Chains of Condemnation

By Shaine Lake

Are the Five are the only Verifications of Existence?

What cannot be seen, heard, smelled, tasted or touched may be the very thing that hurts one the most.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shaine Lake
• Release date: Jan 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005167028

Shaine Lake

Shaine Lake may seem like the unlikely candidate to write romance novels, given her background of reading Dungeons and Dragons books, HP Lovecraft's novels, Junji Ito's works, heart-warming stories about animals and news regarding politics, culture and science. She ventured into novel writing, namely in the genres of Romance and Action, not only seeking to inject refreshing concepts and crazy ideas into the said genres, and also to fulfil her desire: To incite intense emotions in readers. To make them swoon, laugh, cringe, sob and ponder. Her route to achieve these is through compelling tales that combine fantasy, paranormal romance, sensuality and furious action.

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Chains of Condemnation

~Are the Five are the only Verifications of Existence~

Shaine Lake

Published by Shaine Lake

Copyright©2016 by Shaine Lake

Discover The Custodians Trilogy:

Tome of Crimson - Blood or Flesh

Tome of Blaze - The Twelve Guardians

Tome of Shadows - Chains of Condemnation

All characters and events in this novel, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved

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

Book Cover Design, Effects and Layout by Shaine Lake

Photograph by EITico68 (https://www.flickr.com/photos/31506745@N03/), licensed for use under Attribution CC: creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

No man should be spared from judgement. (The Sword)

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 Ritual

Chapter 2 Initiation

Chapter 3 Reapers

Chapter 4 Familiars

Chapter 5 Feast

Chapter 6 Fear

Chapter 7 Brute

Chapter 8 Tears

Chapter 9 Sins

Chapter 10 Body

Chapter 11 Depravity

Chapter 12 Blossoms

Chapter 13 Chains

Chapter 14 Snare

Chapter 15 Devastation

Chapter 16 Fight

Chapter 17 Desperation

Prologue

The cracking sounds of the swinging whip punctured the dense ambient filled with oppression and death—due to the littering of bodies around the polished marble floor of the mansion.

The whip bearer, a man of late twenties, who donned black mid-calf engineer boots, black jeans and a long bronze leather coat with sleeves rolled above the elbows, was ready to strike again. As the silver whip sliced through the air in an attempt to lob off the head of a well-groomed, bearded man clothed in business suit, the assailant saw his prey smiling.

The next moment, a mass of floating corpses appeared to take the full extent of the wrath of the whip. As the thong smashed into their faces, the undead ones’ screams of pain and torment pierced through the eardrums of the hunter and drilled right down into the deepest recesses of his soul. Unable to take the pain weighed upon his sanity, the whip bearer leapt backward, away from his target, and then crouched down in agony as he eyed the blood stains that looked like wet patches on his black collared three-quarters sleeve shirt underneath the coat.

The one in suit guffawed tauntingly. His laughter echoed through the huge dark hall, which was illuminated by several floating lights of paranormal origins and the moonlight washed through the full panel windows. Give it up, Lucien Raine. Your comrades are all incapacitated. What can a single man do against me, who had killed millions?

Still trembling from the shock and the toll on his mind and body, Lucien stared coldly at his adversary, with defiance raging in his eyes. The fatigue was evident on his chiselled oval face with straight, high nose and deep-set eyes, where a rim of dark metallic grey served to differentiate the ghost white iris from the sclera. Beads of sweat soaked into his Stygian-like, medium-length, wavy hair while some rolled down over his fair skin. Every breath he drew seemed to hurt: the sharp pain cut through his nasal cavity, throat and lungs.

He was reaching his physical and mental limits, unable to fight anymore and was ready to be presented as an offering to satisfy the evil man’s sadistic tendencies. But the spirited hunter refused to give up and just surrender—he needed to fulfil his calling: to save the trapped souls so as to be cleansed of his sins, or so, he thought.

He inhaled the air deeply, causing the pain to torpedo through his system, and then he was set to go. Mr. Butcher, I’ve to reject your … kind offer.

Waving his whip, charging and diving towards the oppressor, the ends of his long bronze coat fluttered wildly due to the rushes of air resulted from the whip bearer’s agile movements. The metallic-like surface of the coat reflected the unworldly, writhen light of the globes of lamps—created from the energy of the souls entrapped by the sadist—floating around them. The butcher easily conjured up a heap of carcasses rolled into a grotesque ball to block the attacks. As the whip lashed out, its smooth surface splintered out into razor-sharp, pointed blades at the bends of the thong to tear at the flesh of those bound under the mercy of the cruel butcher.

