Night Kings: The Complete Anthology

by Gregory Blackman

  “Purge them,” beckoned the dark robed warlock in the front of the pack. “See the blasphemers gone from this world!”

  Some of the humans were struck down by bolts of lightning or inferno, others by the way of sword, but most of the citizens that sought to defend their home survived because they broke against the overwhelming odds. The people in the front of the melee pushed back against their onetime supporters in the back and it quickly spiraled into an all out brawl among the citizens.

  What remained of the crowd broke when the whine of sirens and the flash of red and blue lights caught their collection attention. They scattered into the winds of black smoke and left the police officers to fend for themselves. More than a half dozen cars peeled through the streets until their tires squealed to a stop less than a block from the disturbance.

  “Stay your ground!” the lead officer shouted as he opened his cruiser’s door and took cover behind it. He was joined by his fellow policemen shortly after, as they began to pop up from behind their squad cars with weapons raised. They looked to one another in confused expressions, unsure what to make of the weapons their adversaries had in their possession.

  “Drop your—,” the baffled lead officer stumbled with his words as he peered in closer for a better look, “—torches and… are those swords they’re carrying? Drop whatever goddamn weapons you’ve got and put your hands on your air!”

  The words of those sent to serve and protect held no sway over the warlocks that came for them. When only a few yards remained between the two sides, one of the policemen panicked and fired off a shot into the crowd. All of the officers opened fire in response. They emptied their clips in a timely fashion and waited there with mouths gaped wide at what their eyes witnessed next.

  Every bullet the policemen fired was stuck in midair, inches from the warlocks the rounds were meant for, now carried forward by unknown hands as the dark robed men continued their death march.

  One of the warlocks raised his torch into the air and saw its fire doused with his mind before he relinquished it to the ground beside him. With his hand now freed, the veiled warlock extended a single skeletal finger in the direction of the bullets.

  “Home,” the aged warlock whispered as the ammunitions spun around to face their keepers. “Show the heathens the justice they deserve!”

  The bullets took flight against the police officers that fired them, and before any of the officers could think to take cover, they were struck by the rounds they fired. The policemen crumpled to the pavement, each with roughly enough space missing from their foreheads to fit fifteen bullets apiece.

  No sooner than the humans hit the ground did the warlocks in the front raise their torches in unison. They attacked with cones of fire that spread from their torches to the squad cars before them. The explosions sent the squad cars in all directions, tumbling balls of fire that appeared to stop dead in their tracks when they meandered into the path of the oncoming horde.

  The Brotherhood of Crescent Moon made swift work of the buildings they marched past. With the torches of hundreds strong they razed the towers of man, some of which still contained trapped people. These men wouldn’t be stopped. Not of their own accord. Not while there was still much work to be done.

  When the warlocks in the forefront of the horde turned down 1st Street they were met with the sight of few resistors. Those that came at them previously remembered well how their attempts ended. Instead, the warlocks watched as a few wayward vampires feasted on the stranded and lost.

  The warlocks that looked down the lengthy street saw the red light of many vampires turn to greet them in the night. A look a profound jubilation inched its way across the faces of those brothers for the prospect of a proper battle was finally upon them.

  “Fresh meat,” the largest of the brothers said. “Maybe this lot will prove our first challenge of the night.”

  The broad shouldered warlock brushed back his hood to reveal a sprawling rampart tattoo that spread across his shaved head. It was a crimson eagle with wings that spread to the lower portions of his neck, but it wasn’t an original design, nor was he was the first to engrave it on his flesh. With a grin that stretched from ear to ear, the warlock dropped his fiery torch and double gripped the claymore he carried with him.

  “How shall we precede, Holger?” asked the elderly warlock that saw the policemen felled.

  The towering warlock known as Holger kept his forces at bay as he contemplated how to move forward. Like the rest of his brothers, Holger wanted the blood of a warrior stained on his hands, but he couldn’t take that right away from them while he did so. He would share in the glory, but carve out a small piece for himself in the process.

  “You have the floor,” said Holger to his frail lieutenant. “If these creatures cannot break your binds they barely deserve the steel we bring for them.”

  When the vampires sensed no escape available to them they charged forward with teeth bared and claws extended. Each of the vampires got no closer than a block away before they were caught in the elderly warlock’s hold.

  Only one of the vampires was allowed through the neural web and it sought the first of the dark robed men it could find. That brother was Holger and he met the vampire’s claws with the steel from his claymore. His attacker was stronger, but foolish, and Holger used that to his advantage when the vampire took an overreaching swathe in the burly Nord’s direction.

  The vampire’s claws missed by a wide margin and it placed the kindred off-kilter for a hefty boot from the warlock to strike him in the stomach. He went down to the ground as Holger’s boot crashed down atop his newest victim.

  “Perhaps you’re not foes to be feared, after all,” said Holger with a solemn grunt. He held the grip of the battle sword upside down and held it high in the air as the tip of the blade dangled above the vampire’s neck. “Let’s hope your king proves to be a more worthy challenge.”

