The God Wraith Prophecy

By Osman Karriem

The God Wraith Prophecy is a highly stylized, highly visual science fiction/horror novel with a splattering of Gothic fantasy. This epic tale is a seamless tapestry of historical references and biblical mythology. It involves “a medieval manuscript, a mysterious wraith-like warrior, Vatican elite, martial arts, occult street gangs, sacred mercenary priest, political subversion, and vampirism, all in one mind-bending, jaw-dropping epic.”
The God Wraith Prophecy is a fast-paced, and highly vivid prose that would make readers question what they believe in, according to the critics, The God of Wraith Prophecy has all the makings of a biblical horror franchise, with potential movie, game and graphic novel adaptations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9780692339589

Book preview

Chapter 1

῭Once Upon a Time΅

In the year of our Lord 1447, there lived a beautiful maiden named Isabelle. Isabelle was a tall, handsome girl; some say she was the most beautiful girl in all of Rennes-le-Château. With long, dark flowing hair and a pair of eyes as green as a grassy knoll, she was more than pleasing to the eye. Despite her astonishing beauty, Isabelle was still a enigma to the other villagers.

To them, she was a mystification, a befuddlement, for no one knew for sure where she had come from. As legend had it, soon after she was born, an old violet-eyed woman dropped her off on the steps of the Sisters' House Orphanage. Others claimed that the old violet-eyed woman had conceived her out of sorcery and magic. The mystery of Isabelle's birth would haunt her all of her days. Isabelle's life did not get any easier. When she was eighteen years old, she Lived in a world tainted by political and economic disorder and the societal moral tone reflected this. The abuses that she shared with her fellow Frenchmen were rampant; the countryside starved while the King's court was filled with abundance and luxury. The times were dark and clouded with depression, as well as gradual deterioration. It is against this grim background that our story begins.

If the condition of Isabelle's homeland was in disarray, the Church was no better. Soon after the Feast of the Epiphany, a group of witch hunters called the Blood Faith attacked Isabelle's village. Rumors abounded that the Blood Faith were in search of a group of nuns; a bounty had been placed on their heads by the Inquisitor-General, Jean Bréhal of France. The conflict between the Inquisitor-General and the nuns revolved around an incident that connected the four sisters to something the Inquisitor-General called the God Wraith Prophecy. Isabelle had always believed that she had something to do with these events, but this was not her concern, her concern at this point was with the safety of the four nuns and the twelve children under their care. She knew that she had to warn and protect the Sister's from the Inquisitor General's blood-thirsty witch hunters. She raced down the path that led to the Sisters' House, her long, black hair bouncing in rhythm with every stride. She was tired and worn out, her feet ached and the tension was wearing her down. Finally, she came to a stop and took a breath as she scanned the surrounding woodlands. She took notice that there were no chirping birds, or creaking insects and no rustling of wind. It had become as silent as death. She then caught sight of a golden glow that illuminated the top of the tree line. She pushed her hair away from her face to get a better look. Her eyes darted up toward the thick latticework of limbs and branches. To her amazement, the sky was glowing with hundreds of withering butterflies, set aflame. One by one, the amber-lit butterflies tumbled, singed wings withered, their bright colors burning into black, smoldering ash. From there, Isabelle turned her attention toward the polluted tree line. Her heart turn cold at the sight of the black smoke that mushroomed up off in the distance. The terrible eruption left a sick stain against the mid-day sky. Suddenly she realized where the smoke was coming from… The Sister's House!

My God! She felt sick. The road that led her into the Sister's House was narrow and winding. The surrounding foliage was now consumed in a thin haze of pale grey ash. The chalky ash covered the Earth as if hiding something wicked and evil. Despite the fact that her heart was filled with fear, Isabelle would press onward. Isabelle gasped at what she saw next: the ruined remains of the Sister's House. The chard remnants of the Sister's house was no more than a blackened framework. The heated vapors continued to undulate into the soiled sky. The acrid smell of smoke filled the midday air. As the gray ash began to settle, Isabelle caught the sight of something horrendous. It was the body of Sister Genevieve. Sister Genevieve's body hung limply from a thick tree branch. Her body had been badly burned and she had no less than a dozen arrows stuck in her chest and arms.

