The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (20 page)

The item just stared back at him, while his mind conjured up images of a time in the distant past. Snowy ice caps overlooked inns adorned with crucifixes and five
-
pointed stars carved into the walls, populated by terrorized, superstitious villagers. A forgotten time that was suddenly replaying in the present. He closed his eyes and gulped. His mouth was dry. "Help me," he uttered, making the sign of the cross on himself without realizing. He opened his eyes once more, laying them on the thing on the counter. It sat there motionless, as innocent-looking as a pebble plucked from a beach. To Vincent
,
it was now an unspeakable item, something chaotic and dark. Something of immense power.

Help me...

He closed his eyes again and muttered a small prayer. A prayer for his soul, and for the soul of everyone and everything. He opened up his eyes again and steeled himself with a deep breath, nausea swirling in his stomach. With a shaking hand, he reached down and ventured to grab the item. It was stone cold. A chill danced up his spine as he turned and held it up to the light, meeting that yellow/green sliver. He squinted his eye and stared intently into it, the fluorescent light of his lab glowing through the marble-like item. And then the whispers began stirring once again.
"Darkness. Death. Destruction. Blood,"
they said to him
.
"The unholy resurrection is upon us. The great reaping is about to commence. The glorious slaughter of the innocents. Can you feel it? Can you... FEEL!"

Like a tornado, he was sucked into the item, into the void beyond toward a new realm. A world of hate and ethereal bloodlust. In this vision of the future, the darkness flowed like the rivers of Babylon, diseased, cancerous. It moved from the epicenter of civilization with purpose like a self-aware oil slick, spreading across the fabric of humankind, infesting, consuming everything in its path in an evil sludge, drowning the lungs of its victims with pitiless abandon, effortlessly extinguishing any life that was foolish enough to stand in its path.

Vincent's wide eyes took it all in. The destruction, the intention, the plan. Prophecy a reality. The toxic cloud of pure evil intent on consuming the world, the universe in its never-ending quest of pointless devastation. He heard the raw screams of babies, witnessed flesh torn from bones, tongues ripped from mouths, eyeballs that were observing the unspeakable bursting out of skulls. Buildings and megalithic structures flailed before imploding under the strain, unable to withstand the torrent of darkness sweeping across the world, as it enveloped all beneath its rotten, ubiquitous wing.

The life was sucked from Vincent's lungs and he was a mere corpse, forced to endure proceedings, helpless to halt them, a spectator to the triumph of evil over all that is good. The victory of the profane. He wanted to breathe, was desperate, but his lungs and chest were motionless. He was a prisoner, captivated by the sheer scale of the annihilation. A wave of pressure stormed his way; he was thrown back like a rag doll, sucked into a rapidly darkening sky. From where he was he could see the sheer scale of the destruction. Whole cities were swallowed whole, countries, continents, seas--every secret buried deep within their bottomless bellies where man has yet to venture--consumed in an effortless slurp like a child sucking soda through a straw. From his lofty position, Vincent was forced to watch in agony as the corruption spread across the globe, its sticky sludge coating it like melted sugar over a candy apple. His heart ached at the suffering and destruction and the lost souls of the planet. The life, the people, the animals, the plants, billions of years of survival and thriving life destroyed in a matter of seconds by an unforgiving, merciless enemy. The spectacle was debilitating; the strength drained from his muscles like a battery leaking fluid.

His head dropped in failure.

An almighty wave of the thickest darkness then swarmed over what was left of the world and he was thrust back even further. He was propelled out into the vast reaches of space at a speed that was so intense his last breath was still back on Earth by the time he reached his destination. He came to a halt, floating in the reaches of space like a phantom. He gazed at his incredible surroundings in awe, the black sky enveloping him punctuated by billions of tiny pinpricks representing the colossal myriad of stars populating the galaxy. Ancient planets hovered in the sea of emptiness like apples bobbing inside a water barrel. Ahead of him was his home planet, a blue/green utopia that was being engulfed by a hungry slick of darkness.

And then, the darkness began to spread.

