I found this old bit of scribble lying around... one day... one day I might turn this into a book... Lucas was a hunter. He had been a hunter since the early days, long before vampires had become chic. He knew them for what they were, diseased and mad. It was charity work, he figured, relieving them of their cursed existence. But then, they werent the only ones. Lucas knew all about living under the shadow of an immortal curse. Fifteen centuries. Fifteen hundred years of chasing leeches from battlefield to battlefield. So many wars -- wars were feasts for the undead -- Bosnia, Rwanda, Vietnam, Korea, Normandy, Tripoli, Gallipoli, Antietam, Transvaal, Yorktown, Quebec, Kanisza, Styria, Graubünden, Tyrol, Agincourt, Portiers, Damascus, Jerusalem, Pamplona, Verden, Brunanburh, Clontarf, Manau-Gododdin, Llongborth... Lucas had imbedded himself in the rank and file of every one of them. But whatever war it was, it didnt matter. He didnt give a toss about English or French or Union or Confederate or Norman or Saxon. Lucas was fighting his own war. His was a war between the living and the should-be-dead. He was a one man army in that fight, and he did his job well. Until he hit Slaughtaverty. He had been in Ireland, in the County Derry, investigating the cult Cur-fola-Grian. These sadly misguided imbeciles had been attempting to exhume the body of one of the most vile and voracious nosferatu to ever disgrace the annals of time. History tells that Leacht Abhartach was once a renowned Irish chieftain, but in his lust for power, he betrayed his soul to Darkness. In his bloodlust and cruelty, he massacred and devoured men, women, children -- friend and foe. Finally, through the strength and cunning of Cathán, a rival chieftain, Abhartachs reign of terror was ended. Lucas didnt mind when others took credit for his kills. Cathán was a good friend and Lucas knew that fame was just a liability in his line of work. The only thing that mattered to Lucas was that the dead stayed dead. And centuries later, he had come back to Ireland, intent on seeing that Abhartach stayed that way. He was too late, though. When he arrived at Slaughtaverty, the town was locked down, its folk petrified in terror. The remains of the young men that had violated that unholy tomb had been piled in a field outside of the town and burnt. Lucas had squeezed as much of the story as he could from the locals. It wasnt much to go on, but it was enough to know that it was time to leave. But again, he was too late. Theres nothing like the hunger of an Elder newly awakened. Leacht Abhartach remembered the man that had ruined his feast, and he knew well the curse that the man carried. It was Abhartach, himself, who had laid that hex on his soul, and only he could end it. Lucas had survived a lot of wars over the years. But the sun cant shine every day. Sometimes the good guys just cant win. Lucas watched his heart twitching in the nightwalkers bony fingers before he finally managed his last, blood-choked breath. Then darkness. Then Hell. And then real fighting began... Lucas landed in Hell amidst the greatest war in the Underworlds history. He fought like he always had, remorseless and efficient. But in the end, his carcass rotted and his bones grew brittle alongside the millions of others under the sunless skies of Tartarus. Lucas hollow sockets were still transfixed on those skies when Lucifers heavy boot crushed his skull. The Lord of Darkness stopped then to look out over the battlefield. Great piles of bone and debris rose up like dunes in a desert of death that stretched far beyond all horizons. Millions upon millions had sacrificed themselves for causes that very few of them understood. Lucifer was pleased. It was a cleansing. The old orders had grown complacent and weak. The High Kings had been deposed. Beelzebub, lord of Limbo and Lucifers oldest ally from the Fall, had been crushed by Belial, the king of Tartarus. In the aftermath of that battle, Belial was in turn defeated by Astaroth, master of Gahenna; but not before Belial dealt him a mortal wound. And now they were gone. A new and stronger empire would rise from the ashes of that conflagration. His power would grow ten-fold. And once his empire was rebuilt and his strength renewed, the Lord of the Fallen would turn his eyes toward Heaven and claim his rightful throne.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 21:50:51 +0000
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