The Wayward Messiah

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The Wayward Messiah

 

PROLOGUE

        Father Ignacio was the keeper and master of his parish, and he controlled his flock with fear of fire and damnation. Fear was a tasty emotion to the old priest, one that could feed him forever. He was not what he seemed, but true monsters seldom were.

The orphanage that fell under his dominion was no exception to his influence; the fear of the orphans was palpable and fed his dark soul. Father Ignacio was a creature of darkness hiding within under a cloak of righteousness, a vampire as dark and ancient as any in the world.

        Ignacio was not always as such, but since his rebirth he moved in the darkest shadows. He used the fear of spiritual damnation to create fear in his flock, and in turn fed upon their life essence made stronger by that fear. Ignacio knew he could inspire fear in most simply by the word but a few required other forms of influence.

        One orphan came to his domain at an early age and taught to survive amidst famine and plague. Samuel was strong of will and spirit but he knew he would break the child, but to do so he had to remove hope of redemption and forever alter the boy’s life. To do so he had to change him through his knowledge of dark and ancient rites.

       

        Samuel awoke in the darkened orphanage and sensed something was wrong, he was wrong. He arose from his cot and noticed why he felt do wrong, the teenaged boy had changed. No longer did he feel the familiar male form that he was born unto, rather he could feel his now lithe female body. He also felt weakened and out of place in the world, and he knew true fear and despair as his future became shrouded in shadow.  Sam also sensed a presence in the orphanage that resounded in her soul, and in the shadowed recesses of her mind she heard a still small voice…RUN!

 

CHAPTER 1

 

        As she wiped a tattered piece of silk over her blood stained saber, a tear formed in her eye. In twenty-two years of life Maudite had been in countless encounters and seen enough bloodshed to fill the Roman aqueducts. This time though, the wall of hatred that prevented her from feeling remorse had failed her and because of that she felt uncertain about the future of the hunt.

        In her youth, which was a time in Maudite’s life that she tried to bury, she was called Samuel and after, Samantha. Maudite had tried to bury her former self, but try as she might, Samantha would not be killed. Samantha was neither dead nor would she be driven away. Even now as Maudite stared at the mangled corpse of the antediluvian vampire, Samantha pried free the disregarded memories. She fought against Samantha’s influence, losing ground each passing second.

        Suddenly a scream flooded Maudite’s senses driving her into a deep trance.

*

        A shrill scream reverberated through the orphanage. The sound carried with it the lament of battle between heaven and hell. It was the very sound of the gates of heaven crashing down in the aftermath of Samantha’s final act.

        As Sister Mary Josephine recovered enough from her initial shock, she saw the fifteen year old girl standing naked, clothes shredded at her feet, over the bloodied form of Father Ignacio. In one hand she held his still beating heart; the other held a splintered, blood covered crucifix. The look that she saw in the face of the dead priest was full of dark intent.

        The Sister’s words were hollow and full of horror. “My dear child, what have you done?”

        Samantha neither moved nor spoke, but remained with her back to the venerable nun. In the doorway of the choir loft appeared a man. Without even the need to gaze upon the carnage, he moved to disarm the murderous child. His anger was flowing out into the room, reaching out to choke his prey.

        “Little wench, you shall rot in the pit for this deed. Your torment shall be much to my pleasure,” Brother Francis said with a snarl.

        Samantha saw the truth in his eyes. Father Ignacio was his sire, his master. A tear welled up in her eye as she drove the splintered end of the crucifix at him. She feigned at his lower abdomen, at the last moment switching her momentum and bringing the gilded cross up across his exposed throat. The crude weapon tore a rough wound in his throat and sprayed the girl with blood. The man’s weight carried him well past the child and deposited him on the floor in a heap of blood stained sack-cloth. As he sailed past her she could hear the chilling sound of the friar’s life bubbling out of his throat in labored breaths.

        Samantha, bathed from top to bottom in blood, dove for a more suitable weapon. It was a silver cross fixed atop a long, garishly carved staff. The weapon acquired, she bounded past the cowering form of Sister Josephine and out over the open rafters of the cathedral. The confusion and hysteria of the elder vampire’s scream at the end of his life had alerted the guards in the city. The roar of voices echoed in the sanctuary below her as the friars and the constabulary ran towards the loft. Silently from the shadows she watched.

