back out on the streets. Now you’re all here to help find a solution to the growing crime in our city. I’ve pulled in a special favor, and I would like you all to welcome our guest with the utmost respect. I’ll let him introduce himself. With that, the police chief walks away from the podium, giving space for a cloaked figure to come on.

The officers give a half-hearted applause to this strange man. He approaches the podium and lifts his head. Instantly the applause stops. The room is silent. This is an officer? He is a young man. He has a young face that can be mistaken for a high school student. His eyes are a clear shade of blue. He removes his brown hat and places it on the podium. He has class, at least enough to have a brown broad-brim hat that matches the rest of his brown outfit. His unkempt blond hair flips wildly as he brushes his hand through it. He looks like someone playing superheroes. He wears a brown cape, draped over his shoulders, and sunglasses. All his clothes, including the hat, seem a little small for him.

You all— he starts but is interrupted.

Is this a joke? Who the hell is this kid! a young cadet bellows from the middle of the room. Everyone turns to him. Some are nodding in agreement; others look puzzled that he would be offending the sheriff. This young cadet is Officer Lucas Brown, a fiery and quick judge of character. Sitting to his left is Officer Sarah Nelson. She is embarrassed to be sitting next to him that she opens her mouth to start lecturing him but is quickly stopped.

You don’t need to tell him off, Officer Nelson. I’ll do that myself. The kid up on the podium needs to keep these officers under control. Some of them are obviously big children. But what confuses a portion of them is that he knows Officer Nelson’s name.

Oh yeah, and how are you— Lucas starts.

Cadet! the sheriff interrupts but is also stopped abruptly by the young man.

Lou, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it. This person uses the sheriff’s first name. Either the two of them know each other very well, or this is someone who demands so much respect he does not have to go through formalities, especially in front of almost the entire force. This just raises more questions. The kid changes his stance to leaning onto the podium, almost casually. Now look here, Mr. Lucas Brown! The kid even knows his name, and what is worse, he deliberately calls this cadet by the term mister and not officer. This kid is good, whoever he is. You’re here to help discuss the crime rate, among many other problems in this city. You should be happy that you’re not still going around as a meter maid at this time. But if you wanna go back to your old way of life instead of helping to fix a broken city, I’ll talk to the sheriff about that decision. Or would you rather go back to living on Thirtieth Street trying to pickpocket anyone who walks by?

This kid struck a nerve. Few people have known that Officer Brown was a meter maid. But barely anyone knew about his adolescence transgressions. The sheriff would not give out personal information like that to anyone, if at all. The police start murmuring back and forth to one another.

Now, everyone. Quiet, please! We’re here to attack this problem before us. You all may have heard of me before, at least if you’ve been on this police force for more than a year. With that remark, several eyes turn toward Lucas. He will not say anything from then on. You may have heard of the Little Detective. Well, as you can see, I’m not so little anymore. If I talk to any of you, you can refer to me as LD. He is a detective; he has proven that much. This is the kid who was around when the sheriff was a deputy. This is the kid who, at twelve years old, connected and solved the cases of several homicides in the metro area, with nothing more than a partner from the police force and the jurisdiction of an officer. This kid arrested notorious criminals with the use of very simplistic tools. He is considered to be Sherlock Holmes reincarnate. Ten years ago whenever the words the Little Detective was mentioned, there was some admiration for him, even though the genius kid behind the title was despised for being so clever and talented.

Now, listen. We have a serious problem on our hands. The city is becoming more and more aggressive, but I shouldn’t have to tell you this. Now, for the solution, I myself will be in charge of this investigation, if anything—and I mean anything—happens in this city, I want a case report on my desk pronto, got that? I will be going out onto the streets to see if anything can be done. I will return early in the day during which, if I’m not reading a case report, I will be catching up on sleep so I can go out the next night. Any questions?

An officer in front raises his hand. LD looks quizzically at the officer. Something is amiss.

What is it, Officer…? He cannot seem to place the officer face with a name. He has reviewed everything about all the men that would be attending this meeting.

Yes, I have a question. What will happen if you, the officer begins as he reaches to his side, die! He pulls out his pistol and aims at LD.

Bang!

