Chapter 1
The crown of the Black Praetorian is not for the faint of heart. The Path of Achilles is one filled with bloodshed, unrequited love, and traversing deep into the depths of the unknown creating within its ranks the toughest sons of bitches on the planet. The Black Knights could only earn their thrones at the Round Table if they successfully evolved their darkest fears into the deadliest of weapons.
These fears would become their elements, a part of the Knights’ personal arsenals—protecting them without command during the heat of battle. Lancelot learned long ago that he had an irrational fear of rejection. As he climbed the Tree of Knowledge during his initiation, he remembered the day when his uncle tied a man to a steering wheel, crushing him between the two magnetic pulleys. It scarred him. He was just six when the power of magnetism first touched his spirit.
As he continued to live under the thumb of his Uncle June, he would again cross paths with metal when he witnessed his first death by way of a gun. He swore to never use a gun, but that was a pact he would have to break with himself as it had become his preferred method of execution. Over the years, Lancelot also developed the gift of finding trouble in the least likely of places. The grocery store, the suit shop, even the car wash; trouble knew no bounds, and living in a constant state of paranoia fed his cigarette addiction, giving him lung cancer twice.
His magnetism attracted the most beautiful women and the deadliest foes, and this particular night would bring him both. He fancied quiet moments with people he trusted, and after a week of avoiding his Russian beauty Vera, he decided to give the relationship one last shot. The desperation in his heart, however, would lead him to yet another battle where fighting for his life was priority one. As the soft, serene sounds of Mozart played overhead in the lobby of the Batallica Hotel, the shattering of the glass windows and marble slabs crashing around him played a tune that was more to his liking. He ran as a barrage of bullets came at him and he quickly took shelter behind a column full of bullet holes, reaching into his holster and gripping the butts of Point and Spray, his favorite hand pistols.
Flipping the off switch of the safety, he slid the top of the barrel, readying the bullets for retaliation. The adrenaline in his veins fueled his warrior faculties as enemy bullets flew past his head; time slowing as his Magia senses took a count of bodies needing bullets. He looked down as dust fell upon his red alligator shoes, irritating him more than the commotion of the Sleeple police shooting at him.
“Come out with your hands up!” a cop shouted, as the last of their bullet casings clanged against the floor.
Lancelot put a black cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and took a puff—savoring the sweet smoke as he readied himself for the thrill. He walked from behind the column, his arms raised, guns in hand—the cigarette still pressed between his lips.
“Put the guns on the ground now! Get on the ground!” the cops shouted at him, but Lance stood giving them his famous taunting, million-dollar smile. He did as the cop commanded, gently laying Point and Spray on the ground, taking another puff of the cigarette.
“Push the guns to me and put your hands behind your back!”
“I have a better idea, and I’ll share it with you as soon as I finish my cigarette.”
“Put the goddamn cigarette out and put your hands behind your back! I won’t fucking ask you again!”
Lance continued to smoke, giving the room full of police the middle finger. He lifted his hands, approaching the nervous cops slowly. His shoe crunched on an empty bullet casing, scaring one of the cops who accidentally let off a shot, alerting the others to follow suit. Lance could see the bullets coming at him, as he manipulated the vibrations around him.
He laughed, flicking the bullets away with his fingers, until there were too many. The onslaught of danger activated his Magia which usurped control of the situation. He lifted his hands, repelling the bullets away from him. Point and Spray lifted off the floor, with his magic and he grabbed them and aimed.
Lancelot was a straight shot, as several cops were hit directly between the eyes. The sound of the bullets cracking through skulls, traveling through the soft parts of the brain as he hit target, after target, was glorifying to him. He danced his way through two dozen cops that opposed him, and order had once again been restored from chaos.
The classical music on the loudspeakers continued to play overhead as the occasional marble slab crashed upon the ground as the aftermath of the gunfight had declared the Praetorian the victor. He placed Point and Spray back into the holsters, lighting another cigarette, and standing on a field of victory. As he basked in his moment of glory, the sound of a phone camera snapping a photo made him turn his head.
“Shit!” a woman whispered as she attempted to run, only to find herself running smack into his chest, as the gift of speed was also endowed to the chain-smoking Knight. Before she knew it, she was staring into his dark, seductive eyes, dropping her phone, and shattering it into a million pieces. Her lips quivered as she became captivated by this seductive aura.
“Well, that sucks. I just wanted to see if you got a good shot.”
“What? How did you do that?”
“How did I do what?” he asked.
He eyed the short, brunette, wearing a simple blue dress, with a brown jacket, and heels. He waited for an answer, but the pull of his Magia sent her to heights of arousal that she had never felt before. The deeper she looked into his alluring eyes, the deeper she would fall into him. She had the sudden urge to pucker her lips and kiss him. The woman leaned forward, and Lance quickly held up his hand, palming her face.
“That’s just disgusting, people get mono that way. Besides, we just fucking met and you’re already trying to slob me down. Have some standards woman,” he fussed.
His scowl made her take a step back, and she looked down in shame.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
“I mean, you could’ve at least asked me my fucking name. But you go straight for my mouth,” Lance continued.