  Holger drove the blade into the pavement and took his opponent’s head clean off. While that happened, the other warlocks had already begun to hack at the vampires frozen in place until there was nothing more of them except the ash each of them turned to in the end.

  The Brotherhood of the Crescent Moon continued their dark work unopposed in the night. There were no more humans that wished to tempt fate. No more vampires circled the deserted city streets. What remained of these onetime defenders now fled into the smoke-filled shadows. This left the city of Salem theirs for the taking.

  That’s what the warlocks believed. Some of the brothers in the crowd called out for Holger’s attention. They raised their hands to the moon and spoke of an unnatural presence thrust upon them. That presence appeared to soar down from the moon above where its silhouette came at them with a speed unknown by any bird of the land.

  “Leave this one,” commanded Holger to his brothers. “There must be a worthy battle somewhere in this wretched city and I may just find it in the unlikeliest of places.”

  The lone bird in the sky descended to the streets in front of the warlocks when a bright burst of light forced the horde to turn away in fear their corneas would be set afire. When the light finally subsided from the street, the warlocks turned to find their one-time associate Victor Dukane stood in place of the raven that once was.

  “There has to be another way,” he pleaded to brothers with his hands pressed together. “We can still find a peaceful solution.”

  The warlocks waited both in stillness and silence for their mountainous brother to respond. Holger’s response came not with his words, but his sword, which slowly rose to meet Victor Dukane. That singled the rest of the warlocks to begin to march towards the beleaguered mayor. Not even eyes that burned with the radiance of a solar flare could stop the brothers from their slow approach.

  “My brothers,” growled Holger as they moved by him, “let this one through.”

  The warlocks gave Victor a wide birth as they passed him in the streets, until the loud ringing of steel on pavement brought all t
heir attentions back towards the enemy in their midst. It was the tip of Holger’s mighty blade that clashed against the pavement and with every repeat performance it saw the mass around Victor take another step closer.

  “My brother is missing,” Holger said as he emerged from the halted warlocks. “Do you know of it?”

  Victor stood unfazed by the horde almost upon his throat. In the course of a few hours, he’d been stabbed, tortured, and nearly sliced in half. There was nothing more these monsters could say. Nothing more they could do. All the warlocks had left were threats, and whether they chose to carry them out or not. He looked the giant right in the eyes, and said, “Many have gone missing since your brotherhood started to conduct Salem’s affairs behind my back.”

  “Don’t get smart with me!” roared Holger, followed by the hearty thump of his fist against his chest. “Though he hadn’t been blessed with our gifts, Julian was as devout a brother as one could find within our family. If it was one of the vampires or werewolves that took him from us, I’ll spend the rest of this life wiping their race from the planet!”

  “And if it was you, traitor,” said Holger with the snap of his jaws. “I’ll see that daughter dearest suffers for daddy’s many crimes against our brotherhood!”

  He tapped twice more on the pavement that saw his brothers advanced on each of his commands. The towering Holger frothed in vehemence as flecks of saliva were forcefully ejected from his mouth. “Tell me! Tell me what you know!”

  “The only brother I knew was Hans Brackhaus.”

  “You speak lies!” the warlock bellowed. “His body disappeared in the mountains one night ago. His own men were never able to find him. Tell me, esteemed mayor, how does one simply fall off the face of the earth?”

  “I cannot help you in that matter, brother.”

  “Do not call me that,” Holger said with another steel rap on the ground. “I am not your brother. My brother remains missing, his body unable to pass to the land of Valhalla until it’s reunited with us!”

  The warlocks were almost upon Victor, but he remained still against the overwhelming odds. The slightest tip of his hand and he would burst into flames at the hands of those massed around him. He needed to play this smart. Not for himself, his allies, or his town; but for his daughter, so that she might one day have a place on this earth free from the persecution he had known since day one.

  “We can stop this madness together,” Victor pleaded, “before it spirals further out of control.”

  “Too little,” said Holger with his sword lingered a few inches from the pavement, “too late, blasphemer. If you won’t tell me what I want to know… perhaps your daughter will.”

  Victor Dukane couldn’t take all of them. He was alone in this battle and weighed down with the sins of more lifetimes than anyone should rightfully have. The so-called immortal races, the vampires, succubae, and other of that ilk, spoke of centuries like they were these great spasms of time that could change someone in a limitless array of ways. They didn’t know that half of it as far as Victor Dukane was concerned.

  Eons were spent in harmony upon his home world, a place where he lived in peaceful ignorance of the battles that raged across the cosmos. The destruction of their solar system’s second sun changed all of that and what little remained of his kind were forced to flee into the known universe in search of a new home. That home became Earth and it was a home that needed them more than any other his people surveyed.

  Those eons Victor spent in luxury and comfort were nothing compared to the three thousand years spent on this planet. The sights and peoples he laid witness to were enough to question every single one of his beliefs. He’d been a priest, a sellsword, a vagabond, and once, he was even a mayor. That’s what he thought, at least. The truth was that his rule had been usurped, likely from the start. Would his daughter be cursed to walk this world forever in his shadow? Right now Victor could only hope to be so lucky.

