Bring Me Genesis by Darren Humby.
The complete chronicle is finally here. This updated version of all three books starting with ‘The Vision of Aquinas’ followed by ‘The Mark of an Angel’ is joined by the third book in the trilogy.
This epic story comes together now in one amazing novel ‘Bring Me Genesis.’
Lucifer has found the key to all that is, and with this key he can undo all that you know, see and feel. The person in his way is Cameron; a boy who due to bloodline carries visions which Lucifer needs to see. To do so he must hold Cameron’s faith. Angels will wage war over a boy’s dreams. An amazing story which will leave you wondering who is standing within the shadows and questioning whether that inner voice is the whisper of angels.
The Year of our Lord 1274
“Death is assured. It is just the manner in which you die which is to be determined” Lucifer said nonchalantly as he paced purposefully around the prone body of Thomas Aquinas.
The old man was breathing, just. His laboured breaths making his chest rise and fall slowly. Aquinas was curled up in a ball, the skin on his back pale and thin exposing the contour of his spine perfectly.
“Just tell me where the information I seek is and I will let you journey to the Palace of Souls quickly and painlessly. If not, then I will keep you in eternal pain forever.” Lucifer stopped pacing and turned towards Aquinas.
“Now where is it?”
Aquinas tried to clear the thoughts from his mind, to keep strong and not give into the angel before him. The theologian knew Lucifer could only see his thoughts if he allowed him to, if his weakness waned. But the pain was life sapping; it drove through every part of his body causing his mind to explode into a white haze, pushing all of his consciousness aside. He shook his head, knowing what was about to come, each movement was apprehensive, fearful but the consequences of giving in would be catastrophic.
Lucifer roared in anger and spread his wings wide. The Dark Prince’s eyes closed. Aquinas screamed, the noise was one of complete agony, the sound of total torment. His body arched one way then another, the brittle bones bent to positions which took on the elasticity a much younger man could not have borne. The screams from Aquinas were never broken by the need to breathe, every organ within him felt as if they were bursting. Lucifer opened his eyes. Aquinas fell in a heap; the pain eased quickly, his breathing fast and shallow. Mumbled words of a prayer were softly spoken, incomprehensible to those around him. Thomas Aquinas looked up at the small window, blinking wearily through the shaft of light. A setting summer sun helped the pathetic glow of the candles illuminate the shadowed frame of Lucifer and three other angels who stood over towards the far wall. The small, bland, wooden table, where earlier a pile of parchment had sat, now looked bare with only a candlestick, several quills and a tarnished inkwell upon it.
Earlier, Aquinas had been sipping slowly from a jewelled wine goblet, his heavy eyes stinging from the thin fug of candle smoke floating through the room. He had cursed the use of cheap wax, the fibrous wicks burnt through quickly and produced wisps of smoke which would not have been seen if more expensive candles had been purchased. For the past eight years he had lived in the room, his modest surroundings furnished with a small bed, a table and chair, parchment, ink and feathers. He infrequently ventured out from his self-imposed cell for some fresh air, a walk around the Italian capital to clear his thoughts. The old man particularly enjoyed the surroundings of the River Tiber, he would stand staring across the deep green waters from the middle of the Elian Bridge which led to Hadrian’s mausoleum, the Castel Sant Angelo, before returning to his lugubrious apartment. The bland stone bridge always afforded him spiritual inspiration. It had always puzzled the theologian that standing in the centre of Rome, a city bursting with religious buildings and adornments, he found the greatest inspiration and peace in that particular spot.
He had stared wearily upon the parchments, his work complete. The path of his life had brought him to this very moment. Thomas Aquinas had meticulously sieved through the apocryphal work of Enoch, discovered within the deserts of Africa. The code of creation seen by Enoch had now been omitted from Aquinas’ reworking of the holy text. Upon completion, the parchments had been divided into four quarters and sent to the four farthest reaches of the world.
The frail old man sat back in his chair, the wooden back rest heavily worn and as smooth as marble, a very familiar source of support. He habitually fidgeted with his greying wisps of hair on the side of his head, the top devoid of a single strand. The code was safe. In the far corner of his room stood a highly decorated silver font, which sat atop a gold ornate cross. He had carefully placed the complete original text of Enoch and the section of parchment which held the code to the creation inside the font. He slowly shuffled from the font to the table. Suddenly Aquinas turned, unsettled. He stared at the empty far corner of the room and shook his head, annoyed with himself for being distracted by the spirits that accompanied him. His hand trembled as he brought the flickering flame of a candle closer to the wick protruding from just inside the pile of parchment; flames gradually licked across the top layer of the bundle. With a flash, flames drove deep into the pile; the sheen inside of the font began to darken.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the wooden door; he pulled back the heavy wrought iron lock and heaved the door open. The musty smell of the damp corridor filtered past Aquinas, pushed by the airy winds that inhabited the maze of deep corridors, which fingered their way throughout the papal palaces. Aquinas watched the shadow walk along the wall of the corridor disappearing around the corner. The smell of hot broth and freshly cooked bread pulled his attention down to the floor where his servant had left his supper. His stomach grumbled in appreciation but he had no appetite and placed the tray against the opposite wall of the corridor.
He closed the door, turned back into his room to be startled by the presence of four wonderful beings. Lucifer had stepped forward quickly, charming and warm, a countenance which very quickly turned to sinister and deadly once he realized the old man would not easily give him the information he wanted.
Aquinas was lifted from the floor by an unseen force; his bloodshot eyes now level with the black eyes of Lucifer, his blurred vision able to see his reflection within the soul of the devil.
“Now, give me the code. You will be released from your pain, your burden taken away.”
Aquinas stared at the hardened features of Lucifer. The air filled with the scent of cinnamon, entwined with the stench of rotten apples and sewage which wafted in through the open window from the River Tiber.
“I cannot,” Aquinas replied, his chin dropping down onto his chest.
The pain rose from the tips of his toes, drove through his thighs into his groin. The scream grew in intensity as Aquinas’ intestines swelled to bursting point. His internal organs crushed against each other. The air in his lungs burst out of his mouth as his cries for the pain to stop filled the room. His skull pounded, the brain pulsating within an enclosed space.
“Bloodline!” Aquinas screamed.
“Old man?” Lucifer said his frown deepening.
The pain subsided a fraction, allowing Thomas Aquinas to gather himself just enough to talk with more control. The whispered words told of a man at the edge of an abyss. He could not carry the pain anymore.
“The code has gone, destroyed within fire, to be carried by bloodline,” Aquinas mumbled.
Lucifer looked at Samsaweel, The Fallen Archangel bowed as he stepped into the light.
“We have a link. Whatever it takes, bring me Genesis.” Lucifer made to walk away then suddenly stopped. Without turning he spoke again. “Kill the old man – take as long as you like to send his soul to The Enlightened!”