The young woman continued to cower and cry, then ran as fast as she could away from him. The mascara running down her face stung her eyes, as it blinded her in her shameful retreat. Her left heel began to wobble, snapping in half, and she fell into the street. In an instant, her eyes set upon the light of Heaven, taking her to the afterlife.
Lance stood in shock, watching with his hands in his pocket and mouth wide open, full of disbelief about what had just happened before him. He shook his head, taking a quick stride across the parking lot to his Maserati as a change in scenery was needed. The sound of more cop cars and an ambulance racing down the road was enough to get him to fire up the engine and leave, but it was too late. The cops arrived, blocking off the exits, and trapping Lance. He put the car in reverse, but the screeching of Lance’s tires attracted unwanted attention.
“That’s him!” a cop shouted, as the spotlight from the helicopter above put him on display.
“Come out with your hands up!”
“Get out of the fucking car now!” a cop said, as several others got out of their cars pointing their guns.
“Shit. I like the attention, but this is a bit much.”
He put the car in park, revving the engine while contemplating a way out.
“If this was my Challenger, this would be easy.”
Driving through the occasional wall to escape tight situations was his typical way of madness. Sitting in the Maserati, however, was a completely different story—a $150,000 issue he didn’t want to create. The phone began to ring and to his delight, it was the Round Table.
“Yeah?”
“Whaddup fool!”
“Donnie. Great.”
“Don’t act like you’re not happy to hear my voice. What the fuck are you doing? You’re all over the news! The Sleeple are blasting your pics all over the media! Well, I know it’s you. All the shots are blurry.”
“I just went for a glass of wine that’s all.”
“Right. That’s why I hear helicopters and cops yelling shit at you?” Adonis asked, in between his laughs.
“Oops. My secret’s out.”
“Dude, they said you ran a chick over. A hit and run.”
“That’s a fucking lie! Lying ass Sleeple.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know I don’t kill bitches.”
“Liiiiies!”
Lance attempted to keep himself from laughing although he was quite irritated. “Look. She broke her heel running from me and killed her fucking self. I didn’t do that!” Lance shouted amidst Adonis’s roaring laughter.
“So, you did kill the bitch. Just accidentally.”
While Adonis and Lance went back and forth on the phone, the cops were inching up to him, redirecting his attention. He looked out of the side and rearview mirrors, keeping a count of everyone around him.
“Shit. This is going to get bad.”
“You need some assistance? Come on, I’m bored as fuck right now.”
“If I said no, you’d show up anyways. So yes,” Lance said, shutting off the engine.
He put another cigarette in his mouth, blowing a large smoke cloud toward the window. As the smoke cleared, the cops were standing just feet around him; one jiggling the car handle on the passenger’s side. Lancelot sighed, rubbing the dashboard as though he were never going to see his precious car again, and laughed out loud. He hit a red button near the gear and the top of the car flew backward.
Lance jumped up with Point and Spray in hand. He spun himself around wasting no bullets, killing those within a few feet of his car instantly. He landed on the hood of the engine, pointing the gun toward the sky, staring at the crowd around him. He pulled the trigger, hitting the driver of the helicopter and it began to plummet, crashing into a line of cop cars and sending everything up in flames.
“Fuck this shit. Enough of us have died!” a cop shouted, pulling out a rocket launcher and shooting it toward Lance.
Lance spread his arms, welcoming the challenge. A large, dark shadow flew overhead and before he had a chance to return the favor, Adonis stretched his wing, absorbing the blow. The amber hairs upon his wings began to glow, appearing as though the explosion were trapped in his wings. He flew up, and gave his left wing a hard flap toward the group of cops on that side, releasing the explosion contained within. Lance sat down on the hood of his car as Adonis made waste of the cops and Sleeple standing by. He landed, looking around to make sure he didn’t miss anyone.
“I need a drink.”
“You know I got you covered!” Adonis said, reaching in his pocket for a flask.
Lance to a chug and his eyes watered as he swallowed. They sat on the hood of the car passing the flask back and forth listening to the flames crackle.
“So, what happened?”
“Vera and the dumb ass Cossacks, that’s what.”
“Damn. Well, let us get the fuck out of here before we get caught here. I don’t feel like hearing Rex’s mouth tonight.”
“Right. Me neither,” Lance replied, hopping in the car.
Adonis retracted his wings, now wishing he had a shirt on, and joined him. Lance took a photo of the scene, driving off and leaving the memory behind. Adonis’ amber locks flapped in the wind as Lance sped down the road, occasionally looked back to make sure they weren’t being followed.
“Dude, it’s just 12:16. Where to now?”
“The store. I’m out of cigarettes,” Lance answered.
“Didn’t you get cancer from that shit like two weeks ago?”
“Yeah, but Honey Bunz... Nikki healed me,” he giggled.
“Honey Bunz. I knew you liked fat bitches.”
“Nikki isn’t fat.”
“That pussy is fat.”
“What?” Lance asked, raising a brow.
“Or so I’ve heard.”
“From who?” Lance pressed on.
“Don’t mind me. I’m the drunk Knight. I probably imagined it. Just like I imagined you hating her. What happened with that?” Adonis chuckled.
“I do.”
“You do what?”
“I can’t stand Nikki.”
“Then how...”
“SHUT UP!”