        Moments of mayhem were followed by eons of silence. In the dimly lit recess that was the choir loft, she could now see a face. Not knowing if the man could see her, Samantha bounded from beam to beam, narrowly falling twice. She stopped in front of a window ledge directly above the candle lit altar.

        Constable Antoine de Chevalier had never seen such a heinous act. The carnage caused by this young girl was something that could turn the devil’s own stomach. Without even a word to anyone in the loft he walked to the rail. He looked into the deep shadows of the ceiling, but he saw nothing more than two distant points of light. His thoughts flashed to the father, this act could’ve only been committed by a person in the throes of demonic possession. He swore this girl would burn.

        “Come to me child! Make this easy and thy suffering shall be lessened.” He paused long enough to be sure the echoes in the church did not obscure his words. “But be sure that thou shall suffer for this act.”

        The lights slowly rose in the darkened as the acolytes lit tapers one by one. The constable looked down to his guards and back up into the rafters. At the far end of the church, above the now brightly lit altar, he saw his prey. Standing in front of a stained glass image of a crucified Christ was the darkened figure of a nude girl. Her arms stretched as if in a mockery of the window she met the constable’s glare. A light in her eyes, neither holy nor damned, sent a shiver through his body. He knew she was possessed, but it was not by any force he ever knew.

        The resonant sound of a bow string followed by the dull “thud” of a crossbow bolt digging into hardwood broke the silence. Below the girl’s feet was the offending bolt, extending out of the still and bobbing to and fro.

        “Hold!” de Chevalier yelled. “Do not fire until I say or you will answer to me.”

        Samantha, still reeling from the onslaught of Father Ignacio, did not even flinch at the simple projectile. The savage beast that had taken over merely stood staring. The power that took hold of Maudite flowed through her consuming her fear. Shifting her attention to a point beyond the constable she saw the corpse of Brother Francis.

        Constable de Chevalier felt a driving need to destroy this child before she could flee and kill again. But as the order for his men to fire formed in his throat, something ripped it out.

        Brother Francis stood, defying death for the second time. The first had been more than five centuries prior, in the streets of Damascus. Never in all that time had he seen a mere mortal best a vampire. Something about this child frightened him. She had to die.

        Francis du Bonet smiled the devil’s smile as sated his hunger on the constable’s now ebbing life force. When life’s last spark had gone out in the man, he tossed the limp body aside.

        To those people in the loft, the creature that was Brother Francis appeared to simply vanish. His power of celerity allowed him to move much faster than any human could ever see. As he flew at the child he sensed a dread about her. He moved to take her life force, but was only surprised to see he dodge with a speed equal to his own. He banked off of one of the cathedrals flying buttresses and fell to the altar below.

        As if in response to his attack, and out of a need to flee the confines of this building, Samantha again spread her arms. But this time, much to the dismay of the enraged vampire, she simply fell backwards through the window.

         The creature of darkness knew that to give chase would mean death. Sunrise was at hand; he would rest and give chase when the day had gone.

 

        Throughout the day Samantha hid. Coiled in a fetal position, she stayed in an alcove outside of a distant foundry. The heat that surrounded her did little to warm the chills that wracked her body. The acrid smoke melded with her tears causing her vision to blur and her eyes to burn as she tried to focus on the walls above her hiding place. And as the prior night’s events took hold, Samantha struggled to force away her pain. All feeling melted for her and she focused on a flaming, vaguely human form.

        “Run child! Run and live this night. You are not yet to die. Cleanse the night and free the damned from their accursed hunger. Run!”

        A momentary sense of calm overcame Samantha and she rose to her feet. The naked waif of a girl scurried from alley to alley and from there beyond the city, the sun setting at her back.

 

CHAPTER 2

        Maudite opened her eyes. The sun was beginning to set on the streets of Paris. She was tired and could not hope to face all the creatures that would surely come with the night, not if Samantha forced her to fight her own monsters at the same time. She sheathed her saber and turned towards the river, and her hidden sanctuary. As she walked she remembered back to Brother Francis. He was still out there, hunting her, as she hunted him.

