The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (46 page)

Adam Reinhart—a patriot who had done everything he could to stop a madman and preserve the nation he loved—covered his eyes as the SUV’s wide nose suddenly dipped, the unknown driver clearly trying to avoid the imminent crash. But Adam didn’t believe for a moment that it would manage to stop before striking the mangled truck. With his death rapidly approaching, Adam began to pray with a hopeless sorrow, wishing one more time that he could have carried the flag forward with his countrymen who were now at war.

E
pilogue

Long Live the King

On a cold winter morning, near the smoldering ruins of a once great nation, a man lost to the shadows of the morning and the thoughts of his mind reclined behind an aged mahogany desk. He looked up at the Washington Monument in a catatonic stupor, watching the snow as it slowly swirled around him, intermixing with the soft gray of endless ash. The thought of ash made the man smile. Ashes meant fire. A heated moment of change. And for the past few days, the very idea of a new blaze of
his
creation brought a grin to the man’s otherwise sharp and piercing gaze.

The man reached into his pocket—careful not to prick his finger—and carefully seized his old pen. He leaned forward, and methodically—like a victorious king who brought order to madness—began to scratch his thoughts on the thick piece of parchment.

My dearest Sigmund,

I once described a hero as someone made of courage. Someone who, in the face of adversity, can stare down his opponents with that valor and fight for what he believes in. The heroes of old commonly arise out of suffering and a newly discovered self-serving authority. It was you who first called me your hero; the bright light who would bring forth the new dawn. In the beginning, we stood together against the few who resisted us. I always believed that we were to be the heroes mankind would remember for all time.

Oh how I was wrong.

Now, at the beginning of your end—when you thought victory was finally at hand and the time had come to throw me to the wolves—know that I am not, and never was, the hero you sought. I am the darkness, a ravenous daemon here to feed on the most defiant of souls. I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and cast you into the lake of fire for all eternity. So, run while you can, and cherish these momentary days of safety and solitude. Soon you will kneel before the chosen one you created and realize that I am not your hero.

I am your worst nightmare.

~Your old friend

Lukas folded the piece of paper and handed it to his nearby advisor—instructing the man to make sure the letter was seen on every television throughout the world. He then rose, took the hand of Maria Brekor, and began his short walk across a blackened field toward the day’s first destination.

The invasion of Washington had surprised not only Lukas, but also those who had been responsible for his safety. Lukas had expected resistance at some point, but not so quickly and not so strong.

And not from the scattered and frightened American people.

The ambush at the Capitol Building had not only forfeited him the right to execute one of the men he hated most, but it had almost succeeded in capturing him. His men had fought gallantly, utilizing their numbers and drones to turn the tide of battle. As his men clashed in the rooms and halls, his personal security detail had managed to move Lukas away from the Capitol Building before it was turned to rubble by the attacking force.

The forward advance—a rag-tag army made up of those who called themselves the Sons of Liberty—had been turned back when his autonomous fighter jets arrived. After that, they had practically trampled over one another in a desperate attempt to flee the battlefield in any direction. Multiple reports of Adam Reinhart’s whereabouts had surfaced throughout the battle, but it had been five days since the attack and Lukas still had no body. Though he hoped that Adam Reinhart was nothing more than a charred body among the ruins of what had been America’s capital, he had begun to believe that his fight with Adam had only just begun.

Then again, Lukas knew it would not only be a battle against one man.

The screams that continued to fill the cell that held Rhys Howard reminded him that he faced other powerful enemies. He hoped his letter would reach Sigmund and instill a lasting fear into the man. But it didn’t end there. That which had been America continued to tear itself apart into countless factions vying for power and control. However, Lukas wasn’t there on that cold winter morning to strategize about his empire’s future. That would come in time. He was there simply for the ceremony that was about to begin.

Lukas Chambers and his wife continued their walk toward Washington Monument—which he intended to rename or remove—ringed by his drones and bodyguards. No crowd had gathered. No cheers from the multitudes rose to the heavens as they had two years before. It was a simple ceremony—one that would occur only once in Lukas’ endless lifetime. He reached the platform and waited as those he had appointed beneath him as his judges knelt before him. Jacob Brekor approached him from the left, withdrawing a large ceremonial sword once he stopped, and began speaking.