Sister Genevieve's mutilated body twisted about as a large crow peck at her charred flesh. A sign hung from her neck, painted with a blood-red handprint. Isabelle's knees began to buckle.

She turned around only to see a second body. The second body belonged to Sister Agnes. Sister Agnes' battered body was draped across a long wooden fence. Her body was still wet with blood; her eyes were bulging from their sockets. Her tongue protruded out from an open mouth.

After looking at the horrible angle of her head, it was clear that her neck had been snapped in two.

There was little that remained of the body next to hers. Isabelle believed that the body belonged to Sister Dauphine. A large portion of the dead woman's head had been sheered completely off.

It was at that time, Isabelle turned and heaved. As she staggered backward, she tripped over the body of a small boy. The boy was lying on his back. His legs had been broken in several places.

The horrible wounds that crossed the boy's chest were deep and angry. The boy's face was a twisted knot of pain and agony. The witch hunters would leave in their wake the bodies of four mutilated nuns and the battered bodies of eleven other children. It was at that moment that Isabelle lost it. She let out a loud, painful wail and doubled over, as if she had been stabbed in the stomach. She dropped her tear-soaked face into her open palms. From there she lifted her head up to the heavens and began to pray.

Dear Lord, please grant me protection from all that is evil and impure. Bring forth your wrathful spirit to bathe the Earth with the blood of your enemies.

Upon hearing this, an old woman appeared from out of the gray mist. The old woman wore a tattered cloak of sable. Her ghostly white hair fell unevenly across a face shrouded by a mass of wrinkles. Her teeth twisted and cracked. The old woman's pale, violet eyes glowed behind her sagging skin. As the old woman drew closer, the smell of magnolias began to fill Isabelle's nose. For some strange reason, the elderly woman reminded her of someone from her past. Excuse me, Madame, but do I know you?

Isabelle nervously asked. "Yes, you do. I am the one who received you from your mother.

I am the one who placed you on the doorsteps of the Sister's House," the old woman replied.

And I am now here to tell you why. The violet-eyed woman continued. It all revolves around the God Wraith prophecy…

The God Wraith Prophecy, what's that? Isabelle nervously asked. The old violet-eyed woman went on to explain.

The God Wraith prophecy is the reason why the 4 nun's and the 12 children were killed here today.

"GOD! Isabelle cried. I still don't understand!" Isabelle took several long, deep, hitching breaths.

Please, let me try to explain. The old woman paused, took in a deep breath before continuing.

The God Wraith prophecy involves your mother and how she should have been executed long before she had ever given birth to you. And now the Church's great fear is that you will give birth to the one who will one day rise up and seek out your mother's revenge. And the churchmen have since accused the 4 nuns of keeping your identity hidden away from them. Isabelle shook her head in confusion.

I don't understand why the church would ever fear someone like me?

The violet-eyed woman smiled and answered.

The Church doesn't fear you… They fear the one that you shall one day give birth to, the divine wraith that has been prophesied. This Devine destroyer shall come in the form of three unborn children. The first child shall war against man, the second shall war against the heavens and the third and final child shall war against the unseen forces of this dark world. It is thought this great trinity the Divine protector shall come. Isabelle's mind and heart began to race.

I don't know what to do! Isabelle's voice began to crack, as tears streamed down her face.

The first thing that you must do is to sit before the still black waters and wait for a sign from the other side and then and only then, shall ye receive an offering, the violet-eyed woman replied and then simply vanished back into the billowing grey mist.

The next day, Isabelle sat before the Black River. On the following day, Isabelle found herself praying before the shimmering black waters. She would remain there until the moon replaced the sun. The following day Isabelle found herself praying even harder than the day before, pleading for the great child to come.

Please! Someone deliver me from my enemies! Please! Anyone, Isabelle cried, her voice breaking with emotion. And then, a great voice ushered out across the blackened waters.

O' precious one, I shall now speak unto you in the tongue of the flesh and with the breath of my spirit I shall converse with you so that you may understand me—I shall grant you what your lord will not. I shall give you all that your heart desires and I shall teach you charms and enchantments and the cutting of roots.

