Then Hell Followed (Journeyman Book 5)

  Then Hell

  FOLLOWED

  JOURNEYMAN SERIES FIVE

  by

  Golden Czermak

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. All Rights Reserved.

  In accordance with the United States Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, or sharing of any part of this work without the permission of the copyright holder is unlawful theft of the author’s intellectual property.

  Cover Models: Tyler Halligan and Will Wise

  Cover Photography and Design: FuriousFotog

  Editor: Kellie Montgomery

  Formatting: Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  This book is for mature readers only. Not for children. It contains adult themes, violence, coarse language, sexual situations, nudity, and paranormal themes.

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Other Books By Golden Czermak

  Main Cast of Characters

  Eric, as always your love and support mean the world. Without it, I wouldn't be able to do any of the things I've done so far. With love, thank you with all my heart.

  Ty, what can I say? Our friendship has grown since we first met and I'm so happy to have you in this series. I'm also so happy to see great things happening for you and cannot wait for us to have more adventures together at future events. Love you brother, thanks for being a part of this.

  Will, big man! You've been so supportive not only with the support you've shown this series but the motivation you've provided on the fitness front. I'm always thankful for that even though you'll likely always be 100 times bigger than me. Lol. Thanks so much for your kindness brother, you'll always be furious in my eyes.

  Jake, hellfire wielding badass! You've managed to imbue Dajjal with a life of his own and what a terrifying thing that is! Sort of like working out with you, LOL! I truly cannot express how much your love and friendship has meant over the years we have known each other. You'll forever be the original Inked Corps man and a friend for life. Although you know I am always jealous of your permanent abs and god like beard.

  Caylan, brother we are nearly done with this journey… there's one more story to tell with regards to Gage Crosse. Thank you for all you have done and all you have imbued into this character. Truly you have brought him to life and it would not have been possible without getting to know you and so much more. Much love brother… #NonOmnisMoriar

  Kellie/Cassy/Christine, we make a damn good team! Let's be sure to continue to rock the world ;) #FuriousPinkCandyHype

  TS Joyce, words can't express the amount of thanks and respect I have for you. A true powerhouse in your field, you have inspired me to reach for the stars and beyond. On days where those goals seem out of reach, a part of me believes it's only one shift then a wing flap away. #CrewFurever

  THE HOUR WAS still early for the first day of the new year, a bright sun shining down from the cloudless blue sky onto the surprisingly busy streets of Warminster. Its light did little to ease the brisk snap that hung in the air, itself harshly unsympathetic to those who were clinging on to hangovers while trying to set up their market stalls.

  A young woman sauntered her way northward along Weymouth Street, wearing a light blue cardigan beneath a tan wool coat. Adjusting its fit as she passed by a pair of closed pub doors off to her right, her gloved fingers pinched the sides of her nose in a swift motion that was quicker than a reflex. Blobs of activity from the night before came pouring into her thoughts and judging by the intensity with which her fingers were now rubbing, it must've been a great, if not somewhat regrettable, time. In confirmation, her fingers moved to massage the center of her crinkled brow and the cedar ankle boots she wore couldn’t carry her over the next street and away from the pub fast enough.

  The market, which was set up in a large parking lot at the city center every Friday, was more deafening than it had been in previous weeks. Carts and racks overflowing with meat, vegetables, and clothes rolled over the rough pavement, the clamor mixing in with the strained voices of their respective merchants. Passing buyers weren’t intimidated though, responding to the racket with equal vigor in the chaos of commerce.

  Phil Brown, a jovial fishmonger at Phil’s Filet, spotted the woman’s distinct blonde hair as she sped around the corner. His bushy white beard spread into a smile and that proportionately burly belly jiggled as he finished putting on his striped apron.

  “Ey up Margaret,” he said cheerfully, smoothing out the wrinkles in the apron. “Yer gonna mow someone over speeding along like that. What are ya in such a hurry for this fine mornin’?”

  “Heya Phil,” Margaret replied, stopping momentarily to adjust her coat again but it was her face that was telling some stories.

  “Sorry,” she continued before the questions began, “I had a bit of a late … haha probably better to say early… morning kind of thing. Nothing seems to want to cooperate and I'm definitely paying for it right now.”

  “Well, sounds like a good night – least when I was yer age. Happy New Year to ya, by the way,” he replied with a smirk. He noticed her rubbing her brow feverishly. “Now I may be old, but the first stop ya made this mornin’ should have been the chemist’s, followed by marching straight home to bed. Least that’s what good ol’ Doc Brown would recommend.”

  “Wish the stuff at the chemist’s could cure the ailments I have,” she replied, slightly sighing. Sputtering, the smell of the sea wafted up to her nostrils and she began to look over the Phil’s goods there on the ice. There was a hideous monkfish on display, something he rarely carried, looking at her with its vacant eyes.