        As she plodded through the muck, Maudite kept a watch for any early risers in the Paris sewers. Her objective lie directly ahead of her, she was almost home. The ladder up into the city streets loomed above her, like a menacing cliff.

 

        As the sun abandoned the streets of Paris, the fiend that was Brother Francis turned his attention to his tormenting hunger. He longed to sate his driving thirst on the life of his damnable opponent, but for now he could wait. He rather enjoyed the games that he and Maudite played. Theirs had become a veritable waltz through the city streets, like pawns dancing across the face of the chessboard. For pitiful every life he took she sought all the more, the destruction of his children. He often reflected on the many chess games he had played in life, and while not quite the same, he was growing fond of the sport she offered.

        A slight smile stole across Francis’ face as he donned his war ravaged chain mail. A remnant of his life, the armor had seen many battles amongst the ranks of the Templars. He traveled many lands, from the quest to Jerusalem to watching from the shadows as his old order burned at the stake. In those early days after his fall into darkness, he kept a silent watch over the Templars, holding council with their various leaders all while refusing to admit his damnation. And only upon seeing the death of the last of the order, Jacques de Molay, did he divorce himself from God. He then swore to use both his hell-wrought powers and the corrupt nature of the church to avenge his noble order. Sir Francis du Bonet flew from his basement below a dilapidated convent and out over the steamy cobblestones. Sapphire skies glowed with the light of the full moon as he searched for the perfect meal from the herds of Paris peasants. The streets echoed with the fervor of drunken revelry, as the crowds moved between the austere surroundings of their daily lives and tumult of the fiery pubs.

        Waves of people filed out of side streets and alleys as he descended upon an unwary woman. As she stepped from her dilapidated flat she had only time to see the wraith form that dropped before her. The last thought she had was that the angel before her had come to take her away from her misery. The noise that accompanied the multitude of people concealed the only scream that the young woman was able to get out as the fiend shredded her throat. She died in the darkened alley, her death as insignificant as her life. What had been her consciousness flew into the night, now a part of her assailant.

 

        The last battle had taken more time than Maudite could afford. By now Brother Francis’ underlings would be scouring the city for her. As she navigated the crowds she kept her senses open to the commotion that was the Paris night.

        Her instinct pulled her onward towards the alley. As she pulled away from the street and its writhing chaos, she knew this was where her enemy was. From the frayed sack that was slung across her back she pulled her saber. With one liquid motion she had her sword out and had become the manifestation of a prowling shadow.

        She closed upon the refuse of one of the alley’s visitors. She paused to inspect the remnants that lie in the shadowed recess of a wood pile. She knew what it was that she had found. The mauled body was still twitching as she pulled back the cowl of the blood soaked cloak. The sight had long lost its effect on Maudite’s nerves. The face of the girl held the most surprising combination of horror and longing. She looked around in search of the attacker, hoping that he was not around. She wondered whether it was servant or master who had made the kill.

*

        For what Samantha thought was an eternity, she trudged through the French countryside in search of a safe place. The whole of her recent journey she was plagued by the sense of hatred. The violent hunger that tainted the feelings she sensed, belonged to whatever creature that her enemy had dispatched to find her. She could almost read the driving urge that this beast had pounding at its soul. Then suddenly it stopped following and the torrent of raw rage impacted her senses. She instantly slid to her left without knowing exactly why, but the harsh cockney tone that snarled at Samantha from her prior position gave her the answer.

        “Ye make quite a challenge little girl. Pity you must die before I could have some fun with ye!”

Picking herself up, Samantha faced the visage of a rotting, worm ridden corpse. Still naked and lacking of weapons, she reached for a rock at her feet. Seeing her movement, the man rushed in at her. He grabbed for her hands, but they were no where they should have been, neither was she. Taken over by an unseen force, Samantha moved faster than any of God’s creatures had ever moved. Despite the vampire’s hell wrought reflexes, he was too slow to lay hands on the girl.

        Samantha lost control of her body as soon as she saw the rock. Almost as if an unseen puppet master had grabbed the reigns, she saw her self in a slow motion dance of flesh. Her consciousness waned and left her in an otherworldly haze as her body continued to move under some other control. The body that no longer responded to Samantha’s will moved into position behind the vampire. As Samantha lost her last ounce of control, she saw a blackened void where the vampire stood. There was no color, only a vast nothingness shaped like a man. She knew that this twice damned creature would soon be dead, and then she was gone.