There is a loud gunshot, too loud of a gunshot to have been emitted by the pistol. Blood covers the would-be killer’s hand. The hand is no longer holding the gun. The gun goes flying to the wall. Every other officer reacts, pull their pistols out, and train them onto this policeman. LD stands at the podium with his arm outstretched, and at the end of it is a silver magnum revolver. The barrel still smokes.

Anyone hurt? LD calls out. He scans the group. No officers respond to his question. No? Good. He holsters his gun back inside his cape.

Since when did you start using guns, LD? the police chief asks.

Events leading up to now have made me realize that nonviolent measures don’t always work, and it lets me get out of situations with fewer broken bones and injuries. Can I speak to you out in the hall? LD leaves the podium and walks out the door.

Of course. O’Reiley! Smith! Take this criminal to a cell. With that the chief walks out into the hall to talk to LD. What is it?

I told you having me talk to a group would be a bad idea. LD seems to break from his strict demeanor a little into something that could be called childish.

Yeah, but you seemed to handle it okay. You even outdrew that killer, whoever he is, the chief proudly states.

Yeah, but I always get so nervous around big crowds. Huh? Are there any gangs still in town that have a grudge against me?

Quite a few, actually.

Well, check that fraud of an officer and see if he has any ties to them. But I’ll be heading downtown to get this investigation started. LD starts to head toward the door as the two officers bring the captive along.

LD, wait, the chief needs to make sure he is okay. LD stops and lets the officers pass with their prisoner.

What is it?

I know you don’t like having partners, but—

Officer Nelson.

Sarah Nelson? The chief forgets about how quickly LD’s mind works.

That’s the one. Tell her I’ll meet her in my office tomorrow morning, LD says as he returns to his walk toward the exit. I do get an office, right? LD turns back.

Sure. I’ll tell her.

Good. I need to change out of these clothes. They’re a little old.

Would you like a police cruiser? You’ve earned at least that if not the whole garage and the weapon’s locker.

No, I don’t think so. I want to keep a low profile, but keep those options open. I might need them later.

Chapter 2

The Holy Unholy Son

In the early hours of morning, the city is dead. An old nineteenth-century church stands erect amid the downtown buildings. Inside the church, the evening candles are nearing the end of their lives. A nun walks down the aisle, blowing out the flickering flames. The church entrance doors swivel open.

Hello? The nun approaches the open door. Who is it? A young man in a tattered trench coat collapses onto the floor. The nun recognizes the shiny black hair, and she rushes over to the huddled mass on the floor. Artemis! Come on, boy. She pulls him up to his knees. What happened to you? We haven’t seen you for days.

Forgive me, I have sinned. The young man has a very smooth face. Across his right eye is a thin pink scar that starts at his hairline and etches down to his cheekbone.

I’ll be back up in a moment with some food. The nun walks down the stairs flowing from the church tower. A man in a pastor’s coat with a grown-out crew cut stands at the base of the stairs. Good morning, Father Revollo.

Is he back, Sister Annette? The pastor turns to walk with the nun into the kitchen.

Yes. He collapsed in the entrance. I told him to wash and pray. They enter the tiled kitchen. Sister Annette opens the fridge and pulls a pot from it. She places it on the stove, while Father Revollo peers out the window onto the orange lit street. Sister Annette lights the stove and uncovers the pot. She pulls out a ladle and stirs the brown fluid. Chunks of meat and vegetables float up and down with each stir.

I’m starting to wonder if I judged poorly. The pastor remains in his stance.

Nonsense. He was going to find out sometime, and he’s been more determined in asking lately. She turns to the pastor. If you had waited any longer, it would have been ridiculous.

Maybe.

He wanted to know about his mother ever since he could talk. Prolonging him from that knowledge would have been cruel. The aroma of stew wafts through the kitchen, up the tower steps, and to a door with a plaque. It reads: ARTEMIS.

Inside the room, Artemis can smell the leftovers cooking. He raises his head from the washbasin. The water left in the basin is murky pink in color. Grabbing a towel, he pats his face dry. He glances at his reflection in his mirror.

His long, black hair frames his face down to his shoulders. He looks into his eyes. Both his eyes shine hazel around his slit-like pupils. The scar he has had since birth crosses his right eye. His right eye’s pupil connects both segmented parts of the scar perfectly. He brushes his hair forward to cover up the pointed tips of his ears.