Still hungry for destruction, its appetite not satiated by the absorption of a whole planet, it wanted more, its parasitic nature unyielding. Its hideous tentacles began curling out from the globule of sludge. They spread outward, octopus-like, toward everything else in the surrounding solar system. Vincent watched in terror as the tentacles grew thicker and denser, ample enough to reach out blot out the brilliant, blinding sun in a grim blanket of mire, rendering its supercharged rays impotent.

Vincent set eyes on Earth. The darkness had crusted over, hardened into ice and frost, turning the globe glacial, obliterating any chance of life in a cruel
,
cold snap. And still the darkness spread outward like a blotter of ink spilled across a virgin sheet of paper. Its tentacles stretched out, at first hesitant, but soon rampant as more planets and civilizations--some new, others ancient--fell victim to evil in its quest for total dominion. Even if it wanted to stop, it didn't know how.

Vincent's jaw became slack as the tentacles then grew thicker and stronger at a rapid rate. They streamed towards him in tidal waves, tiny hooks at the ends of the black limbs clenching and releasing, unable to resist the lure of more sacred life to destroy. He whirled away in horror, diving into the cosmos in an attempt to escape the dread chasing him. But, it was a fruitless endeavor. The power of the black, pulsating heart of the beast was all too powerful. The tentacles cut through the air faster than light. Something grabbed at his leg and he screamed into the dead air of space, where the sound was drowned in the vast vacuum. A torrent of pain tore up his leg. The horror of tiny hooks and fangs chewed up his thigh. A harsh buzz grew in his ears; the sound of satisfaction from consuming yet another soul. Vincent thrashed his arms on the air, his face a scrawl of anguish. But he couldn't escape. The teeth gnawed their way up his legs. They reached his midsection in seconds, where they clamped down hard, puncturing his stomach, his entrails unraveling out into the open, warm and slick. He arms flapped like the wings of a bird caught in the jaws of a shark as the black gunge made it up to his chest, sucking up any tiny droplets of blood escaping from the morsel captured in its fangs. He tried to scream, but all noise was drowned by the intense buzzing, the sound akin to the inside of a frantic hive of killer bees. Disgusting insectoid clicks grew with more intensity as the things crawled further up his body. In a slick movement, his chest was gone and the stuff was up to his neck. He choked as he drowned in a sea of corruption, forced to witness his own destruction.

From the mass, a thin, delicate tendril moved up to Vincent's ear and caressed it with horrible delicacy. He turned away in revulsion. The tendril trailed a tantalizing circle around his earhole as the sludge moved further up his throat, wet and cold. Then a hole opened up within the tendril; a small mouth. It uttered something in his ear, just for him to hear, the words spoken in a coarse whisper that was lined with thorns and jagged edges.

"We meet again, Slayer."

Vincent's eyes bulged, understanding bombing into his mind. His mouth snapped open, but before he could scream, it was jammed with the sludge and the muck and the mire. He choked on the darkness as it slipped down his throat to fill his lungs, turning them cancerous in seconds. From there, it fled out to his stomach, his liver, his heart, turning them black, riddling them with sickness and disease, just as the whole universe had already succumbed, and he knew at that moment that the battle had been lost. It had all been in vain.

Laughter rang in his ears, the cackle of pure evil. It reverberated through his severed mind as the darkness proceeded to consume him. His arms flopped, and he knew it was over. Both his mind and body conceded and he became still as he was swallowed whole, booming cackles resonating through the cavern of space. The last thing he saw were jaws opening up wide and snapping closed over his head.

A brief torrent of pain ripped through him and he was sucked back through the vortex.

His eyes popped open and he started, almost falling off his chair. He gazed around him in a daze, the remnants of the vision he just experienced still stuck to his brain like flotsam. He was back in the lab, which for a brief moment seemed like an alien planet. His eyes focused in on the fluorescent light above him, then down at the marble-like item in his hand. The yellowish slit stared back at him, unmoving. A cackle rang out in his mind and those words spoke to him again in jagged jibes.
"We meet again, Slayer."