"NO!" Isabelle yelled as she stumbled back onto her feet, as she shook her head back and forth.

NO, I do not desire these things. I merely seek the child that I had been promised!

Then step forward, the Great Unseen One said. Step forward and I shall place this gift upon thee. Step forward and allow our spirits to form this great union. Step forward with thy own free will.

From there Isabelle nervously entered the churning waters. At first she felt nothing, then suddenly she felt herself being pulled under. She began to fight with all her might, splashing and kicking until all the fight had left her. Suddenly, something happened: her body flinched, quivered and convulsed as she gradually began to rise. The instant her head broke through the water's plane, she had been awakened, she was alive and with child.

*****

Chapter 2

THE CHILDREN OF THE PROPHECY

In just nine weeks, Isabelle gave birth to what could only be described as hideous, an abomination before God Himself. The repulsive creature's hide was covered with a scaly black substance that was slick to the touch. The child-thing also possessed a fifth appendage. It was a large, muscular tail that swatted back and forth. The creature's face was truly terrifying to look at, with a row of small bristle-like teeth that sat just below a peak-like nose. There was also a strange cross-like symbol that glowed within the creature's reptilian-shaped eyes. The infant creature wailed, as if rejecting its own life, its own existence. If there was any mercy in the world; it had none for the monstrous child.

It was as if the beast-child was shunned by man, by God and, worst of all, by its own mother.

The creature's curse was not its nature, but its appearance in the sight of God. Isabelle wept alongside the infant creature, not knowing what to do. The next day, she decided to return the grotesque infant to the place of its conception. The minute she arrived; she threw the beastly child back into the cold murky water. She immediately demanded for the unseen one to give her a beautiful child. The Great Unseen One simply told her to reenter. Reluctant and a little terrified, Isabelle reentered the unholy water and submerged herself once more. As she exited the blackened waters, she instantly knew that her second child had been conceived. In an act of compassion, she turned back to see what remained of her first child. She saw nothing. It was then and only then, that she felt remorse. Nine weeks later, Isabelle gave birth to the most beautiful child she had ever seen.

Unfortunately, the child's beauty was only skin deep. What the first child displayed in physical monstrosity, the second child displayed in monstrous behavior. The child's pale eyes bore an unusual mark in its pupils. In fact, it had the same cross-like symbol as the first child. The child's violent outbursts and personality eventually led to several attempts on Isabelle's life. At that point, Isabelle had enough of the child's malevolent behavior. She knew that it was time to send the child back to the black watery abyss from which it came. And then the Great Unseen One saw how ungrateful Isabelle had become and that her heart was now filled with contempt and spite. The Great Unseen One regretted that he had chosen her and his void was now filled with anger and rage. So the Great Unseen One said to Isabelle,

"You have turned your back on mean spoken proud and hard with a venomous tongue. And because you have sinned against me, your 3rd child shall also be cursed. The 3rd child shall not be born in this generation, but will be forced to live in the days of the great tribulation. The child shall live in the day when the wicked and the unrighteous shall roam freely upon the Earth. I shall place this child in the new city. And the child shall be surrounded by a race of creatures more beast than animal, more animal than man. And in this new city, a horned queen shall rule. The beast queen will be like a reptile bloated with the blood of saints, covered in a repulsive hide. Her feet shall be soaked in a vat of vile and her mouth shall be like that of a savage lion's. The great queen shall surround herself around thirteen venomous harlots filled with scorn. Together they will wreak havoc, causing the great temples to burn… and from this queen a great and horrible demon shall rise and the limbs of the youth shall wither upon his lap. the juggernaut shall stomp down on their heads and backs, causing their small bones to fracture and snap. And because of this, your 3rd child's life shall not exceed beyond twenty one years and one day. And you shall also perish when thy flesh shall break apart, like a pillar of salt emits thrashing winds …"

Then so be it! And with that, Isabelle turned and walked away.