  “Aw petal,” he said softly. “So this retail therapy’s supposed to be helping with something else then?”

  There was a hint of concern in his voice, but not too much to sound like he was prying. After all, though he saw Margaret virtually every week when she came by to pick up her kilogram of sea bass and scallops, it’s not like they were any more acquainted than that.

  Margaret answered, but winced a bit as the words came.

  “A bit, you could say.”

  Phil sighed.

  “I see. By the looks of it you've already started on the liquid therapy last night.”

  She looked at him as her mouth opened in amazement.

  “That’s a bit cheeky, Phil! If you don't watch it, I'll slap you with that filet of cod or better yet make you give that monkfish a snog.”

  He beamed.

  “It'd be a damn sight more action than I've gotten from the missus the past fortnight.”

  They both let out a much needed laugh, Margaret’s soon falling back to a gentle frown.

  “I dunno, Phil,” she said with sadness. “I just hope that Frank and I can work things out, especially with Ems being bounced around between the both of us like a tennis ball.”
<
br />   Phil was surprised Margaret was being so candid; she'd mentioned her husband Frank before and her daughter Emily, but never the personal details of their relationship. By the sounds of things, they were on a knife’s edge.

  “Agreed,” was all Phil could think to say. “I… hate to hear that somethin’s gone sour between the two of ya.”

  Margaret smiled weakly back at Phil.

  “We’ll be alright,” she told him, sounding convinced that things would get better when the reality of it was the opposite. “It's just a rough patch.”

  “I hope so,” Phil said, handing over her usual order. As she reached for her handbag, he waved a thick hand dismissively. “It's on the house, love.”

  She reached out and took the bag from him, holding the rustling white plastic for a moment.

  “Thank you, Phil,” she said to his soft green eyes and with a gentle nod, carried on to get the rest of her errands done.

  After a half hour, Margaret's arms were ladened with shopping, straining from trying to manage so many overstuffed bags. Mainly vegetables from Bramley’s Taters and Maters, there were also a few much needed items of clothing shoved in to help alleviate some of her frustrations.

  That is, until the handles snapped and the contents of half her bags spilled out into the parking lot. As she bent over, mumbling words her mother would be shocked to hear, a deep rumble like thunder spread across the city center.

  Patrons stopped their conversations mid-sentence and looked up to the sky, expecting to see a storm coming but to their surprise the sky was absolutely clear. As people began to mutter, wondering if it was from nearby construction, another noise startled the crowd, only this time much louder.

  Margaret stopped what she was doing when the wind picked up, a gentle breeze before it began furiously whipping through the stalls. She rose, leaving all her groceries on the ground as she was joined by another resident, then another, and even another until the entire marketplace was looking to the sky. Frozen more with interest than fear, some had their phones out recording while others simply stared at what approached.

  Black with wisps of blood red entwined, an immense wall of storms moved in ominously from the west, blanketing the city in darkness. Despair then came along with the lightning, roiling from deep within until the deadly bolts burst out like whips toward the ground.

  Streams of fire lashed through the stalls behind Margaret, sending pieces of people and pavement through the air while throwing her down mercilessly. Screams filled the air, smothered by the sounds of more thunder… and roars.

  Margaret came to and after a few hazy minutes, wondered if she was hearing things properly. A serious ringing had taken over in her ears, muting damn near everything else. However, there was something about the continued rumbling that felt different than before… more alive… and that made her very nervous. Looking through the dusty surroundings, she saw hobbling bodies, whimpering from bloodied faces as they disappeared into the abundant gloom.

  Yet that wasn't the worst of it.

  Rising to an uneasy stance, her eyes drifted over to Phil’s stand, where she saw what was left of it… and him, torn to shreds and ablaze. Her gloves shot up at the sight, covering her mouth as dark shapes skirted the edges of what she could see.

  More roars came, like growling mixed with the distant cries of children and adults alike.

  What the hell is going on? Margaret thought frantically, unable to put a label on what was happening. That's when she saw it, plain as the day was long.

  Barreling toward her with all the speed of a demon out of Hell was some kind of monster, its eyes redder than fire. Left with little choice and heart lodged up in her throat, all she could bring herself to do was open her mouth and scream.

  DAJJAL’S EYES OPENED, awakened by the sounds of the attack in Warminster being replayed on a special BBC News report. However, for the first time since his arrival he wasn’t angered, instead reveling in it. Giving the order himself, he was pleased to see the roles reversed and the Noctis swarming the streets publicly, instilling Dajjal’s brand of terror and fear on the population. The result was such a symphony of pain and suffering, playing together to form the most beautiful music. Dajjal couldn’t wait for everyone to hear his song.

