Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening

by Von Werner, Michael

  Vincent furiously kicked him in the gut with the other leg to no effect. “Get off!” He growled angrily through the pain of the bite. Craig retracted his teeth, not because of what Vincent said or did, but to claw and grab higher, no doubt to go after his throat as well. Enraged, Vincent beat him down again and pressed his right foot down on his chest to keep him from moving or biting. Craig continued grabbing and clawing at him, digging his fingernails painfully into his flesh and trying to pull and push the leg off.

  “Are you alright?” Stacy asked.

  “Stand your ground!” Vincent yelled back.

  He looked up from Craig and noticed that Karl was fighting a losing battle against Stan to keep him away from his throat, and the split second instant of decision was upon him. Time stopped. Vincent held his sword high in both hands while looking down at Craig. Craig looked dead, but what if he wasn’t? How could he kill him? Had something truly terrible happened to him, or was it possible that he was still alive but mentally deranged? If that were true, it would be wrong to take Craig’s life. Craig wasn’t a cultist, he was just an innocent boy. One of their own.

  The memory of his hesitation to kill Jeanette flashed through his mind again.

  The objective realization came fast. Indecision fled his being to be replaced by a frightened fury as the sword came down. Once Craig’s head was severed, the corpse twitched and then moved no more. Blood oozed out of the opening.

  Despite his revulsion at seeing Craig’s head removed, Vincent did not waste even a fraction of a second as he rushed to help Karl. He helped push Stan back with his left hand and then ran him through with his blade on the side of his rib cage.

  Nothing happened.

  Vincent’s eyes widened in surprise. It made no sense. He tried again, thinking he had missed. He knew he hadn’t missed. The blade passed through Stan again; he even checked and looked at the blood on it. No effect. With the two of them so close like that, Vincent’s choices were limited.

  Frantic to save his cousin, he buried his sword in Stan again, all the way to the hilt, and then twisted it, using it to push Stan while grabbing a hold of Karl’s shoulder to force them apart. At first it gained them no purchase, but it allowed Karl a free hand to start pulling Stan’s off. Pushing hard, Karl was finally able to get himself free and was flung off to the left, losing his balance.

  A chill ran down Vincent’s spine, he looked up and instantly realized the obvious. Just as Stan was turning his attention to Vincent, starting to move to grab at him, he brought up his right foot and used it to kick-shove him off the sword. Stan was forced away a good distance and fell to the ground. Vincent’s chest heaved, more out of unrest than weariness as he held his bloody sword at the ready in both hands toward Stan.

  Karl was at his side next, floating his rock above his left hand and breathing even harder from his prolonged ordeal. They turned their heads toward each other and shared a brief look of shock. The next moment, Karl curled the fingers on his left hand like he was holding a ball and flicked it. With incredible speed and power, his large flat rock flew through the air and smashed down on Stan’s dirt blond head, causing his skull to burst apart in a spray of blood, bone, and brain, like a tomato battered by a club. Stray drops of blood were flung on their faces. As if alive, the rock floated back up afterward, covered in gore, and hovered in the air a few feet in front of Karl once again, dripping red.

  The two of them waited.

  Stan did not get up.

  They exchanged another look, eyes wide and still feeling stunned by what had happened. Then they turned their gaze forward at Stan’s corpse again. Vincent thought he might be sick.

  “Just what the hell is going on here!” Karl demanded, breathing hard and brushing off in frustration some the disheveled strands of his blond hair out of his face. “Why did they attack us!”

  Vincent had no answer, instead he just looked at the bloody mess that was left of Stan’s head, letting his eyes glide over to the grievous yet ineffective wounds he himself had inflicted. He then glanced down at Craig’s bloody, headless remains at his feet, pushing it away with his boot while wishing it had landed somewhere else. “There’s something else about them that doesn’t quite make sense.” He grimaced, feeling a deep revulsion.

  Karl looked from one to the other like he and immediately caught on to what he was saying. “You’re right, for some reason their heads appear to be their only weakness.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Stacy asked, her back still to them.

