Prophecies of Blood

By Robert S. Law

Does anyone truly know what a vampire should look or act like? If you are drawn into the folkloric accounts and want to expand your knowledge, then take a seat and prepare for a lifetime of events. By the end of the tale you'll wish you'd not sat down to talk or listen to strangers. This narrator shares the trade secrets of his circle and many would have had him expelled long ago for it but they are fearful of his impending wrath. He is the Light and the Darkness. Perfectly balanced, he can and will be tempted to wage his curiosities towards the Good or Bad and use unfair tactics to reach supremacy over all that lives or shouldn't. He will without doubt, ascend to his foreseen position as the Ultimate Beast. Even if it means lying his way to the top.
You can follow his journey every step of the way. Learning for yourself, the ups and downs of becoming, or how to destroy a vampire for your own freedom of fear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jan 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466974760

Robert S. Law

Robert S Law has been writing for many years. Born in Bristol, England many full moons ago. Being the middle child and the second male heir to his father, Rob is proud to be named after his Scottish Monarchic Ancestry and always strives for recognition. He moved to the small village of Tomintoul in Scotland at the tender age of eight to start a new and exciting life. It is where he spent most of his life and in the land he calls home. Had an interest in writing whilst at school in the village but was not keen on sharing that interest at the time. He never paid too much attention at school and gained average grades. He did however, become a published writer and artist in 1994 along with his French class classmates. Being awarded a Special Prize for A la dé couverte de l’Ecosse in the Reading Matters Much More!- A third anthology of original and creative material. Only later in life has he started to realise what and why he was always being pushed by his academic peers. He owes a lot of gratitude to the teachers of the many subjects he undertook. If at first Rob doesn’t succeed, he’d try, try again. Having grown up in Scotland with a school childhood nickname of a once televised puppet, Scotland, Pob and the relevance of three and trying to stand out are important to him. Having also grown up watching certain blonde Vampire Slayers and FBI Agents, Rob’s taste for the Undead and Supernatural began. He enjoys movies and has a wide selection of films on his shelves. He takes inspiration for his work from many sources, whether that be a shopping list or from the mouths of friends and family. Scrambler motorbikes, football and engines were his thing instead of swatting up as he was told that he was good with his hands. These hobbies are still dear to his heart today. Joined the Forces at the tender age of eighteen and became an MT Tech in the Royal Air Force reaching the dizzy heights of the dying rank, Junior Technician. He completed a very proud nine years service for Queen and Country representing the Service in the warm and sometimes arduous conditions of the Gulf regions. The writing bug was started during the down-time of a Military Exercise, when the Internet and telephone booths were busy and conversation in the barracks was not to my palate. Some former colleagues tried and failed at times to draw him away from the Screen to go for the sociable drink or two. His resurrection for writing stories, came about as a hobby during times when going for a beer was not financially possible. Deciding to return home to his childhood village and settle down to the quiet life after he believed his work in the Royal Air Force had peaked. Taking everything and more learnt in that old life to prepare him for his new life. Rob is keen to research as much as possible before starting and committing to a new idea. Having many more stories in the pipeline, writing for Rob is a way to relieve the daily stresses in life. With a sequel and a prequel in the pipeline along with more titles, Rob has been bitten himself. Not content writing strictly in the Vampire genre, he has begun working on a series of other tales, adaptations and a book for children. He is very much an idea’s man and can write from the smallest of prompts. When Rob isn’t writing he enjoys the family life with his wife, two gorgeous children and his dog. His once love for Japanese fast cars has been placed on hold until such time as a mid-life crisis is in order. Rob maintains a website dedicated to his love of Scottish products at http://pobshouse.com/. A wise man once told him, Readers become Leaders. Possibly the best advice ever received!

Book preview

Prophecies

of

Blood

Robert S. Law

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© Copyright 2013 Robert S. Law.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4669-7478-4 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-7477-7 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-7476-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012924328

Trafford rev. 01/25/2013

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One      The Pub Gathering

Chapter Two      Explanations of Old

Chapter Three      Origins of Life and Death

Chapter Four      From Birth to Young Adulthood—That First Legal Pint!

Chapter Five      The Trials

Chapter Six      The Truth Unfolds

Chapter Seven      The Real Prophecy Begins

Chapter Eight      The Ultimate Prize

Chapter Nine      Auld Family Reunion

Chapter Ten      Hunting for the Book of Prophecies

Chapter Eleven      War of the Species

Chapter Twelve      Last Orders

Epilogue      Closing Time

To my kindred and my muse.

