The 3-Book King’s Blood Vampire Saga

by P. J. Day

  Matt entered the ring and flashed Keelen a wink. Keelen blew back a kiss and mouthed, “Be careful.”

  After Matt settled into the ring, the spotlight shifted toward Cesar’s entrance and a rally of boos ensued. The negative energy leading up to the fight, that was spewed Cesar’s way, fed his antagonistic persona. He was quoted in the paper as saying that after the fight, the only endorsement that would take Matt would be the association of plastic surgeons. Matt was too focused to let Cesar’s cheap shots faze him, but the press ate it up, and goaded Cesar for more at every press junket.

  Cesar strolled toward the ring, waving and kissing at the crowd, his robe decorated in the red, white, and blue of the Texas flag, with a giant white star patched squarely on his back. His father and trainer, Ramiro, an ex-champion in his own right, followed.

  “Focus mijo,” he said. “Enough of the act. Make your state proud.”

  “Dad, I got this. This guerro’s got a glass jaw. He’s not fast enough to guard it against my speed.”

  Cesar climbed in through the ropes and met Matt at center ring, while the lights re-illuminated the arena. Matt stuck out his gloves and waited for Cesar to return the favor.

  “Come on, red, it’s in the rules,” the ref said, standing next to the fighters.

  Cesar complied and gently tapped Matt’s gloves, while winking and blowing a condescending kiss. “Your hair looks uneven. I’ll fix it for you in a moment,” Cesar quipped through his mouth guard.

  Matt didn’t respond as he stood stone-faced. The ref stepped in between the fighters, using his arm as wedge, subduing the street fight animus. “Okay, guys, no hitting below the belt. No elbows, head-butts, or hugging. Once the bell rings, back to your corners.”

  Matt and Cesar stepped back and bounced in place, as if the bottom of their boxing shoes were layered springs.

  “Torso,” yelled Jacob. “Protect the jaw. Remember...torso...he’s a toothpick.”

  “Right here,” hollered Ramiro, pointing at the middle portion of his jawline. “Fast quick jabs, then your mini-hook.”

  The bell rang and the crowd roared.

  “Be careful, Matt!” yelled Keelen, her voice vibrating with anxiety.

  “Here we go,” Adam said, as he squeezed back into his chair. His eyes darted in every direction. “These poor people have no idea what’s coming.”

  Naturally aggressive and filled with confidence of an anointed hope, Matt swung first. His left jab put Cesar’s supposed weakness of not protecting his left side to the test. Cesar blocked it with ease and returned with a flurry of three jabs. Matt blocked two of them with his glove and dodged the third with a quick, two-step bunny hop.

  Matt countered with two jabs and a strong left hook at Cesar’s right side. Cesar blocked one jab and his shoulder connected with the other, but was able to protect against the hook with his arm. Cesar slightly staggered backward, the crowd oohed and awed.

  Ramiro screamed, “He’s stronger, Cesar...hijo, remember, distancia.”

  Cesar bounced around the ring in a square pattern, Matt danced back, following and eyeing him like a predator, looking for any sort of defensive lapse.

  The bell rang and Cesar jocularly gave Matt a halfhearted swing, making him flinch, as he backpedaled into his corner.

  “Jackass!” Matt said, retreating to his stool.

  Jacob rubbed Matt’s shoulders and then pulled down the bottom part of the helmet and rubbed grease on his face, near the jawline.

  “If he hits near your jaw, your headgear should slide a little. It will absorb some of the impact. Now hear me, wear him out,” said Jacob. “Did you see how he staggered back when you hooked him? Just keep attacking him.”

  Matt nodded. His intense stare focused squarely on Cesar and his corner.

  “Focus, Matt,” Jacob pleaded. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

  The sound of the bell instantly launched both fighters simultaneously to the center ring as if they were marionettes. Cesar lunged at Matt first with a series of jabs, which Matt absorbed with both of his strong and well-built forearms. Keelen cringed ringside. She used the shoulder of the person sitting next to her as a stress ball. The middle-aged man, with the stylish aviators, who felt Keelen’s nails dig into his shoulder immediately noticed her inherent physical beauty and didn’t mind offering his shoulder for Keelen to deflect her anguish.