  Though he didn’t want to, Vincent dutifully shared it with Stacy, his tone grave. “I don’t know what was wrong with Stan or Craig, but if you see anyone like them again…blast them apart or go for their heads,” he explained, “I think it’s the only way.” He kept his wary gaze to the woods once more, the grimace still on his face, and started moving his sword one way and to the other when he slowly turned his body back and forth.

  “Okay…but did you really need to kill them?”

  Karl guffawed. “‘Need to kill them?’ Stacy, they were already dead! Vince had the full length of his steel through him and it did nothing!”

  “In who?”

  “Stan!”

  Stacy seemed shaken a moment. “Oh.”

  “They weren’t alive, they weren’t deranged, and the cultists didn’t do anything to their minds,” Karl concluded. “What we saw had to be some form of necromancy! I’m sure of it! These bastards are raising the dead!”

  “Then the situation is much worse than we thought,” Rick commented.

  Amidst the sound of rain there was a man’s laughter to his right and Vincent wheeled his head. At the other end of the clearing, not far from the cauldron, a man looking just like what Stan and Craig had once described to him came out into the open. He began slowly clapping his hands together while he laughed. His straight dark hair was strangely not soaked from the weather, and the faint dark splotches under his eyes were not washed away by it either. The peasant clothes he wore, a clear façade, hung just a little too tight.

  A rather large number of people in black robes with hoods showed up in several rows behind him, but it was too dark for him to tell how many. Vincent’s heart pounded. His body shook as his muscles tensed. His fists tightened on his sword, knowing that soon it would taste more blood. Karl and Stacy moved up on the sides of Vincent and Rick to face them.

  He kept laughing as he walked a little further and continued clapping his hands together in amusement. “Brilliant,” he mocked between laughs, “well done. I especially enjoyed your red haired friend’s wonderful little stroke of acumen, ‘about it being much worse.’” His laughter died out, but he remained deceptively gracious. “I’m sure you must think us monsters,” he started, “and I admit that our methods are sometimes crude. But there is really no cause for aggression or hostility between us, no need for you to turn away in fearful ignorance.” His voice turned more sweet. “We could even be friends, you could join us in our noble cause.”

  “And what cause is that?” Vincent asked.

  He swept his arms out and bowed only slightly before coming back up. “Why to serve and worship Kargoth The Almighty in all his divine glory.” He eyed each of them carefully, seeming to take further stock of them. His eyes glided up and down the length of Stacy, studying her form, and she momentarily averted her eyes and shifted her weight uncomfortably. “The four of you are not entirely without value, it would be quite unfortunate to waste your talents. Even you with the sword were quite impressive the other night, if a bit troublesome.” He smiled. “Even more impressive that you still stand before us.” Vincent clenched his jaw. “If you will but swear allegiance to the Lord of Death and join him in his revolution against the false gods,”-he paused-“I shall spare your lives.”

  As always, Stacy’s mind worked fast. “Why should we seek death from him in order to be spared a death at your hands? Where’s the logic in that?”

  “Life and death shall become as one,” he ans
wered cryptically, “and those who serve him well will be rewarded with everlasting happiness and vitality, all who oppose him, punished and tormented for all eternity. Why struggle against the divine one when everything you desire could be yours if you would but submit to his will?”

  Vincent felt overwhelmed by the danger they were in, and the numbers they were up against, but he had no intention of ever submitting to this Kargoth. He gritted his teeth. Nor to him. He gripped his sword tighter. “You’re going to pay for all your crimes.”

  “Crimes? What crimes?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about: you killed countless children and other innocents! You stole from us! And now you murdered Stan and Craig!”

  “Oh right, that,” he dismissed offhandedly, “but then again, I didn’t really kill them, you did.”

  “Does that lie comfort you?” Vincent asked in retort.

  “Why yes…actually, it does. I will be very comforted to know that the authorities will be wasting their time holding you responsible instead of coming after us. And who can blame them? After all it was your sword that cut off that one’s head,”-he pointed then let the hand down-“and your rock that…delightfully put an end to the other.”