Lucien continued with his fast, relentless assaults by jumping and dashing to various blind spots of his enemy and attacking from there. The hunter could deftly shift to another position in a split second, avoiding being grabbed by the corpses that were controlled by the puppet master.

Taken aback by the sudden vigour of the young man and unable to keep up with the string of blinding fast attacks rained down upon him, the butcher ended up creating a barrier of corpses that was flimsy. The whip cut through a few limbs to slice out a sliver of skin from the back of the butcher’s neck. Lucien flashed a smile of triumph before making a swipe at his opponent’s torso.

Angered by the possibility that he could even get a scratch from his enemies, the incensed butcher gathered all of his power to inject his will into the freshly slain ones, compelling them to do his bidding. Usually, it would take days to viciously coerce his victims into submitting to him. But he was taking no chance with that particular hunter, and his outburst of fury allowed him to gather the additional energy and focus needed.

The bodies around the vicinity rose up—their glassy eyes were devoid of life and emotion—to rocket towards the hunter. Widening his eyes in shock, Lucien back-flipped away from them. Those reanimated corpses persisted in their pursuit of their new master’s enemy, trailing fast behind him. Unable to bring himself to hurt his fellow hunters, even though they were dead, Lucien chose to run away from them. As he was doing so, a reanimated corpse, whose body below the shoulders was torn off, caught up to sink her teeth into his left forearm.

Hailey … Utter despair and desperation hit Lucien as he gaped at the visage of his mentor, the woman who had brought him out of the darkness and imparted all of her knowledge to him. He was willing to bear with the pain of the bite just so that she would not be hurt.

As if responding to Lucien’s pain, Hailey quivered violently as she struggled against the control over her. Then her jaw went slack to let go of her protégé.

When she was falling down onto the floor, Lucien could see her mouthing the words, Save me.

Useless woman, mocked the puppet master.

Blinding lights, shattered glass, blood spewing, horrified expressions and dead bodies—those cascading images assaulted Lucien’s head in a massive, unforgiving avalanche.

Then one of them lingered in his mind as others were banished away: a woman’s tear-filled eyes inundated with love, longing and … bewilderment.

"Why must you kill me?"

Then Lucien went berserk and lashed out at his pursuers. His whip danced in the air as it flung all of the undead to the far ends of the mansion. The blades on the whip mercilessly carved out chunks of flesh. It did not matter to the man anymore that he was hurting his comrades, for he knew that the torment of being manipulated against one’s will was even more insufferable. When all were repelled away, an unsettling calm shrouded over the place.

The butcher took in a deep breath as if to indulge in the scent of hopefulness radiated by the hunter, and then he released a loud sigh of content. This must have felt terrible. There’s no need to go through this kind of ordeal. Come and join your friends to be part of my collection. A beautiful specimen like you will be the shining jewel among all.

Lucien’s eyes were saturated with an eerie serenity when he revealed in a choked, hoarse voice, I’m always the one who survives … when I deserve death the most.

The floor and the walls began to pulsate and rumble as the despondent man stared at his weapon and said, Do you know why … this land we’re stepping … the western tip of Europe, cut off from the rest of the continent by the sea, is called Accastle?

Buying time, my boy? sneered the one in suit.

Lucien ignored him while continuing, It’s the accursed land formed from the corpses of demons. Every pore of this land is filled with the remnants of their demonic energy. Most beings can’t feel it. Yet it resonates with my psyche. As if I’m of their kind—demons condemned into eternal damnation.

Then the younger man let out a sign. I’m sorry, Ivan. This will be straining on you, but it beats the loss of free will … for eternity.

The next instant, all the blades on the whip sprung out and started to rotate, with the core of the thong as their axis.

The fact that Lucien could warp the planes at his whims sent an uneasiness crawling through the butcher’s veins, causing an eye of his to twitch in nervousness.

Before I volunteer to join the ranks in your twisted collection … first thing first, I must rip you into pieces so that my comrades and those trapped souls can rest in peace. With an overwhelming aura of murderous intent surrounding him, Lucien coolly strode forward while dragging his whip behind him. The spinning blades grinded into the surface of the floor to form chasms that slowly extended their claws towards the butcher.

Chapter 1 Ritual

Hey guys, how’s everything? greeted a twenty-eight-year-old man in dark blue police uniform as he swaggered through the opened heavy wooden door and into the halls of a mansion located in the South of Accastle, famous for its scenic landscape by the sea, which bathe in eternal summer.

