Night Kings: The Complete Anthology (37 page)

“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 1
^st
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 their 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.