        “Shite! This little bitch is quick… You are indeed gifted as the master said. But even so, I doubt that there was one who might best the master. He will reward me greatly for you death.” The portly man turned to face the child. He saw something new in her eyes. For the first time since he was embraced by Francis du Bonet, Miguel Carlos Sanchez had felt his himself bathed in the presence of one who carried the true faith of God. His skin crawled as if it were trying to recoil away from the girl.

 

CHAPTER 3

        From above the darkened alley, Brother Francis du Bonet gazed down upon the young waif who had until now eluded his best efforts. He could smell the blood of his vanquished children all around her. She no doubt had killed a number of them as they slept. Protected by daylight and her unusual spiritual powers, she had decimated his considerable network of followers. Now she sat below him, her back turned to him and apparently unaware that he was there. She dove away from the corpse and into a protective stance. Her head shifted as if she was searching, but the glow that issued from her eyes seemed to lock in on him.

 

        Maudite had felt an aberrant presence in the alley. Her search of the windows, doors, and rooftops provided nothing to tell her about her adversary. She continued to look for what she knew was out there watching. It was in the shadow of the nearby cathedral spire that she felt the presence radiating outward. She had found that her weariness vanished as the savage drive to kill took over. She reached down inside and again buried the impeding influence of Samantha.

        The shadow above her dropped down to the opening of the alley. The lithe creature stood, bathed in the iridescent glow that filled the street. Maudite’s grip on her saber tightened and flexed towards the solitary figure. She stepped forward, passing over the ravaged corpse and leveling her weapon at the beast.

        “Your paltry toy will do little to save you when I decide to end our little game child. The time is drawing close when I will end this... You carry a life spark stronger than ever have I seen.” Francis snarled in a way that hinted at excitement. “I have often wondered. Will the taste of your blood be worth the loss of all of my children?”

        The realization of who faced her left Maudite momentarily stunned. For an instant Samantha was let loose into her mind, a moment that Francis used to his advantage. When Samantha had again been laid aside the vampire was gone.

        “You will fall before my blade, as those you have tainted by your touch.”

        “I may well have to bring you into my family, little wench. Your torment would be eternally pleasurable for me.” The fell voice echoed between buildings and assaulted her from all sides as she again searched the shadows for a target.

        “Your reign over this city will end this night. I will see you and your children run to ground... And after, those who are like you, wherever they hide, shall die. If it takes the death of every person from here to Persia, I will see the end of you abominable kind.” Maudite’s grip on her saber loosened as she took on a serene pose. “I tire of your cowardice.” She slung her saber oddly over her shoulder and walked towards the bustling city street. She had decided accelerate the conflict some.

        As Maudite neared the end of the alley’s confines, she shouted issued her challenge, “We will finish this another time fiend. Your games bore me and the lack of worthy opponents dissatisfies me.”

         Her blatant contempt for him only served to anger him, as she hoped it would. “Insolent bitch! We will end this relationship now. I will destroy your body and break your spirit.” He leapt from his perch and plunged down behind her. As she dropped into a sideways roll and brought the sword around to bear, Francis noted a mocking grin upon her face. She delivered up the saber, piercing the vampire in the gut. As she pounced with feline grace she rocked backwards and jarred the weapon in an attempt to eviscerate the vampire.

        Francis staggered momentarily. Sure that he was about to end this child’s life, a brief chuckle escaped his lips only to be replaced by the sound of a dagger busting through the rings of his armor and splintering the bones in his chest. Fresh blood flowed down Maudite’s tunic as she twisted what was no more than a refashioned silver crucifix in the creature’s chest. What normally should have been a mere wound that he would have shrugged off began to burn at his flesh.

        The tenacious actions of the girl coupled with the potency of the dagger had more than surprised him. Francis managed to salvage some of his waning power, enough to counter her attempts to rob him of his permanence. With an inhuman strength he propelled her against the wall of one of the stone buildings. The sound of bones crushing filled him with expectations of immanent victory, but she had not yet lost.