With love,

RSL

Prologue

In an age long before the time when Jesus of Nazareth walked the earth, there was Moses. Even earlier than him, there was Adam. Before Eve, there was Lilith. She was Adam’s first wife. She was the earliest known woman who stood up for women’s rights. She stood up to Adam, not wanting to be anything other than his equal. Adam, not accepting this, took it upon himself to make God banish her from the Garden of Eden for an eternity.

God caused a deep sleep to fall on Adam after the expulsion of Lilith to prevent any more wrongdoings. He later decided to try again and created Eve from a part of Adam, hopefully ensuring things would be put right.

Taking shelter from wherever she could, Lilith came across the devil. She took refuge with him. She became his bride and the queen of the demons. Together they convinced Eve to eat from the sacred apple tree, thus, ensuring that this time Adam and Eve were also banished from the sanctuary of the Garden of Eden and brought about sin and death.

At this point, Lilith had become a powerful succubus; and with the devil, they created thousands of offspring. It is also thought that she had become intimate with the archangel Samael after he fought with the devil, and she created demonic offspring with him too. Some of her children took pity on their weaker human counterparts. They were relatively kind, helping them to develop many skills used today.

Others were created with pure evil intent, with the purpose of imprisoning humans to slavery as well as torturing them. They would even feast on the blood and flesh as if they were mere prey.

The demon world was created to balance the good with evil. Many were born on earth to drain God’s purity.

A breed called the Upir Demons were a kind demon race. The stronger more evil breed were called Upir Lichy Demons. The Upir Demon race were a halcyon race, thought to be prosperous and carefree. They were not generally evil and cared for their human slaves. However, when the moon burns black for a week, they sacrifice the lives of their weak until the eclipse passes and the moon breaks free in the sky. They try to evade their wicked side, but ultimately, it overpowers with instinct.

The Upir Lichy race were cannibalistic beings, preyed on neighbouring villages and settlements, attacking at night due to an advantage they possessed with a night sight. They would capture their prey and drag them to the deepest never-ending tunnels of catacombs where the dead were laid to rest.

Other feeds, they would devour where the victim fell, leaving the remaining carcass for any other scavenging beast.

Both strains of demon looked human, but they hid a dark secret of transformation with a taste for the essence of life.

Generally they wished for a dystopian world where they controlled the weak and destroyed the strong.

Races die out but, with the nature of evolution, advance lesser races to levels similar or greater than their predecessors.

The ancient races of both good and evil fought in a great battle, a battle larger, in comparison, than the Second World War by sevenfold. The final moment causing both races to encounter extinction. Dying in an intense burst of fire from the sun’s rays. Burning to an ash, as coarse as sand.

Only one creature was to survive the atrocity, a good being. The last of his kind, he crawled to safety and out of harm’s way to what was to happen next. He could have saved one other, but he left the parasite to wither away back to the depths of hell.

The earth’s plates shifted and caused a volcanic eruption, allowing the sea to spill a vast amount of water into the valley where the battle took place. The land flooded, consuming all those who died in its depths. Once the sea and volcanoes settled, the remaining water was left landlocked and unable to return to the shores. The remaining mass of water is today known as the Dead Sea.

He believed that he had to return and save his life’s work and protect the scrolls in the caves of Qumran. Leaving the battle was not an act of cowardice; in fact, it was quite ingenious. Future generations would need to learn of the good and bad things of that unfortunate battle.

The human race remained practically untouched, as the race survived. They began to come out of the shadows and into the light. They were no longer slaves to the creatures. They began to rule the lands in a way they believed it should be.

Leaving his past behind and the scrolls in safe untouchable surroundings, the remaining survivor of the battle went into hiding. He even disguised his true self as a desert demon, adapting to the human way of life and evolving, merging amongst the human populous and allowing them to regain strength in numbers, away from the beasts that had once entrapped the weaker races.

He fled the lands alone and changed his name, appearance, and stature in society many times to fit in once more. Believing that his survival was divine retribution on his soul for not being swallowed up in the great flood with the rest of Lilith’s spoiled fruit.

He survived for many centuries, outliving newly obtained friends and moving on to new civilisations. Almost always alone, he was the only and last of his kind. Not even did he ask a female companion to live the life he had with him as they were not of his kind.

He happened to stumble upon Babylon, the gateway of God on his travels. The weary traveller passed through there on his ramble. He had heard of it being a way to be embraced by the salvation of God.

The closer he got, the greater his curiosity got to see if he would finally meet the brother of his maker. He hoped for redemption and peace at last.

The longer he stayed in the sanctuary of Babylon, the clearer things became apparent that Babylon had fallen to Lilith’s daughter and the traveller’s half-sister, Ishtar, had conquered and started to rule over the Babylonians before the flood of the great battle.