Only one replied, Good morning to you, Officer Sköld, while most ignored him and some gave a quick nod in response.

If not for his uniform, it was difficult to figure out that the officer was a law enforcer. His carefree demeanour, evident in his bright, greyish blue eyes and his medium length, golden brown hair decked out in a style more suited for a model did not fit the stereotype.

His naturally arched up lips twisted into a grimace when he was halted by a detective standing before the yellow crime scene barricade tape running across the width of the hall riddled with splatters of blood and soaked in the stench of death.

You know the SOPs and rules, reminded the middle-aged detective, looking at the officer sternly.

A loud sigh of exasperation broke out from Sköld’s mouth. "My dear Dom, of course I know. I don’t intend to step into there. You should know me well enough."

Then he made an exaggerated sad expression. I’m hurt by your distrust towards my professional ethics.

Hey pal, it’s my SOP, remember? retorted the older man, a staunch follower of standard operating procedures. "Prevent, then investigate. And call me Dominic, for goodness’ sake."

Putting an arm around the detective’s shoulder, the policeman clarified in his smooth, deep voice, I was jesting, buddy. I’m here to do a little catching up with the babe of forensic department. He went on to whisper, You know how hard it is to get a hold on her on normal occasions.

Dominic nodded gravely. True. But practise some discretion, will you?

After flashing a smirk in response, Sköld turned his attention to the forensic team busy with the collection of every single trace of evidence they could find. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, Paging for Mauve Bloodworth.

Among the crime scene technicians cladded in white Tyvek body suits, a forensic scientist, in similar garb, was squatting in the middle of the luxurious chamber of regal setting and taking measurements of the blood stains plastered onto the plush Persian carpet. She looked up and went on to coolly continue on her work for another five minutes before getting up. The petite woman held her hands up at the sides to keep them away from any surfaces and ambled to Sköld in huge strides. Each footstep of hers was deliberate yet insubstantial. It was as if she was riding with the wind, but the strong gale could easily knock her off her feet as she sought to retain an equilibrium between reality and illusion.

Guess there’s something I can help you with, Officer Sköld, the scientist replied from behind her mask in an unnaturally calm manner. Her voice was modulated and mellifluous, tempered with an undertone of grating quality.

The man put up a doe-eyed look while appearing to be upset. Call me Niklaus, or Nick. You hurt me with your indifference to my arrival. And to amend for that, you need to go on a date with me tonight.

Mauve stared at the officer, the amusement was clear in her eyes—her irises resembling pools of molten blue gunmetal, and each was surrounded by an orange aura, which looked like the rays of the setting sun, and had in its centre a dark bottomless vortex. Officer Sköld, you’d asked the question at the most inappropriate time. For this, I have to reject your invitation.

He snorted. This excuse again? I was hoping for more effort on your side to come up with something new.

Blinking her eyes once, she responded, Your attempts are too numerous for me to conceive enough plausible reasons to reject you. Ask the question less often, and I may surprise you with a shiny new statement of rejection.

My suggestion is to stop asking entirely, chirped the plucky detective as he planted his hands on his hips.

Looking at Dominic, Nicklaus wiggled his finger in disagreement. The concept of giving up is not in my DNA. He proceeded to flash a wide beam at Mauve. And I’m not going to let you have the chance to reject me on the basis of my slacking in wooing you.

Her cheeks rose up, causing her lower eyelids to scrunch up. Ah, you saw through my plot! Well, if you excuse me, I need to get back to work. Today’s case proves to be very interesting, and I can’t bear to distract myself from it for long.

Dominic shook his head while remarking, I’d never seen a case like this. The huge damage done is not in proportion to the amount of evidence left. No sign of the machinery or weapon used to cause this mess …

Studying the massive amount of blood scattered over two-third of the hall, Nicklaus shrugged. You’re brutal to end my pursuit of the day in minutes. Can’t be helped, I guess. But I love a lady who’s serious about her work.

That’s because I have an affinity with death. As Mauve got ready to strut back to the middle of the action, she added, So it’s for your own good that you get nothing but rejections from me. I’ll truly be considered as brutal if I accept.

***

After loading the packaged evidence onto the Evidence Collection Unit transport vehicle, Mauve plucked off the disposable gloves to dispose of them and then took off the suit, followed by the mask. With her long coal-black hair still tied up in a tight bun, the lady, dressed in long-sleeved, black dress shirt and matching trousers, wasted no time to make her way back to the laboratory. Unlike her colleagues who were visibly affected by the savageness of the crime, she, of a young age of twenty-eight, maintained her composure and detached front throughout the episode.