  “I’ll ‘put an end’ to you!” Karl shouted back in unrestrained rage.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he replied, still not showing any loss of mirth, “you see the four of you will be quite dead once the magistrate or the wizards arrive. You will be blamed for their deaths posthumously, I’m afraid. As for me, I have something I need to finish cooking.”

  “Is that how you did it? With that infernal concoction?” Vincent asked next.

  “That?” He asked innocently, pointing to the cauldron. “Oh my no, I don’t need that to turn them or anyone. That is something altogether different, something much more delicious,” his eyes looked up and he seemed to be imagining something pleasant, “quite delicious indeed.” He looked back. “It’s a shame you won’t join us. I didn’t really expect you to, I just thought to be generous by offering you an alternative to needless suffering.”-he clasped his hands together-“well,” he said, letting out a breath, “I’d simply love to keep chatting with you, but right now we need to finish our work…and unfortunately you cannot be allowed to interfere.” He turned to the cauldron and walked toward it along with several others. As he did, he shouted over his shoulder to the rest of the cult members, no longer in a nice tone, genuine or not. Now it sounded snide, grating, almost angry. “Please entertain our beloved guests.”

  Like a false start to a race, Rick and Stacy immediately unleashed a deadly volley of magic before their foes could. Fire erupted into the night, brightening the rain and darkness as Rick’s blaze engulfed several black robed figures in screaming, burning agony with some screams sounding like they came from men, others like they came from women. Simultaneously, blinding flashes of lightning streaked forth in rapid succession from each of Stacy’s hands, knocking their targets from their feet and causing a whitish fluid to burst from their faces. Vincent realized it was their eyes exploding. Stacy’s and Rick’s attacks were only just clear of their hands when a thick wide sheet of black sodden dirt and rock tangled with tree roots rose up from the ground in front of them, barely in time to block a huge retaliatory barrage of eerie green fire and a few attacks like theirs.

  Before they had time to think, a gang of zombies closed in on them from behind, grabbing and biting at Rick and Stacy. In a panic, Vincent turned and elbowed one in the face that was nearly on top of him, immediately swinging his sword to remove its head afterward. Desperately, he attacked and removed the head of an undead peasant woman about to lunge at Karl, who stood fixed in place with his back to her, clenching his raised fists and straining to hold up the impromptu barrier that had just saved their lives.

  “Get off me!” Stacy screamed in a high pitch.

  Vincent turned to help her and Rick but had to swing and behead another that almost had him. Rick was on his knees, struggling and using the back of his head to hit the face of the one trying to bite his neck while blood was already flowing down Stacy’s left shoulder. The biting zombie tried to tug at her like a mountain lion trying to tear the flesh from its prey’s throat. Vincent rushed over as fast as he could, and took only one frantic split second to aim his sword for a careful horizontal swing. The blow barely missed her neck, and that was all he needed to know; he hurried and did the same to aid the beleaguered pyromancer. Rick pulled the undead person’s arms off him before standing to his full height.

  “Look out!” Rick yelled as he turned around. Vincent ducked as he sent a compressed fire spark over him at something behind them, and from the sound didn’t need to see it to know that Rick had hit. When he saw Stacy still struggling to get up and shrug the beheaded corpse off of her, he noticed that the severed head still hung on by its teeth that were sunk in her neck.

  “Get this thing off me!” She pleaded.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Vincent said anxiously, “Rick, watch our left flank.” Rick made no acknowledgement and instead moved quickly past Karl to guard the left edge of his dirt wall, shooting flame sparks at foes who were trying to come around on that side, and occasionally ducking back to avoid their blasts.

  Vincent hurriedly stepped over toward Stacy and stuck his sword point in the ground, warily glancing at his right to monitor the other undead still coming toward them from further away in the dark. “Hold still,” he cautioned. With his hands, he carefully grabbed hold of the forehead and jaw, slowly prying it open.

  “Ow!” Stacy complained, her face contorting in pain.

