Red Serpent_ The Falsifier - By Delson Armstrong Page 0,1

manifestation of death; this was the end.

“No,” the figure read his thoughts, “I am not your death, Anaxagoras. I am your life, eternal and everlasting. This is what I have come to offer.”

“Why?” Anaxagoras’s pale face looked on weakly. “I’m nothing. I know I deserve death.”

The figure said, “And what would happen if you died? There would be anarchy.”

“It’s already like that,” the king replied.

“But when you come back from the dead, they will praise you.”

“I have such powers already. What does it matter?” The king looked at the figure, his filmy eyes trying to uncover the face within the cloak.

“But the power I give you will make you a king of kings, the royal leader of all leaders of this universe.” The dark one hissed, “You will make this universe a part of our undying power, a part of a new and immortal race.”

“What do you mean?” The king coughed.

“I offer you that which Christ offered to his people one thousand years ago. I am giving you my blood. When you drink from the fountain of real life, you shall become part of me. You shall be like me. You will be immortal and invincible forever.”

“Truly I want this,” the king said, his eyes widening.

“But,” the figure said, holding out a long-nailed, pale finger, “I warn you. The road to immortality is difficult. You will come and live with me for some time and I will show you everything. When you come back from the dead you must bend the people to your will. They will be like you in all ways but one. They will die by silver, the one thing that they will abhor. So long as you are with your people, treading the same ground that they do, no harm and no death shall come upon them.

“They will acquire powers beyond anything imaginable but they must feed on blood. For it is written: the blood is the life. When you return, the blood will be yours and your people’s life. They will no longer produce kin to take over their welfare. But those they wish to inflict slavery upon they may do so by spilling blood from their victims and making them feed on the blood of our race.” The dark one paused, waiting for Anaxagoras’s reaction. The king was mesmerized. “So do you choose life or a death with no glory or honor?”

“I choose life!” the king said, struggling to sit up on his bed. His features remained obscured by the shadows of the curtains as he leaned on a silky pillow.

“Listen to me carefully,” the figure said. Just then, his right hand swirled around and a mist started to form above his palm. The smoke darkened and formed into the shape of a silver chalice, encrusted with rubies and emeralds. “Drink this and listen,” hissed the figure. The king did as he was told. “There will come a day when I am gone. You must conquer the Men of the Earth and you must resurrect me so that I can come and reign in peace. I will tell you more soon. For now, just drink.”

In the king’s hand the chalice became a link between himself and the life-giver. He felt a gentle but painful spark that lasted only a moment yet seemed eternal. As the last drop touched his lips his spirit tore away from his flesh and followed the dark being into the nether-realms and his limp body fell back on the bed.

The supporters mourned their king’s unfortunate death. No one knew what had occurred that day when the figure went to his room and no one ever spoke of it until the king came back.

The year was 3328 A.D and the vampiric race had almost succeeded in conquering the humans. The invaders expected an easy victory but the war lasted for almost fifteen years. They had underestimated the humans, presuming them to be weak and incompetent. On the contrary, they found them to be a formidable enemy.

General John Benjamin Howe III despised fear, which was the only emotion he felt now. However, he did not show this to his men who looked up to him. Externally he emanated courage and valiance. He had to. He knew in his heart they were going to lose this battle but he still wanted to fight it to the bitter end.

John surveyed his brave men, each one of them ready to fight, and sensed their fear. “Listen!” he said. Every single man of all the one