“Are you prepared to take the oath, my son?”

Lukas nodded back and began to recite the words he had waited a lifetime to say.

“I, Lukas Ryan Chambers . . .”

A god among men.

“. . . do solemnly swear . . .”

By the blood I have spilled.

“. . . that I will faithfully execute the role . . .”

That I will faithfully execute all of my adversaries.

“. . . as the First Sovereign of the Imperium . . .”

As an immortal and fair king.

“. . . and will to the best of my ability . . .”

And on the backs of my servants.

“. . . build . . . ”

Forge.

“. . . protect . . .”

Uphold.             

“. . . and defend . . .”

Sacrifice anything and everyone.

“. . . the lands that I have inherited . . .”

To seize that which belongs to me.

“. . . from this day forward until death’s final embrace. . . .”

For all eternity.

Jacob then handed Lukas what came to be known as the Sword of Lords. He then turned to the few others that were there and shouted.

“All hail, Lukas Chambers, the First Sovereign of the Imperium!”

Lukas Chambers—the man who had been the villain America needed in order to become the savior the world deserved—looked out over the ruined remains of the United States and thought of ash as the men below began to chant.

“Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king. . . .”

About the Author

Jordan Ervin had spent five years working for a prestigious corporation before branching off on his own at the age of 25 to pursue his dreams. He spent the next few years building his own business while writing his first novel part time. Today, he lives in Colorado with his wife, Rachel, and his four children. He works in information technology field while he continues to write. If he's not working, writing, or reading, he's usually chasing little kids around his home or enjoying the mountain view.

You can follow him and subscribe to his release newsletter at www.jordanervin.com or contact him through [email protected].

From the Author

When I was in seventh grade my entire English class was given the task of writing a short story about the most memorable moment of our childhood. There were dozens of stories I could have told, but I knew if I were to entertain my classmates to the level I desired, I needed a story worthy of their applause: something funny, exciting, suspenseful, and a bit scary. After some consideration, I decided to write about the first time I saw a clown.

The details of the story are not as important as the impact that experience had on me as a storyteller; I will forever remember that day in seventh grade. I shared the story with my class partner—a good friend with a voice as squeaky as mine—and he couldn’t stop laughing. He begged me to read it to a couple of our other friends. Then four more. Then ten. Eventually, the teacher requested me to read my tale to the entire class. So I read the words I had written, careful to enhance every subtle emotion, and found incredible joy in the fact that all thirty of my peers laughed and applauded once I was finished.

Fast forward many years and I found myself in college, sitting quietly with a smile on my face as my theater class read a play I wrote titled
Who Wacked Vinnie Fatcheeks?
I remember my professor, a grim faced man who cussed like a sailor, pulling his glasses from his face so he could wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes.

Then, in 2010, I was fortunate enough to be attached to a film project where I was one of the lead story developers. Though the story didn’t turn out exactly the way I wanted, it gained some nationwide attention and to this day Hollywood keeps threatening—as I like to say—to buy that script. I can honestly say that I learned more about storytelling in those six months than I had over the previous 24 years. Thank you Andrew, Scott, and Pete. I will say, however, that I’m still partial to the alien idea.

I wrote this book and told those stories in the past for many reasons, but there has always been a hope that’s dwarfed any and all other motives: to entertain my audience. To make them think, laugh, and lose themselves in the story at hand.

I hope you enjoyed this book. I hope you tell your friends about it and that it entertains them as well. I hope it makes us think about the collective choices we make as a society today and how our actions might affect tomorrow’s generation. I hope you’re willing to tell me what you thought about it. Yes, I read reviews and yes, your opinions matter greatly to me. In addition to my utmost thanks for supporting this dream of mine, I give you one promise:

I vow that I will strive to make every book better than the last and give you a story worthy of applause.

                                                                                                                                                                                                   
Jordan Ervin