Apocalypse Soldier Read Online Free PDF Page A

like that, but he wasn’t laughing any longer. Devils were real. Casca called it the darkness, an evil force coursing through the universe in direct opposition with the light.  
    Legend and culture determined how this darkness manifested itself. Zagan had called up a cybernetic monster back in San Francisco, but a devout Catholic might conjure Lucifer or one of his minions. Each culture tried to grasp the darkness as best they could, but this was a mystery not one single religion or mythology could fully define. This trippy New Age conceit almost made sense if one could accept the possibility that evil forces do exist.
    Talon pushed the door open. Rank air greeted him as he entered the building. A narrow corridor extended into the darkness and he switched on his cellphone’s flashlight. Light lanced the dusty blackness. Talon navigated the corridor, which led him straight into the sanctuary. The wasteland of shredded pews and broken saints offered a grim testimony of the atrocities committed here. Dark stains scarred the floor. The blood of innocents had flowed freely.  
    Inhaling sharply, he noticed a stale, cloying heaviness to the air that made breathing difficult. It was almost as if the souls of the murdered congregants still lingered in the air, weighing it down with their tormented presence. On a logical level, Talon knew that the atmospheric conditions were a consequence of the doors being sealed while desert heat beat down on the building. But that didn’t stop his mind from playing tricks on him.  
    Enough sunlight shafted through the stained-glass windows for him to navigate the church, and he turned off his light. It had been years since he set foot in a place of worship and he felt like an intruder. In the last decade, he’d said his fair share of prayers over the graves of fallen comrades. But with each year of combat, the words of those prayers only seemed emptier. War had shaken his trust in an all-loving God. After the events in San Francisco, he didn’t know what to believe.
    Talon walked away from the windows and approached the altar. The inverted cross loomed like the flagpole of some conquering army; the cult had claimed this holy ground for their own unholy purposes. He approached the demonic sigils spray-painted on the walls. Inspecting the area, he counted seven different symbols.  
    Talon had brushed up on the subject on the flight over here, so he knew that each sigil represented a different demon. Nevertheless, his knowledge was pretty limited – this was Casca’s area of expertise. Talon took pictures of the sigils with his phone and sent the images to Casca. Hopefully the billionaire could make sense of it all.  
    Talon was about to leave the church when the sound of sobbing suddenly gave him pause. He peered into the dim surroundings, dust motes dancing in the gloomy light. It didn’t take him long to identify the source of the sound. A lone figure sat in one of the perforated pews, hands steepled in silent prayer. The figure was masked by shadows, but a muffled sob gave away the woman’s presence. As he approached, she stared at Talon with big eyes.  
    “Who are you?” she asked.
    When Talon didn’t respond, she said, “My husband was here when it happened. I was feeling sick that morning and decided to sleep in…”  
    She broke off. Talon understood. The woman must’ve entered the church the same way he did, seeking some form of communion with her deceased husband. Talon knew ghosts were real because they existed in the hearts and minds of those who’ve lost someone. What he did next surprised him. He knelt next to the grieving woman and, blocking out the panorama of destruction around them, joined the woman in prayer. He hadn’t prayed in months, yet the words flowed easily from his lips.  
    Talon prayed for the dead.  
    Prayed for Michelle.  
    Once done, he made a silent promise to himself. He’d make the monsters responsible for this slaughter regret the day they