The Eye stared back at him. His jaw quivered. He slung it down on the desk and wheeled away in horror. "Oh my goodness," he gasped. In a drunken daze, he turned back to stare at the item on the desk. It lay there motionless. He now knew exactly what it was; his blood ran cold. "Oh my goodness," was all he could repeat now the realization fully set in. "It can't be."

The Eye of Moroz.

"Oh my goodness," he uttered once more. He had to do something, had to--

A sound made him start. He focused in on it, his eyes rolling. A consistent
phut-phut!
from somewhere high above him. He frowned in confusion.
What is that?

He then looked back at the Eye, that noise growing with more intensity. "Oh... my goodness!"

He reacted in an instant. He plucked up the Eye and darted over to his secret room. He dived inside, scampering past his trophies straight to the wall safe. He swung the door open. He gave the Eye one last look before he threw it inside and slammed the door shut. That rapid
phut-phut!
sound continued, relentless. He wondered how much time he had. He wagered not a lot at all. He turned to dash out of the secret room when a thought struck him. He came to an abrupt halt, spun and darted back to the counter where he'd been studying the Eye. There, he snatched up his cell phone and took the brief opportunity to text Trixie a quick message. He fumbled his way through it in his haste, his fingers trembling. "Damn phones," he said as he typed. He clicked send and then powered it off. "Hope I did it right." There was no time to speculate or worry. That sound from up above was continuing relentless. He knew he had even less time now.
Quick get out of here!
his mind urged.

He threw his cell back down on the counter and wheeled away for the stairs, his weary body unappreciative of the sudden pressure exerted on it. He grabbed his burning chest as he made it back out to his lab, where he sealed the door to the secret room behind him. A loud crash then made him start. He rushed for the steps leading out of the lab. He huffed and puffed up them as fast as his legs would allow; he wished he could exchange them for a younger pair.

He reached the last few steps and something else became audible. Raised voices. Someone was
in
the mansion. And he had a good idea who.

He swallowed--even though his mouth was dry--before speaking into the voice modulator with a shaky tone. The door duly slid open, the natural light from the lobby flooding into the stairwell. He jumped out and allowed the door to slide shut behind him, concealing the secret lab once more. A quick glance to the left and right to make sure no one had seen him, a sharp intake of breath, then a casual stroll out into the lobby to face the music.

The moment he made an appearance, he was descended upon by men clad in black, their faces obscured by balaclavas, their stone cold eyes like those of cyborgs. Alert, bloodshot. Their teeth clenched as if they were in the throes of agony. Lost souls driven by anger, fueled with rage. They rushed toward him like a pack of wolves, aiming their submachine guns. "Get your hands up!" one of them shouted.

"As you wish!" Vincent responded, throwing his hands into the air, wary of receiving a stray bullet in the head. A rough hand grabbed his arm and cranked it behind his back. He doubled over in agony.

"Move!" the thug ordered, shoving him forward. Vincent was pushed across the lobby through toward the back doors, which had been smashed in. Their feet trampled over broken glass; it cracked and popped beneath them. Other black contract thugs were already standing to attention by the wrecked doors, talking on radios, their massive guns at the ready. Vincent stared at them in trepidation.

He was shoved forward once more toward the back doors. "Outside! Now!" a vicious thug snarled at him.

"Righteo," Vincent said, nodding. He was pushed once more, causing him to stagger through the skeleton of his back doors. He almost fell face first onto the patio but managed to keep his balance. He stood upright and looked around. His back yard was infested with military thugs as if they were attempting to invade a small nation. Vincent stared at them all open-mouthed. Heavily armed, anonymous soldiers; a couple of black helicopters loitered on the grass ahead of him. He glanced up to see two more hovering high above them all like vultures. It was like a military coup.

He was prodded in the back with a gun muzzle. As he lurched toward the nearest helicopter, the door to the gym burst open. Rufus came rushing out, his teeth clenched, his eyes wild. Without warning, he dived toward the nearest thug, connecting a perfect side kick to his back. The stunned thug spun, only to receive a similar kick with the opposite foot to the face. There was a grotesque snap before the thug hit the grass.