  Although he did not need one, the demon was enjoying a bath in one of the manor’s opulent bathrooms. Hot water churned through the whirlpool jets of the marble tub, engulfing his naked body. It was a far cry from the icy temperatures of Jötunheim on the other side of the Door in the Mountain. There he was pursued relentlessly until back on the Earth, where he placed his own seals on the gateway to ensure no unexpected visitors would be following from that frigid realm. Dajjal had a lot of fun planned and would have hated to see it ruined.

  Speaking of enjoyment, the heat of the bath water coupled with pride from his recent success in obtaining the Crown of Immortality from the clutches of the frost giants, was enough to swell not only his ego but other equally large parts of him. As his dick broke the waterline like some legendary beast, he grabbed hold of its steaming shaft, slowly moving both his hands up and down its entire length, exploring every thick inch and rigid vein.

  Spending some time caressing around the sensitive head, it became slick with excitement and gratifying waves coursed through it all the way to the base. Given the pleasure, Dajjal stepped up the pace, water splashing everywhere as he thrust himself between his hands. Harder and faster he stroked. Pleasure mounted then engulfed him, his newfound indulgence splattering everywhere in a display that was almost as enjoyable as bodies when smited.

  Sliding back into the embracing warmth, Dajjal wiped away the abundant streams of white from his face. A disheveled blonde was being interviewed on the television screen mounted above the tub. The headline scrolling across the bottom – ‘Terror Strikes Wiltshire’ – was satisfying, but the word ‘survivor’ in bold letters under the woman’s nattering face blazed right through Dajjal’s good mood.

  As the halo perched atop his head ignited, Dajjal flicked his sticky fingers clean before reaching for a set of controls off to the side, pressing a minuscule black button to turn up the volume.

  “… at least eighty people have been confirmed dead as of ten o’clock this morning in an apparent attack striking Warminster city center,” BBC correspondent Mark Thompson stated, his voice dipping lower as he walked away from Margaret to a background full of emergency vehicles. The screen cut away to show scenes of the devastated marketplace, smoldering wreckage and tattered tents flitting in the insensitive wind. “Sadly this total includes thirty-two children from an elementary school nearby. Authorities are continuing their investigation of the aftermath, searching not only for additional survivors, but also clues as to who committed this heinous attack that has rattled the community to its core, on both the local and national scale.”

  The feed then rejoined Thompson as he walked back to the injured woman, seated in the back of an ambulance. Its flashing blue lights added a further chill to their conversation, though her expression told volumes in its own right.

  “Continuing my exclusive interview with survivor Margaret Gardner,” he said, holding the microphone in front of her. “Mrs. Gardner, can you tell us what you first saw this morning? It’s our understanding that there was some kind of… phenomenon… prior to this alleged terrorist attack?”

  “Yeah,” she said solemnly. “It was an ordinary day, just like any other. I was trying to get some errands in early, which is why I was in the market. In fact, I can’t recall there being a cloud in the sky until that storm seemed to come out of Hell itself.”

  “Indeed, our meteorological experts are looking at footage, trying to determine what that spectacle was. At times the thing seemed natural while at others, more weaponized, for lack of a better term. I would like to warn our viewers that some of you may find the following footage disturbing.”

  Clips from an online video then filled the screen, showing the devastating cloud as it swept across the cou
ntryside, before switching to CCTV video of the market as the skies darkened and lightning began to cleave its way through pedestrians.

  “Is the damage widespread?” Margaret asked, eyes beginning to gleam with tears. “My Ems… I need to know if she's okay and my mobile isn't working.”

  “No worries, I think,” Thompson reassured, “from what we’ve seen the event was localized to this part of the city center and along the A362. Authorities have scheduled a press conference in about half an hour to give us more details. Is that your daughter? Was she close by?”

  Margaret shook her head.

  “Thank God!” she praised, crying with relief.

  “Thank God!” Dajjal repeated, mocking her in a high pitched voice. “Humans. Always thanking Him when He could care less about what happens to this forsaken rock… MY rock.”

  “Mrs. Gardner,” Thompson continued. “Is there anything else you could tell us about what you saw?”

  She fell quiet, looking eager to tell it all, yet was very hesitant.

  “Well, not to sound like I was drinking a ton last night,” she said, half laughing, “but I could have sworn I saw something… odd. I'm sure it was just a combination of the dust and being in a daze, but if I didn't know any better, it looked like monsters were attacking people after the storm died down.”

  Thompson looked at her, then to the camera.

  “That has a lot of us baffled too. We've received a lot of reports about strange creatures, though I am sure we will discover that it was just people in costumes. Another way to hide the attackers’ true identities and cowardly faces.”

  As they spoke, video footage of those alleged monstrous shapes was shown, though for the most part they were shrouded in the gloom. Still, it was an ominous sight.

  Margaret looked disturbed as she thought on the topic too much.

  “It couldn't have been… werewolves? I mean this isn't some hokey Halloween film, plus it was morning and them things only come out on a full moon, right?”