  Up above, Adam began biting his fingers, anxiously waiting for something, anything. He again radioed Tracy. “See anything peculiar?”

  “No, not really. But there’s a reporter who has fallen asleep next to me. I don’t know if I should wake him up,” Tracy said, while taking notes for her feature.

  After the mini-onslaught from Cesar, he decided to dance around the ring. Matt chased him around, but when he made physical contact, Cesar wouldn’t give him anything, as Cesar didn’t fight, nor dance, instead he hugged Matt for the duration of the round. Both fighters’ heads butted ear to ear, as if they were two seasonally heightened rams battering each other’s skulls for gene propagating access to the hoofed harem.

  “What you doin’?” Matt mumbled through his mouth guard in the middle of their embrace. “Come on, man, fight.”

  Cesar inconspicuously pulled his head away from Matt while they hugged, and butted the blonde bomber with his exposed brow bone, causing a cut at the high point of Matt’s cheek. Matt pushed Cesar from his hug and yelled at the ref. It was a sneaky move for Cesar, but one that clearly paid off; the referee didn’t recognize its malicious intent.

  Matt stepped back and favored his cheek with his glove. He ran up to the ref and showed him the smeared blood on his blue boxing glove. The referee rapidly rolled his arm in a circular motion, signaling that they keep fighting.

  “That’s a point,” Jacob yelled from the corner. “That was intentional.”

  Like an angry bull, Matt charged Cesar and abandoned any form of strategy, while launching a barrage of right and left hooks at Cesar, backing him into the corner of the ring. Matt unleashed an arsenal of uppercuts, trying to break his opponent. However, Cesar maintained composure and weaved his head away from Matt’s punches. The bell rang. Cesar leaned into Matt’s chest and pushed him away. The crowd booed mercilessly at Cesar’s tactics. The referee got in front of Cesar and pointed his finger at him. “You can’t do that, you hear me.”

  “He was on top of me when the bell rang,” Cesar claimed, after spitting his mouth guard toward his corner.

  Matt lunged at Cesar. The referee was there to hold him back with his other arm. “You want to fight dirty?” Matt yelled at Cesar.

  Both fighters retired to their respective corners. Jacob then massaged the gash underneath Matt’s eye, applying cold pressure with an Enswell. “You need to protect the cut.”

  “That piece of...he’s dirty, Jacob. If he tries something, you need to let the ref know.”

  “I will, but you need to keep doing what you did to end that round. Tire him out.”

  Adam ground his teeth and shook his leg nervously. He began wondering if he was also lied to by the Seraphim. “Israfel, you better come through,” he muttered to himself. Adam tapped his phone for Tracy. “How are you doing down there?” There was no answer.

  Flashes of static began to flicker on the walls of the press box. The reporter, whose stringy gray hair jutted out underneath the rim of his wool fedora, still napped on the table overseeing the arena, while a terrified Tracy hid underneath the table.

  After a minute or two, Adam heard her breathing on his phone.

  “Adam?” she whispered. “You there?”

  “Yeah, what’s going on?” he asked.

  “There is some spooky shit going on here...”

  “What do you mean?” he said, while placing the binoculars over his eyes.

  “The walls are flickering, with some sort of electrostatic pulse,” she said.

  Adam saw checkered flashes splashing from the interior of the suite. “Hang in there, okay? I’m on my way over
there right now. Whatever you do, don’t move.”

  The bell rang again, signaling the start of the third round. Both fighters sprang into action, but before either of them could throw a punch, the referee temporarily stopped the fight. Everyone in the crowd groaned at the abrupt decision. The referee looked up toward the press box. He yelled at the judges, “Whatever is going on up there is going to distract the fighters.”

  “No, it won’t,” yelled Matt, who was eager to turn Cesar’s face into mulch.

  “What’s going on, Ref?” whined Ramiro.

  The ref called both Jacob and Ramiro to center ring. “We have to stop the match temporarily. I can’t have a fireworks display distracting everyone in the arena.”

  Matt leaned over the ropes and waved at Keelen, who promptly stood up and traversed the row, so she could meet him at the ring. An usher saw her and quickly ran up to her, to let her know that approaching the ring was out of the question.

  “It’s okay, she’s with me,” Matt said to the usher.