  The next tap from Holger’s sword saw the warlocks leap into action against their white-hot opponent. His brothers rushed passed him at the open invitation to attack, all the while he watched with a smug expression etched on his tattooed face.

  The first of the warlocks to raise his sword was sent flying through the air in a fiery ball of his own fire. The same fate befell the second, and the third, but eventually the warlocks managed to overcome Victor Dukane with sheer numbers on their side.

  “Good,” said Holger, the right side of his lips hooked upwards. “Now, bring him to me.”

  The warlocks threw themselves atop him to keep the light from devouring any more of them, but those underneath the pile had nowhere to go when Victor Dukane reached out for them. When it appeared that no more could be added to the pile, more warlocks launched themselves into the air and piled on top. They did so until there was no movement from the one underneath all others.

  Suddenly, beams of light seeped through every crack in the pile. Victor Dukane bared his teeth at last and the whole mound of black warriors was engulfed in flames of white. Atop the heap an enormous raven shot upwards with wings extended in a fiery blaze that tore the apart every warlock that joined in the fray.

  The raven’s sudden burst of flight wasn’t long for this world, and once the warlocks were removed from his side, every glowing ember that made up the creature washed away into the night breeze.

  On the ground laid Victor Dukane, his light nearly gone from this world, motionless and covered in blood from head to toe. The once confident Holger was the first to approach his crumpled body, albeit at a lethargic pace.

  “Is he dead?” the elderly lieutenant asked. He stood back from his commander and those that followed him. At one time the Vikings were a bloodthirsty and warlike people, but once they were forced into secrecy those ways started to wane in the youth that rose through their ranks. Unlike the pugnacious Holger, men such as the telekinetically gifted elder trained for battles that never came. Now that one was finally upon him, and he found himself an old man, he wasn’t quite ready to sacrifice for the greater good.

  “He’s still alive,” said Holger to the satisfaction of none. “Though, if he still claims to hold no knowledge of my brother’s death, he won’t soon be—.”

  “Help m-me,” a blood curdled whimper broke out in the masses. “My heart…”

  It was the commander’s aged lieutenant and what he referred to was the heart extended from his chest cavity. Around the warlock’s heart rested five fingers, each of them belonging to the king in black that stood behind him.

  Remus Castalon pushed the old man to the pavement, shroud cast around him like a wispy cloak. He stood unimpressed by the horde around him, wiry smirk that hinted towards a plan other than entering the dragon’s den without any backup. He saw the many weapons that lifted in his direction and decided it was best to fold back into the shadows before their wrath was upon him.

  “Is this a bad time?” his raspy voice echoed throughout the backstreets.

  “Show yourself!” Holger chopped with his sword in every direction a brother wasn’t. “To hide is the trait of a coward! Are you a coward, vampire?”

  “Not just any vampire,” the voice was quick to remind. “You speak to a king.”

  “One must command himself like a king,” said Holger to the man in the shadows, “if he desires others to treat him as such.”

  No sooner than the words left his mouth did the man in black exit the darkness to strike at those unaware. Much like the fallen mayor, Remus stood alone in this fight. Where their situations differed was that there were countless of his kind able to join the fight. They just wouldn’t join his fight, and the only one that might have was most likely dead by this hour tonight.

  Bolts of lightning, ice and fire were fired in all directions in attempt to slow Remus down. It proved to be an immeasurably large task and he avoided all of their projectiles as he moved from one warlock to the next in rapid succession. He made swift work of the warlocks nearby, but they were many and he was
few. He couldn’t keep this pace forever, but suddenly, the man in black found he didn’t have to.

  The eyes of the horde were removed from Remus when the flash of snarled teeth emerged from the back alleys. The frenzied werewolves used the close confines of this battle to tear into the warlocks massed against them. The elements were used against them, but the werewolves fought to remain on their heels and kept out of the line of fire.

  Remus was astonished to watch as the werewolves actively went out of their way to avoid him. It would’ve been a bizarre sight on any other night, but for it to happen on the night of the full moon was an entirely different world of strange.

  “This time, vampire,” beckoned Holger, “you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”

  Remus dropped the dark robed brother that currently resided in his arms and wiped the man’s blood from his lips. He waited for the mountain of meat in front of him to approach, intent only to goad him further before the final blow was delivered.

  “You think so?” Remus asked as the many rows of shark-like fangs descended from his mouth. “There’s not a beast on this world I can’t devour whole. There are only the ones that resist long enough to be diced into a dozen pieces.”

  Holger rebuked the man in black’s showmanship with some of his own. He placed his free hand on the fuller of his claymore and whispered a few inaudible incantations. The claymore burst alive with an azure flame that ran from the hilt to the tip of the cutting edge.

  “Impressive,” the king mocked. “I bet you’re the guest of choice at fanciful dinner parties…”

  Remus’ voice trailed off as two werewolves bound between the two of them. He almost forgot there were others in this battle, others that likely cared less for him than the brothers they feasted upon. This wasn’t his fight. It wasn’t theirs. This was the battle for Salem and everyone within these walls had a stake in its outcome.

  “You smell like a human,” taunted Remus in attempt to force the warlock’s hand, “and you look like one, too.”