She had since vanished along with her father, Samael, a fallen archangel and their mother, Lilith.

The weary traveller left Babylon for his fears of evil that he’d hid for so long were compromised.

Roaming alone once again, time rushed by like a grain of sand in a storm. He soon learned of a new saviour. His curiosity once again got the better of him, and he forgot about his time in Babylon or his escape from the engulfing flames and water of the Dead Sea battle.

After these many centuries alone, he heard more and more stories of a man who could cure and save people. Being old and weary in age but not looks, he sought to find this man.

From a recollection he had of his last delivered scroll to the caves, he knew that when the snow would later consume the earth and the son is extinguished like a candle in a harsh wind, then and only then, will there be born a woman, the only daughter of a once ungodly wrongdoer, and in her there will be decided the fate of all. It will not be known who this woman is, except by the mark of the two moons on her neck. She will grow up to face betrayal, hatred, and pain. She is the last hope, unless she can be tempted by good.

His biggest secret that he would have to hide even from his own memories—a foreseen knowledge would destroy humanity’s future and reveal his past, being seen for the evil, he once was.

The weary traveller managed to and had to hide his demonic side well. Introducing himself to many as a weary desert traveller. Gaining the trust of man and adopting the human way of life and learning to feed like a human.

The weary traveller became acquainted with another man on his travels. This man would treat him like a son, and together they sought out the wise words of a king amongst men.

The weary traveller found the man that many people talked about. Hearing his stories of a good life, one he had wished for, for many centuries.

After meeting with him, he followed his movement, spreading the good word. The traveller learns about the wrath of God as explained to him in the Christian writings. He is taught about sin and forgiveness. The companion also tells of the great tribulation and said it would begin with the abomination of desolation. It would begin on earth when the anti-Christ is created by Satan. The term wrath of Satan was from when Satan was excluded from heaven. He was angered and set about destroying the good of the world by enticing fools to believe in his ways over that of God. He reined in the darkest depths of hell in an opposing evil domain, taunting the many souls that are not fit for purgatory.

The companion reiterated the power of forgiveness and that God will absolve those who truly want to rid themselves of any evildoing. The Ten Commandments are set out as a guideline to all men, and those who believe will be saved.

He began to believe every word of his companion until unforeseen temptations got the better of him. He secretly found comfort in this man’s woman companion, and then he later gave into lust and greed. He further ended up betraying this man with a single kiss. He unconsciously had the eyes of an unfortunate traitor due to his weakness for money. Yet he still could not speak of the wisdom he already possessed.

He felt remorseful but was powerless to try to stop an army of men taking his companion and leader away. He could no longer live with his guilt. One momentary lapse in judgement costing another man his life. His temptation onto the wrong path meant he could no longer deal with the pains of the world and especially the greatest pain he had caused to so many. All for just thirty pieces of silver.

He watched in the shadows as his companion was led by guards to a hill carrying a cross over his shoulder where he would be nailed upon it to die.

To speed up the deaths, those who were also raised on crosses that very same day would have their legs smashed and broken. The body of his companion hung lifeless and did not receive such barbaric treatment. Instead it was pierced by a single puncture wound to the stomach, without a shriek of breath from his companion’s chest.

On his companion’s death, that man’s woman fled across to Europe, spreading his valuable teachings and avoiding his enemies. She was secretly carrying an heir; she was unaware of its paternity. He too was unaware of this as all of his remaining companions turned their backs on him.

The weary traveller was not intent on turning out like a Svengali, but his birthright instincts overpowered his ability to hide anymore within a God-fearing religion. He had lost the will to use his demonic gift to be able to save his companion. He was practically human now!

He was haunted by the hatred he had for his maker. His actions, he feared for the refusal of God’s forgiveness and loathed the forthcoming embracement of the devil. At his own personal trial on earth, he was denied by all that is evil and rejected by all that is good. There was no judge, no jury, and no executioner, just his conscience to find him guilty. He felt suicide was the only way out and was left stuck in a place of limbo upon committal. His corpse remained, and even the starving birds would not touch its flesh for food straight away. The birds waited until they were at a level of desperation before devouring the flesh and gnawing at the bone. They soon met an earlier end from feasting on his corpse.

He was the last of his kind but would one day rise up again. He was the end of the old ways, and with that came the power to be a key to open the hell gates and let the evils roam. Only a new and re-evolved race could bring about a New World Order.

The human world would have to wait for hope. Hope that this creation would never happen. Anticipating a balance of peace until the earth’s final seconds of existence.