        Her arm, now racked with pain, lost a grip on the dagger and settled into a limp, trailing mass. With a resolve that amazed Francis, she rose to face him once more. His labored breath was broken by his rasping words. “Your attacks have grown strong indeed.... I now understand... how one such as you... has been able... to best my servants. The sting of you blade... is quite unique.”

        The intense burn in his body could only be compared to his one campaign out into the sunlight, when he was a very young vampire. In hellish agony, and fearing that this fire inside of him might be his undoing, Francis vanished in the shadows. “The next time we stand together......one of us......will fall......”

        Maudite ignored his parting words instead, turning to retrieve the displaced weapon. Her use of the altered relic had proved to be quite a boon for her. The vampire would be quite amazed to learn the crucifix she fashioned the dagger out of had once belonged to the martyred leader of his ancient order. The exact same person he swore to avenge provided the impetus of his undoing. It was the power of the true faith of Jacques de Molay that had inferred such power on the cross. It suffered immolation with the ill fated lord, and through the grace of God, had survived unscathed. It made her give up a silent prayer of thanks to God. And as she staggered the rest of the way to safety, she mused at the idea that his own past would lead to his death. Her own faith in the god, whom she felt had betrayed her, was bolstered by this intriguing turn of events.

 

        Maudite bolted the heavy door to her subterranean home. The old, crumbling castle rampart was for the most part subject to the shifting eyes of its only other regular inhabitants, rats. The old storage room that she found in one of the few remaining chambers served as an easily defendable place of rest. The battlement once served to defend one of the many nobles who fought, like most nobles of ancient times, for control of the scattered Saxon peoples. And like many of the buildings in those bygone times, it lies buried under the feet of the unsuspecting masses. The sole entrance to her home was hidden behind the crumbling brick wall, at the center of a web of steam tunnels below Paris’s streets. No maps remained to point to the location and no vampires cared to delve into these deep, uninhabited regions of the tunnels.

        The pain stole from her the ability to defend herself against the influences that Samantha had. The turmoil in her, which she had fought for so long, now had free reign of her thoughts. Visions of the rape and abuse at the hands of the vampire Ignacio, her flight into the moors to avoid the ever present influence of Brother Francis, and the killing of countless innocent people waged a battle for her soul. Maudite’s will faltered in the face of Samantha’s onslaught. She slipped from consciousness, slumped in a heap, and still holding the door latch.

       

        The pain had steadily increased to unbearable levels as Francis fled from the scene of battle. Spreading through his body like a plague, the intense anguish caused him to falter and stumble. He spiraled from the roof tops to the street below. For the second time since the vampire had come to know the once shy orphan, he had nearly lost his life. She was pariah, society’s trash, but she was far stronger than anyone he had known in life. He even began to wonder if the child could possibly best the elder vampires. How could such an impish, human child be so mighty, so righteous?

        If the man falling from the roof caused a commotion in the gawking peasants, his vanishing in a smoke-like cloud down through the cobblestones intensified the commotion into a riot. Those whose wits were not dulled by the ale, either fled in terror or shouted for constable and clergy to exorcize the demon in their midst.

        Down through the earth and the muck of the sewers Francis seeped to his place of rest. His wound was not healing as it should be; its venom was consuming his soul. As he lost the battle to stay awake, he cursed the young girl who had come perilously close to robbing him of his vengeance upon those who had taken from him his salvation. This young girl reminded him of him centuries before; she was so full of noble determination, courage, and a familiar tinge of quiet arrogance.

 

        The battle in the streets replayed in her mind in an enigmatic blur of light and dark. She gazed into the reflection on her saber. Samantha stared back at her with a look of innocence. Shaking her head, she looked into the mist ahead of her. The vague image reflected back at her began to materialize. She stepped further into the ethereal haze, and choked when she caught a glimpse of her opponent. She stood face to face with a heavily armed Samantha.

        The savage force that was controlled Maudite seized her. The clash of steel swords rang in her mind. The number of wounds given and received mounted, yet neither combatant faltered. The young woman fought with her tormentor, performing a blinding dance across a hallucinatory city. Her adversary matched her every move, every parry, every wound. She nearly broke down when an idea unfolded almost before her. She dropped to one knee, placing the pommel of her saber on the pavement, as if she were about to surrender. The image of Samantha moved in a similar motion, but when the image came within reach she shifted and brought the blade up to meet her. A blinding flash flooded her eyes leaving her reeling.