He drops his trench coat into a bundle around his feet, revealing a bare chest and something no human should have. Two enormous wings fill the cramped room. The wing arching out of his right shoulder blade is pearly-white with downy feathers. It curves up behind his shoulder to the ceiling, then flows down to the ground. His angelic wing plumes at the top and expand out at the tips of the wing. The left shoulder blade appears to have a charred bone stabbed into it. The bone continues up and in an under arc to the height of the room, then it curves like the other to the floor. The left wing looks beaten, burned, and corrupted compared to the other. Tattered remains of flesh dangle loosely from its frame. It resembles something like a diseased bat’s wing.

Artemis folds his wings onto his back. They keep their height, which under the trench coat; they did not appear to have the ability to extend past Artemis’s neck. Artemis cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders.

Ugh, feels good to finally stretch these out. He proceeds by looking down at his arms. His left fingertips poke through ripped holes in his restraints, along with the charred red skin peering through other ripped holes up his arm. He unwinds, unlatches, and unties the dyed black leather straps covering this scaly arm. The straps connect into the glove, which Artemis yanks off. He drops it onto the ground next to the trench coat. The material resembles an octopus that was flattened, painted black, and had its body replaced by a hand.

He starts on the other arm. The heinous hand works in the exact same fashion to free its counterpart. Moments later, another pile of leather lies next to the mounting discarded clothes. His right arm gives off a breeze of energy. It casts a dim light, which brightens the room like a firefly would. Its skin is flawless and pale, like a newborn.

His bare chest has healed gashes across his right pectoral. Similar scars creep up on his left side, which appear to start from below his waistline.

He bends over and grabs the pile of clothing. He throws all of it into a basket by the door. He moves over to the dresser placed next to a stark-white bed shoved into the corner of the room. He reaches into the top drawer and pulls out two clean gloves, which look exactly the same as the ones he just removed, but without any tears or holes in them. He puts the gloves on, wraps, buckles, and ties each arm up. Once he finishes, he sits on his bed staring at his hands.

After a few moments, there is a knock on Artemis’s door.

Come in, Artemis answers weakly.

I’ve brought some stew for you, dear. Sister Annette opens the door, carrying a tray. She pulls over a stool and sets the food down. There is a bowl with stew, a few rolls, and a glass of milk.

Thank you. Artemis looks at his meal. Sister Annette nods and heads for the door. She picks up the basket of discarded clothing. She turns back to Artemis.

When you’re finished, Father Revollo wants to speak with you. She turns to the door and exits, closing the door behind her.

Yes, ma’am. Artemis reaches for the spoon nestled in the chunky broth.

Father Revollo kneels in front of the altar, his hands clasp in prayer. He looks like one of the church statues people see outside. The door farthest from the entrance but closest to the altar opens. Artemis enters, carrying his emptied dinner tray. He has thrown a gray jacket over his wings, the tips of which poke into extended sleeves made for them by Sister Annette. It is unzipped, revealing the tips of the scars on his chest and exposing his flat stomach. He sets the tray down on the nearest pew and approaches Father Revollo.

Have a seat, my son. Artemis follows the suggestion. He takes a seat behind Father Revollo. After a moment, Father Revollo stops praying, turns, and sits on the steps leading up to the altar. Artemis stares at the Father’s shoes.

Father, I…I… Artemis stutters.

Did you get enough to eat?

Artemis looks up into Father Revollo’s age worn face. Father Revollo’s eyes express worry and concern, but his smile tries to hide them by showing understanding.

Um. Yes, sir, Artemis answers.

Good. Now before we talk about what may have happened in the past few days, I want to discuss what I told you about your birth. Father Revollo’s smile fades. Artemis keeps silent. The two of us haven’t talked since then, and I feel that I was the only one doing the talking. Artemis remembers what happened weeks ago. Every idle second of it replays in his thoughts.

He knew he was different. The people in church did not have arms like his, nor did they have wings. As far as he could tell, he was the only one of his kind.

Artemis, Father Revollo wants to tell you about your birth. Sister Annette directed him to a seat. Father Revollo came up the aisle after shutting the church doors. Sister Annette sat next to Artemis.

Okay, Artemis. Father Revollo had taken a seat on the steps. You know your mother died during your birth. Artemis nodded. And we’ve avoided the subject of your father. Artemis stared intently. Finally the information he asked for would be revealed to him. To be honest, you don’t have a father. Artemis did not respond.

Artemis? Sister Annette touched his arm.