  The usher backed off.

  “How’s the cut?” he asked Keelen.

  “It doesn’t look too bad. I saw his head butt,” Keelen said. “What’s going on up there?”

  “I don’t know, it must be some type of electrical issue.”

  Adam made his way to the other side of the arena, where the press boxes and suites were. He arrived at the door. The arena technicians showed up shortly thereafter.

  Adam placed his hand on the door handle. The burly and bearded electrician asked, “Are the light fixtures acting up?”

  “I don’t know, but one of my employees is in there. Let me get her out,” Adam said calmly.

  “We’ll get it fixed in no time,” said the electrician.

  With trepidation, Adam opened the door. The static inside filtered out into the walkway as it had worsened. Adam’s eyes scanned the suite, knowing full well what was happening. He made eye contact with Tracy. “Come on, get out,” he said. Tracy got out from underneath the table and scampered toward Adam, quickly getting behind his large frame. The technicians peeked over Adam’s shoulders.

  “That ain’t no light fixture,” said the brawny electrician, with eyes widened.

  As soon as Adam yelled at the old reporter who was still snoozing to wake up, his ears began tingling. He turned toward Tracy and placed a finger inside his ear, and said, “My ear is itching.”

  Tracy began picking at her ear as well. She glanced at the technicians and they, too, were playing with their ear holes. She said, “My ear is tickling, too.” But as soon as the words came out of her mouth, sound completely disappeared. She was suddenly a mute who could not hear her own words.

  The technicians and Tracy opened their mouths in a repetitive motion, like fish out of water. They tried to hear their own yells or vocalization. All sound had disappeared. The deafness lasted for a half-minute before a sudden piercing sensation overwhelmed their ear canals, then it was succeeded by the auditory main event. A pulsating and ear-splitting siren, similar in resonance and pitch to those that used to blare on the coasts during World War II and like the ones that conditioned entire populations of people to fear the Soviet nuclear threat. However, it did not repeat, it began with a high-decibel shriek and crescendoed into a bone-shattering basso profondo, knocking everyone in the arena to the ground. It was now apparent that Israfel followed through with his divine purpose.

  The spectators stood up from the sound-induced tremor. Bewildered looks painted their faces. A wave of chatter built up, echoing throughout the walls of the Olympic Hall.

  Matt stood up from the mat. He assisted Jacob, who had fallen on his side. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” said Jacob, loudly, as if adjusting his voice after walking out of a heavy metal concert.

  Matt quickly raced toward the ropes, seeing if Keelen was all right. He extended his hand out through the ropes as Keelen got up from the floor. “Come on, get up here.”

  As she climbed into the ring, the first tremor hit. Everyone was thrown to the ground again. Concrete began falling from the ceiling and onto the seats, smashing unsuspecting spectators below. Blood-curdling screams could be heard simultaneously with the thumping sounds of stone hitting the floor of the arena. Matt threw himself on top of Keelen. An instinctive reaction, but one which was ultimately an act of futility if both were hit with rubble from above.

  Once the earthquake ceased, those who were not busy pulling loved ones or pieces of their loved ones from the fallen rubble, rushed through the exits of the arena with the herd-like panic of a mindless stampede.

  Thankfully, everyone in and around the boxing ring were spared by the descending crumble, however, as soon as they all got to their feet, the sound of metal beams bending overcame the shocked silence that followed the tremor. The fighters and their trainers, Keelen, the referee, the scorers, and the privileged guests of Estil saw the ground beneath the seats, surrounding the ring, begin to sink. Thick dust kicked into the air, and the tearing sound you’d hear if Earth’s ground ripped open overwhelmed the panicked clamor of those left behind.

  Matt wrapped his arms around Keelen’s slim torso, as they both felt the hollowed substrate below their feet give way. The area surrounding the ring collapsed, crumbling fifty yards below ground, into a chasm that no city planner or civil engineer knew even existed. A thick, gray plume of dust burst out through the large hole where the ring once stood. A macabre silence settled below, once the last piece of rubble rolled down one of the piles of mangled flesh and stone.