Chapter One

The Pub Gathering

On a warm and sunny summer afternoon in a busy metropolitan town, whose name is of no consequence, lies a quiet public house known as the Aged Church. Amidst all the hustle and bustle, a passer-by would hardly notice a mysterious young stranger, wearing a long black hooded trench coat, stride confidently through the welcoming doors of the public house and sit down in a dark, cold, and uninviting part of the establishment. His hood remained raised with his face hidden.

It was not raining outside; on the contrary, it was irritatingly hot. Yet the mysterious man kept his hooded trench coat wrapped round him like a moth entrapped in a cocoon. He seemed out of place, yet his cold characteristics made him appear oblivious to any peer conformities to which it may be thought he should stand for. He did not fit in with any known fashion statement of the modern day such as gothic or emo: he had his own unique style that carried with it suggestions of confident darkness and powerless attraction… a dangerous combination for such a mysterious person. He could have been mistaken for a thief doing some homework by casing the joint for surveillance equipment and escape routes, perhaps even possibly a sexual predator sniffing out his next victim to pounce on.

The left-side chest pocket and back of his coat had matching emblems, which looked like a fusion between the symbol of the triquetra and that of a traditional and medieval family crest. There also seemed to be a name, but the creases of the coat obscured it like the illusion of a magician waiting to be revealed: from every angle the writing was kept secret and veiled. The cut of his coat did not fit with the label of any known manufacturer, so it might have been of personal design. His clothes in general seemed to be very outdated for such modern-type fashions of today. It looked as though he either was attending a play dressed as a cast member or was going to a fancy-dress party. Either way, it was far too hot to be wearing so many heavy and dark layers.

The public house was relatively large in construction and was rather contemporary looking on the outside, but it was like another world within. It had been rebuilt a few times over the centuries, keeping up with the more modern materials. However, at this moment in time, it was very rustic and stony walled; it looked like an old shooting lodge from the late Tudor times. It had very high ceilings with warped and cracked rafters spread evenly throughout. The walls were partially wooden with upright tongue and groove-like boards. The decorative plaster wall engravings were all heavily worn. There was no plasterboard in sight, only the crumbling wattle and daub of the past. There were areas within that had been repaired badly. It’s exposed areas of decaying hazel within; it looked as though hair was used as reinforcement with the smell of lime coming from what could be used as the binding material. On a hot day, the smell of blood or urine may even be smelt coming from it. It was, however, a public house; and brawls through drunkenness or accidents happen every once in a while.

There were some areas within that had been modernised in the early Victorian manner with terracotta brickwork. The layers were eroding through due to the modern pollutions in the world. The exposed areas were a mix of stone and brick in and around structural points as well as the grand fireplace. That, however, looked like it was the last time any renovation had been undertaken. The public house had been built on the site of an old church that had been destroyed during the war. The church was believed to be centuries old before its destruction, hence the establishment being aptly named the Aged Church in a tribute to the previously erected dwelling.

The brick and structural building work of the pub was obvious, that its inspiration was from many different eras in time and from many different countries.

There was very little left to commemorate or reminisce over the previous purpose of the building, with only small, scattered pews randomly placed along the walls. The stained-glass depictions from the Bible had been replaced with a darker, more contemporary style of design, restricting the amount of daylight that actually shone through.

The site of the bar itself stood at the end of the building that would have been the location of the church’s altar. Some of the original stonework was still used in its construction. Stone slabs with names inscribed for flooring, as if they were entrances to crypts and final resting places. Its traditional beauty marvelled with expert craftsmanship of the countless centuries it’s stood.

It was a sanctuary for many a thirsty mouth, whom required a sociable rest from the turmoils of their day-to-day activities.

However, the public house’s influence, it was not British. It was in fact Eastern European. It had a comically strict consumption rule of two cans minimum, a two jerry cans to be more precise, to keep the punters in and the cash register ringing.

The mysterious and isolated pariah did not order anything to eat or drink but just sat and listened to his surroundings. It was so quiet; the only sound was of the heartbeats of all the other patrons before their conversations began. He sat patiently at his table and started listening in to stories of old and legends of a time many moons ago when many people lost their lives. These stories he listened to with great intent and were the greatest war stories of all: tales of such determination and sleazy revelation that they would make the Bible look like a child’s bedtime fairy tale.

This seemed to get the uncharacteristic visitor interested, and he listened harder still without actually interfering in the ever more intriguing legend told by an old man in his later years. Not unlike the stranger, many other customers in the Aged Church were intrigued by the story. They began to gather round in amazement. Word of these stories stretched to people passing by outside, and it slowly drew them in to hear more.

Once the old man had finished the story, before anyone could leave the swarming huddle, the mysterious man lowered his hood and established himself to be integrated with the