  “I’ve almost got it off,” he said in reassurance. After it was, her blood on it’s stinking, rotting face and yellow teeth, he tossed the disgusting thing to the side, pulled the body’s arms off her and shoved the rest out of the way. As he wiped his hands on his pants, Stacy cupped her left hand to her neck where she was bitten and pressed firmly but was still bleeding a small amount despite it. “Are you alright?” He asked her.

  “It hurts, but I think for now I’ll be…”-a black robed figure in the distance suddenly came past the edge on that side and lifted his hands-“get back!”

  They both slammed their backs into the muddy, wet wall behind them as a ball of green flame larger than his fist whizzed by. Keeping one hand firmly pressed on the wound, Stacy immediately used the other to meet the attack in kind and hit the cult member with a lethal bolt of lightning. Steam rose from the corpse before it even hit the ground. To combat several approaching others, she sent a windblast that flung them through the air into the nearby trees. One was impaled by the sharp stub of a dead branch as they landed. The zombies came closer. Vincent reached forward to grasp the hilt of his sword and pulled the blade out of the soggy earth.

  Chapter XI

  The hunkering forms were nearly invisible in the dark, shaded from the campfire as they were by the wall Karl had erected. Vincent sent his magic into his blade to make a brief burst of flame all around it so he could see them better. He didn’t want to keep the illumination prolonged; it would only help the cultists pick him out.

  And it would interfere with what he wanted to do.

  The brief burst of light had told Vincent exactly what he wanted to know. Boldly, he got up and left the protective layer of earth to attack the oncoming undead. He was able to behead two, feeling the impact of his blade passing through their necks before he had to flare his sword again.

  Another fell to his blade.

  Karl looked over his shoulder. “Are you crazy! Get back here!”

  “Just keep silent!” He yelled back. “I know what I’m doing!” Karl kept quiet, not wanting to call any more attention to himself in the dark. Or to Vincent.

  Vincent flared his sword once more and then intentionally ducked and rolled to the side once it was dark again. It had the desired effect. Two blasts of green flame streaked by, crisscrossing over one another as they passed. One flew off toward the forest whi
le the other hit a zombie and blew it apart in a shower of burning green bits. He knew exactly what he was doing: He was keeping the zombies off his friends backs while diverting enemy fire. It was risky.

  Unleashing his full fury at the undead, Vincent swung mercilessly and aimed for their necks. Three more fell in quick succession but more kept coming. He only flared his sword if it was absolutely necessary; otherwise he kept it dark to avoid giving his enemies a clear shot.

  The cultists seemed to take notice of the fact that one of them was in the midst of the undead, hampering them, and began to start shooting at him amongst the crowd. The flames were hitting zombies nearby. Many missed him by only a hair. Mortal fear seeped into his core. Vincent wasn’t quite sure how they were able to pick him out. He brushed his dark blue cloak back out of the way as he turned to retreat a few steps.

  His cloak.

  As if it were crawling with snakes, Vincent tore off his cloak and threw it toward a pack of zombies on his right. Several green fire blasts streaked over it as it fell to the mud, killing more zombies. Those that weren’t claimed by the misses rushed in to meet him, and Vincent soon found himself heavily embattled on all sides. As he kept stepping back toward his friends, he sent magic into the blade to make it light and fast and kept swinging and swinging, taking off any head that came close enough to offer itself to him.

  What was made clear to him amidst the fighting, was what had happened to all the missing or murdered people he had sought justice for; he was fighting most of them right now. Every time he flared his blade, faces described to him by people he talked to were lit up. The cult had obviously gone beyond that though; there were far more here than had been reported.

  Vincent was losing more and more ground. Soon he had none left to give and was right up against his friends, protecting them by swinging fast with every last ounce of strength. He knew they weren’t going to make it yet kept swinging as hard as he could out of sheer terror, frantically severing one head after another. When he turned for only an instant to kill one on his right, he saw the red flash and heard the screams from several more cult members being consumed by a large blaze from Rick. Behind him as he swung, he heard the pandemonium of shrieking winds and the crack of lightning bolts from Stacy, who was keeping them at bay on the other side.