         She found herself standing before the altar in the old orphanage, above which stood Father Ignacio, a pulsating heart held in his outstretched hand. Upon the darkened altar sprawled a misshapen, sparsely clothed body. Falling to her knees, she felt a sudden flare of pain in her chest. As her eyes focused on her clutched hands, she noticed the pool of blood forming at her feet. She fought back fear and revulsion to stand and face the infernal beast. While blood continued to erupt from her bosom she propelled her sword at the man. She half expected to see the man fall, what she heard though, was the demonic laughter that caused her to shudder.

        Dropping the sword, Samantha jumped at the vampire. Her hands passed through the creature’s neck causing the image to crack apart like an egg shell. The shattering image fell away, leaving standing in its place, a figure shrouded in angelic fire. The phantasm reached out and penetrated deep into Samantha’s soul. As the two converged the shadow took on the face of Maudite, primitive and unbridled. Simultaneously, she could see the image of Samantha reaching out. It was as if she stood outside herself, and watched as her own spirit reached out to her. The two struggled to pull themselves apart, but the more they struggled the more the integrated. Mind to mind, body to body, and soul to soul, Samantha and Maudite became one.

         With unity came revelation. Samantha stood facing herself, and for the first time since her life she smiled. Her hand lifted to reveal the cross that had so grievously wounded Brother Francis. It radiated a holy light that seemed to engulf her whole body. Only when the warm, shimmering light had completely drained from the cross did Samantha into a tranquil sleep.

 

         Samantha was jarred from her deep slumber. She gathered her strength and stood. Having no idea how long she had slept, she resolved to venture out into the city. She reached for the door and winced in pain. Her arm pulsed, but she found with concentration she could move it. She recovered from her shock and exited the tunnels.

 

        Feverish hunger broke the month long slumber of Francis du Bonet. His torpor kept him from finishing the battle with the detestable orphan, but now he was able to read the minds of his servants and he knew it was time to remove her from his city. His strength had returned, in light of his wounds, he was surprised. No longer was he entirely wracked by pain, but the tender scar that covered his chest bore witness to his last battle. Streaking out of his lair with abandon, he passed into the night skies. He sensed a great influence over his empire. Her scent permeated the city, she was every where.

        As he soared over the roof tops, he took stock of his city. The servants were now almost gone, the orphanage where this all began, was bathed in a divine aura, and even the humans seemed somewhat more assertive. Now he was the pariah. He alone stood out amongst the surroundings of Paris.

        A tingle in his chest caused Francis to slow. His wound was once again burning, the pain numbing his senses. Ahead of him, standing atop a small church was a tall slender form. He knew immediately who it was. Her body exuded an intense glamour. Her presence filled him with revulsion, fear, and doubt. Never had he heard of such spiritual purity as to cause one of his ilk to lose composure. He knew she was there for him.

 

        Since the moment that Samantha awoke in her darkened hovel, she had hunted the fell creatures of Paris, biding her time until she could once again face their master. Now though, there was actually pity in her for the wretched man. He once fought along side the noblest order in the name of God. Now he crawled in the shadows, a pawn of evil. His damnation in death was not fitting his noble life. Samantha almost now regretted having to further his torment by releasing him unto hell.

        Her wry smile greeted the frantic vampire. “I have waited thine awakening brother. Thy lackeys were of little sport for me.” Her voice now carrying an accent that seemed divine, she stood courageously.

        “You have grown quite bold child...but the time for games has long since passed.” Francis settled on the talisman hanging about her neck. The crudely sharpened silver crucifix struck at some of his oldest memories. He had seen it somewhere else, but where. “You hast become a most worthy adversary. It is a shame that we could not share our battles, we could have been formidable allies.”

        “I see the doubt in thine eyes. Perhaps this little bauble is of interest to thee.” Samantha pawed the silver crucifix. “It belonged to thine friend. His faith carried him through the flames and it kept him from eternal damnation.”