*****

Chapter 3

JADA MADEEN

As Isabelle continued to walk along the river's outer banks, blindly, neither thinking nor caring, she saw something. It was there, just beyond the shoreline: a dark stranger stoically sitting atop a powerful black steed. The stranger's gaze was penetrating, like a flame through a darkened cave. In his hand, he held a large wooden staff with a strange cross-like symbol carved into it. The mysterious warrior also carried a bizarre-looking sword in his other hand. Without a word, the stranger slammed the wooden staff into the water-soaked Earth. Isabelle froze at the mere sight of him. At first she wanted to run, but chose to hide behind a small bush, instead.

She had hoped that the threatening-looking man would simply ride off into the mist, never to be seen again. Unfortunately, the stranger did not leave; he just continued to look at her with much contempt and hatred. Isabelle quivered as she took a deep breath. She began to tremble with fear.

The stranger was a Mongolian witch hunter, a fearsome-looking man with lean, muscular limbs.

The Mongolian bore the wide cheekbones and strong jaw line of his people. His face was hard set, especially his eyes. His copper-colored skin was dirty and riddled with scars, leaving little doubt that he had seen more than his share of hard-fought battles. His long black hair flowed freely down his neck and shoulders. The Mongolian hunter had a unique heritage. He was a son of a warlord and a great grandchild of Attila the Hun. The hunter also carried with him a token of his heritage: a supernatural weapon known as The Arkum. The mighty sword was said to have once belonged to Attila himself. At that moment, the Mongolian warrior began to enter the Black River.

HALT! DO NOT COME FORTH, FOR THIS WRETCHED RIVER IS POSSESED BY THE GREAT UNSEEN ONE! Isabelle yelled out. The Mongolian pulled back on his steed.

WHO SPEAKS? He yelled back as he looked out across the shimmering waters.

IT MATTERS NOT MY NAME. FOR MY NAME WILL NOT PROTECT YOU FROM WHAT LIES BENEATH THESE WATERS. Isabelle replied.

I AM CALLED JADA MADEEN. I AM A DESENDENT OF THE GREAT ATTILA THE HUN. I HAVE NO FEAR OF YOUR BLACK MAGIC, NOR DO I FEAR YOUR SORCERY!

Jada's booming voice echoed across the river.

IT IS NOT I WHOM YOU SHOULD FEAR, RATHER THE WATER DEMON THAT AWAITS YOU. Isabelle replied.

IF YOU SPEAK THE TRUTH, THEN I SHALL RID THESE LANDS OF BOTH YOU AND YOU'RE WATERY DEMON! And with that, the Mongolian warrior charged into the Cold, icy water.

"STOP!" Isabelle shouted one last time. It was too late. The witch hunter had already entered the river. The freezing water quickly swirled up past his waist. The back of his horse's head suddenly disappeared below the surface. The churning water soon rose past his chest and neck.

The Mongolian's eyes quickly widened with fear and confusion. Then without warning, a pair of watery arms reached out from the blackened water like something from out of a nightmare.

Isabelle heard the hunter shout,

OH GOD!

Then, his head sank below the swirling surface. Then, without thinking, Isabelle launched head-first into the icy void, swimming desperately toward the drowning man. As she dove deeper, the pressure in her lungs mounted as the surface light began to fade. Finally she saw something thrashing about. As she swam closer, she could make out the faint outlines of the Mongolian's head and arms. From there she blindly clawed at whatever she could latch onto and headed back toward the shimmering surface.

*****

The next day, the Mongolian woke up in a brisk tussle. His arms lurched out like a pair of vipers, clutching and grasping at the open air. His rigid fingers dug into the animal pelts that covered the bed at his back. Where am I? he cried out, as his dark eyes swam about. The Mongolian's hand immediately slid down to his sword, but it was not there. He turned his head suddenly at a sound and then he saw her. It was the young woman by the river. It was the first time he had a good look at her face. He turned, expecting to see the face of an old haggard witch, but instead he found himself before the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon. He was mesmerized by a tall, dark-haired woman draped all in white. Her emerald eyes froze him dead in his tracks.