Your mother, before giving birth to you, said she had never lain with anyone. Artemis’s brow contorted.

So…so, she was a virgin? Artemis asked as confusion crawled across his face.

Yes, a ‘Virgin Mary.’ This might explain part of your gifts. Father Revollo looked for understanding from Artemis, but Artemis only looked down at his wrapped hands. As for your other features, I believe it had something to do with your mother’s condition.

Condition? squeaked Artemis.

Your mother was possessed. Father Revollo shifted as Artemis’s jaw dropped. If it wasn’t for that, your mother could still have been alive.

So what am I?

I can’t say I know everything, but my guess is… Father Revollo leaned forward. It’s that you’re a part angel and part demon. It’s also possible that you were meant to be the second coming of Christ. Father Revollo rose and looked to the cross on the wall. You will hopefully be given the answers in time. I’m sorry I can’t give you more than an old preacher’s speculations. Father Revollo turned toward the door in back. If you need to talk, I’ll be here, he told Artemis and left through the door.

Artemis? Sister Annette readied to console him, but Artemis quickly stood.

I…I’m going to my room! Artemis rushed toward the door leading to the stairs.

I know it must be a— Father Revollo decides to start the conversation.

I’m so frustrated! Artemis jumps in. Part of me wants to go on a rampage, while the other doesn’t know what to do. Artemis’s eyes start sparkling with tears of frustration.

When did this start?

I suppose the night you told me.

And is that why you left?

I didn’t mean to leave. Especially not for a week. I just wanted to get out. And think. Artemis sits back onto the pew.

It may be because now you know. Also, it may be because your two halves are in turmoil. Father Revollo smiles at Artemis.

It makes me feel like a freak. Artemis lowers his head into his hands.

Nonsense. If anything, it makes you more human. Father Revollo stands up and steps toward Artemis. He takes a seat next to Artemis. People are always struggling with their inner sin. They must choose between right and wrong. Father Revollo places his hand on Artemis’s lowered head. I was actually worried when you were young. We had to keep you mostly secluded from the public, even when your friend Molly questioned me about you. I knew she liked you, but when she saw your wings, I didn’t know what to do. Thankfully Sister Annette made her promise that she wouldn’t tell anyone. I think that secret makes her cherish you. Speaking of Molly, she came by earlier to drop off a present. I’ll bring it up to your room later.

Oh? Artemis perks up.

But I also worried about the angelic and demonic nature of your body, and how it would affect your mind.

What are you saying? Artemis looks over to Father Revollo.

As a child you were very proper. You stayed to yourself and followed whatever the sisters or I asked of you. But you had tendencies to get into trouble. Like when you ran up to the bell tower and made a racket the whole city could hear. I can’t remember how many noise complaints I got from our neighbors.

So you think I was affected by my demonic side?

Haven’t you been listening? That was the first time I could relax, at least after I got through the complaints. Every child is curious and will find a way to be mischievous. It’s how one learns. But now you seem to be struggling with morals on a bigger level. So, how about we move on to what has happened to you in these past few days?

Both Artemis and Father Revollo talk late into the already late night.

A cold breeze blows over the city that night. It is an odd sensation for being so far into spring. LD decides that wearing his usual apparel might alert people to his investigation, so he wears a leather jacket, a thick pure white shirt, a black fedora, and a pair of denim jeans.

This used to be his city. People used to walk outside around the blocks until the early hours of morning. Downtown, the old market is deserted. What is happening? Crime is happening. But they are not just simple crimes. Simple crimes do not drive civilians to hide inside when the sun goes down. It has to be big. He has to find something: a smuggling ring, a gang, a simple robbery, anything that can give him a start. Something has to be behind this; it is too consistently chaotic.

As LD’s mind wanders to crime bosses in the area, he passes a darkened alleyway. He might not have noticed that it was there if it had not been for the smell that teased his nose.

God, that’s pungent! He turns on his flashlight and shines it down the alley. He has not smelled an odor like that in quite a while. He has almost forgotten what made it. He covers half of his face below his shirt and zips his jacket up to the same spot. He sways the light back and forth looking for anything among the litter. The memory finally strikes him. Carrion. There is a body down this alley.

He passes a dumpster, and he knocks his foot across something. It slides a few feet up to a pile of blood-covered garbage. His head pops up and out of his clothing.

Oh, Jesus.