        Francis’ eyes grew red as his mounting hunger mixed with a rush of hatred for the girl. “You will have no such luck bitch. Soon we will all know the misery of eternal damnation. I will feast upon your soul and bathe in your blood.”

        “I truly pity your lot, Francis du Bonet. Thou hast descended from the Lords grace into a darkest void, and by thine own choice fail to see the redemption that has always been before thee.”

        “There is no salvation. God abandoned me as I fought his war. His own servant took my life and my soul. Then, falsely in his name did they take to stakes my Templar brothers. And accused of heresy and witchcraft, did he let his servants burn. I will see an end to you and then my war on God will begin.”

 

        Samantha felt a stirring inside of her. A sudden urge to plunge her saber through the vampire’s heart, but she knew that it was shadows of her former self that spoke out. A faint vision of holy fire danced in her vision, the burning entity from her dream that had the name of Uriel. It spoke to her even as Francis spoke to her.

        “Thou art blessed of God, and bring with thee the power to purge lost souls or destroy bane spirits, but the price will no doubt, cost thee greatly. Release them from this world, and cleanse the land of their tainted passage.”

        The voice resounded throughout her, its warmth filling her with a newfound peace. The Light of God, Uriel the Archangel, had left his mark upon her soul, and then the fire came.

 

        Francis sensed something in the cool night air, something that had cast its watchful gaze over them, something that made him shudder. It was there only for a mere moment, but that was long enough for him to register the influence.

        In desperation, Francis leapt across the gaping space between the buildings. Inhuman rage fueled his movements as he jumped at the girl. She neither moved nor raised her weapon; she merely stood there with her eyes glazed over. He passed through the night air, impacting with the girl with such force to crumble the roof and send them crashing to the chapel floor.

        If the vampire had known what had taken hold of the girl he would have fled. As it was though, he attacked with a speed unrivaled by any living man, driving his teeth into the girl’s throat. Had he been interested in the course of Samantha’s actions he would have noticed her lack of defense. But the strange fire that poured from her neck seemed to captivate him and sate his hunger.

        Francis fed upon her life for several minutes when he felt a wrenching pain shoot through his chest. He tore away from the girl only to find the silver crucifix, blood smeared and nearly buried in his chest. From deep within he could feel a strange rumble, a slight spasm that he had not felt in five hundred years. Clutching the wound he fell to his knees.

        Samantha simply sat with an outstretched hand, blood covered and shaking. In a matter of moments she had come face to face with God’s light and had been forced to channel it through her body. The voice of Uriel still echoed in her mind. She was to end the plague of evil that his kind represented. She must save this creature by purging his sins and ending his life.

        Samantha shook free of the power that held her. She looked to the contorted body that now lay at her feet. The irony was that this man, the last of the Order of the Temple of Solomon, would die as his brethren did. He would die by the fire that consumed his soul. “Francis du Bonet, I set thy soul free to wander. May God have mercy in His judgment!”

        Francis heard the words, but his body could not react to what they meant, the scathing pain kept him roiled in agony. Samantha stood, taking her saber in hand, and stood above the wretched creature. “I condemn all of thy kind to suffer this fate.” raising the saber, a single tear ran down her cheek. For every one she brought the light to, she would lose a piece of her soul. She would save the souls of the forsaken by sacrificing her own. She would become in the end merely a weapon.

        As the saber passed Francis’ neck, Samantha felt a sliver of darkness assault her. The shadow that had stolen young Sir Francis du Bonet wrapped itself around her spirit pulling her a little further into the void. When she had regained her composure, she could feel the world’s blight turn its eyes upon her...the war had begun.

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Evolution of a story

This was one of my first stories. It was written for a creative writing class and based upon a World of Darkness (Vampire the Masquerade) concept in the late 1990's. The story has evolved over the years and quite honestly is nowhere near what it is envisioned as. It evolves with me and hopefully will get better with age.

Maudite is a word that means the damned and it is an interesting concept that through one's own damnation others can find salvation. Simply put, for one to save another they must sacrifice a part of themselves. This was not originally a TG story as my life in the military prevented recognition of/or an interest in such, however Samantha is infinitely more complex in light of a change in sex...especially in light of the religious concepts of the story.

Kai