He could do nothing as she moved forward, graceful as a ghost in the wind. Her rose-colored lips curled delicately, revealing teeth as white as the driven snow. Her breath was warm and sweet on his skin. The curvaceous woman leaned in close. She placed a tender hand on the side of his face. She let her finger drift along his jaw line. Her touch sent a passionate shiver down his spine. The Mongolian closed his eyes, filling his lungs with the sweet fragrance of her skin and hair. He asked the woman her name.

My name is Isabelle, she answered with a voice more beautiful than any music he had ever heard.

How did you rest, Father Jada Madeen? she asked with a warm smile.

Reluctantly, Jada tore his gaze from her long enough to look down at his body.

I'm not sure. What happened? he asked nervously.

I pulled you out of the river and then I brought you here to rest.

You… You saved me, but…why would a witch save a witch hunter like me?

That is a question best answered by a witch. Isabelle smiled. Jada's eyes widened.

You are not a witch?

No more than you are a fish. Isabelle's laughter made Jada smile. Isabelle went on to tell Jada everything, Jada, in turn, told his story. As the days turned into weeks, the two of them became closer and closer. The more they listened to each other, the more their feelings for each other began to grow. Through this new-found friendship, Isabelle rediscovered her love for and dedication to God. The closer Isabelle held Jada, the more he lost himself in the warmth of her embrace. As the two of them continued to snuggle, the sun sank beneath a darkened Earth.

The tranquil scene went completely unnoticed as the two of them headed toward the comforts of Isabelle's small cottage. As the flames from the torch cast a dim light on the glistening walls, Isabelle took Jada by the hand and led him to her bed. The bed was piled high with fur and fleece to shield them from the cold. With both of her eyes fixed on him, she began removing her clothing. Her eyes never left his. Her body, caressed by the light of the fire, was a vision of perfectly-rounded curves that danced before him. Spellbound by her smooth subtleties, he leaned into her, drawing her near, taking a handful of hairband kissing her open mouth long and deep. The taste of warm passion burned within him like an uncontrollable flame. She abandoned herself within his clutches in the heated moment and gave herself submissively to his powerful thirst. A thirst she was more than happy to quench. The night continued on and on. Each moment was more passionate than the one before. It was a night that even the angels would not soon forget. The next morning Jada was awakened by a sound. His abrupt actions had startled Isabelle.

She asked him what was wrong. He told her that witch hunters were approaching from the west. He could smell their horses and their steel. And then he handed her his sword and told her to make her way towards the high ground and wait for him there. The words were barely out of his mouth when he heard the clear sound of battle horns, loud and strong. And then came the horrible pounding of hooves and whirling swords. Jada, had only an instant to raise up an ax from the floor. Isabelle screamed out, Jada ordered her to flee. She reluctantly turned and ran toward the high ground. Suddenly Jada spotted a group of witch hunters. Some of them were protected by helmets; others were not. Some of them carried swords, while others carried spears.

The one thing that stood out about the gathering hunters was the blood-red handprint that embroidered their armor. The witch hunters rode in hard and fast—overconfidently. No doubt they had expected to overwhelm the Mongolian in the first rush and now they would face a more lethal adversary than they had anticipated.

With his ax held high, Jada rushed forward, slashing away at whatever he could find. The blade of his ax cut the legs from under the nearest horse. The animals screamed as they tumbled and spilled their hapless riders onto the ground.

Jada hacked away at the hunters before they could free themselves from their thrashing mounts. Jada threw his head back and let loose a wild war cry that terrified the remaining hunters. Three more hunters fell to his twirling ax. The second onslaught took even shorter time than the first. By this time, Isabelle had made it halfway up the hill. She wanted to keep going, but the temptation to go back for Jada proved to be too strong. She turned to see her beloved surrounded by soldiers that flanked him from all sides. Isabelle screamed out Jada's name. Jada turned around just long enough for him to take his eye off of the spear that darted at his chest. Unfortunately the spear had found its mark. The piercing blow dropped Jada like a stone to the ground. His eyes bulging in agony, mouth agape, unable to speak, or breathe. The remaining hunters began to hack away at what remained of him. As Jada fell, Isabelle cried and her gaze went up to Heaven. When she looked back at the carnage that soaked the Earth, she cried out to