In fact, on the long journey to her office located at the fringe of the west of Accastle, sitting at the back of the van—the only vehicle she would ride as a passenger—and keeping to herself, she found a momentary solace in the space saturated with the miasma of death.

Only this vehicle, where death lingers, can resist the curse …

Then she enclosed herself in the reverie of recounting her encounter with Nicklaus. In spite of her apprehension of talking to him, it was the only true interaction she had for the week. It was her obligation to reject all offers of friendship and courtship, but he was the only one to handle rejections with a kind of delight that was almost masochistic in nature. He was one of the few left unhurt, emotionally or physically, by her.

But how long can this last? Before he gets tired of this game?

Upon arrival at the Forensic Sciences Building, Mauve marched through it without greeting anyone or looking at a single person in the eyes and headed straight to a laboratory on the second floor via a seldom utilized staircase. When the lady reached her destination and spoke into a security device by the stainless steel door, the door slid open. Stepping into a sterile enclosure of white interior filled with high-tech equipment and the stench of chemicals … and death, she took note of a lone, tall figure in lab coat poring over his work at the scanning helium ion microscope.

Hi, Bloodworth. What are the preliminary findings? asked the bespectacled man in his fifties, who was concentrating on analysing the samples, not turning around to regard his protégé in the eyes.


Mauve stepped forward to let the door close behind her. However, she stayed near the entrance and reported, The projected and cast-off bloodstains, their uniform degree of drying indicate simultaneous arterial spurting from various sites of the body. The direction of the splatters shows that the attacks were from numerous directions.

Like several jagged rings wrapped around his body and closed shut to sever him into pieces. She kept her analysis to herself though and stuck to informing the facts, No transfer or contact bloodstain, no swipe or wipe, no voids, no sign of struggle or break-in, no weapon found and no evidence of moved objects. The CCTV footage shows that no outsider had entered the premises at the estimated time of assault.

This is the first time I know of such case … I’ll study the findings later, replied the assistant head of the department. His face was partially obscured from Mauve’s view by the microscope, concealing any facial expression that he could have.

Mauve then added, I’ll email Spears to send you the files once the tests are done. The irony in her intended action was that Spears’ office was just two rooms away.

So Dr. Ng, if you excuse me since I need to continue working on my portion of the work on this case. Then she whirled around in preparation to walk out of the laboratory.

His eyes were still firmly on the sample as he answered, Sure, go ahead.

Without saying a word, she got out of the place. En route to her office, she did not acknowledge the presence of anyone who passed by her, as if she was warped to another dimension where all the people around her were merely spectral beings. The lady was accurately aware of everything yet acknowledged none of them. And she never stepped out of that dimension even after knocking off from work at eight—a time where most of her colleagues had gone home already.

She traipsed through the quiet streets illuminated by the towering street lamps and the half-moon hovering in the ash-blue, cloudless and starless sky. The clacking of her heels striking the hard floor sounded especially harsh on the ears in heavy silence. A normal person would become wary when traversing through the vicinity devoid of passer-by. However, Mauve remained indifferent to the dancing shadows, the rustling of the leaves of the willow trees flanking the brick pathway, the scrapping of the litter against the floor, the unexplainable creaking of the wood and the hair-raising incoherent whispers coming from behind the bushes. The only signs proving that the metropolitan city was not deserted at first glance were the occasional vehicles zipping through the four-lane road. Yet somehow, she had never felt more alive than at that moment.

Her impassive face did not brighten one bit as she spotted the grocery store from metres away. Like a soulless mannequin, she walked into the store to pick up her daily stash of groceries before the place closed in twenty minutes time. In spite of the availability of cashier counter to serve her, she made her payment at the self-payment machine. And she did not react one iota when the store staff thanked her for the patronage.

On the way to her apartment, the only time she was distracted from the empty space before her was when her ears were assaulted by the loud threats made by a man poised to hit his girlfriend at the lobby of her apartment building. But she did not stop to render assistance to the sobbing woman who instinctively used her hands to shield her face.

A shadow of grimace flashed across Mauve’s lips. The consequences will be graver if I intervene.

While the man was momentarily stunned by Mauve’s eerily dispassionate stare, she did not linger around for long and walked on, ignoring the couple. She climbed the staircase, all the way to the thirteenth floor, with ease, sometimes stopping at the stair landing to gaze out of the worn-out bay window to admire the absolute darkness outside—the result of Accastle government’s initiative to conserve energy. In that city engulfed by darkness, she could feel that it was teeming with life. Asleep in the day, dwellers