  The level where all the press boxes and suites were located remained suspended. Adam pulled Tracy up from the floor. One of the technicians had a bloody gash on the side of his head and was helped to his feet by one of the other technicians. Adam looked through the open door of the press box. Two Seraphs had materialized from the static. One of them pinned the reporter on the ground. Its claws clearly knifed through the man’s back, as blood pooled out from underneath the dead man’s belly. Adam gnashed his teeth. His aura of flame kicked up through his flesh.

  “Hey, don’t even think about it,” Adam yelled at the winged beasts, as they eyed the wide breach in the center of the arena below. “Theolodus is mine!” he screamed at the Seraphs.

  One of the Seraphs creeped to the edge of the press box and spread its bat-like wings. It glanced back at Adam, shrieking loudly, before gliding down toward the chasm, its unholy partner following a second behind. Adam waddled as fast as he could to the edge of the press box. He watched the Seraphs land next to the chasm. They inspected the opening, circling it like wolves. Adam began climbing over the ledge. He noticed Tracy through the door of the press box. Her face was white. In shock, she wobbled and staggered before fainting to the ground. One of the technicians returned to pick her up and the group dashed away from the press box and through the interconnecting tunnels that led toward the arena’s eventual exit.

  Chapter Thirty-one:

  Revelation

  Cindy stood on the rocky ledge. She looked healthy, without a scratch on her face. Her steps were measured and deliberate as she neared the goddess. The ledge, just six feet wide, seemingly floated on top of clear white mist. The empty space’s blackened and endless bottom was clearly visible through the occasional sleek cracks in the fog.

  “I’m here to rescue you,” said Cindy, with reverence, landing her knees on the craggy floor. She dragged herself up to the edge of the cliff, where Thalia’s glass and metal confinement stood.

  “Naive girl. My fate was sealed 1500 years ago, as well as yours,” the voice penetrated through the clear, white soup and the glass panes.

  “It’s not too late,” Cindy said, trying to seduce Thalia with the sincere glint of hope in her eyes. “I’ve come this far. Let me know what I need to do to set you free.”

  “I’m close to death and you are close to being harvested,” Thalia communicated, without having to move her beautiful lips. “I have been sacrificed and so will you.”


  “Who sacrificed you? Those men in the office?”

  “Do you even know what you’ve stumbled upon?”

  “I assume something larger than me? I mean...that’s all I’ve gathered so far,” Cindy said. “Can I ask, are you a deity?”

  “I am Thalia, goddess of performance. Music, dance, poetry, festivities of human expression; it all originated with me. I showed mankind how to express themselves. Before Constantine’s rule, performance was a way to purify the soul, a way to connect to the gods. Since my imprisonment, human expression has been used to enslave, to create pawns, to express selfishness and sin. An inward reflection of bestiality; total impurity.”

  “Thalia, I submit to you,” Cindy pleaded. “I will do your bidding. Please, help me set you free.”

  “What is your name?” asked Thalia.

  “My name is Cindy Lu. I’m no one special, just someone who happened to find you due to insatiable, inborn curiosity,” Cindy said, humbly. “If they sacrificed you, why honor you with a shrine on Sunset Boulevard?”

  “Cindy, why should I trust you with divinity?”

  “Because I was brave enough to find you. My foot is mangled, I don’t even know if I’m alive at the moment. I faced my fears, faced demons, and my friend was murdered so I could find you. I’ve earned the opportunity to stand before you...to know more.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I found a book, an old book, a big red book. With a four-winged cherub on it.”

  Thalia laughed. Her cackle had a digital resonance to it. “Licinius came through.”

  Cindy stood up from the floor. “Blessed Sacrament, who is Licinius?”

  “Gaius Valerius Licinianus Licinius Augustus the first.”

  “That’s a mouthful.”

  “A powerful name in a time when names mattered. He was Roman Emperor for 16 years before the shift. What you found was the second half of his edict, the edict of Milan. It was written to let humanity know that they were now ruled from the heavens by a new order. Before my capture, I communicated with Licinius and asked him to delay his conversion to the faith provided by Adonai. However, he promised me, that if anything were to happen to me, it would be logged and the transition in the heavens would be cataloged. It is unfortunate that Licinius’ Apocryphon was not found earlier. I’m sure Constantine did everything in his power to keep it out of the hands of the curious all these years.”