Good Vs. Evil: Final Days

By Peter Martelli

The beginning of an epic saga of a boy who will become a man and seek revenge on the ones who killed his parents and destroy the world he lives in. Along the way he falls in love with a girl who will change his life forever and a friend who will show him a destiny that will alter his course of revenge. A world covered in darkness becomes his motivation to find the truth behind his hardships, his destiny and the hero he must become. The world is coming to its end and he is the only one who can stop the evil darkness from fulfilling its plans of destruction. The line is drawn, and good and evil stand across each another as the final days of man are here.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 27, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462837007

Peter Martelli

Peter Martelli born on June 5, 1984, sees life as a rubix cube. He seeks the answers to the great mysteries of life, but as one question is answered, the block of life moves, and another arises. The conflictions, sufferings, and misunderstandings of life taunt his mind, forcing him to wrestle in his sleep. He brings these real life emotions to the characters in his book. They too deal with the battle of life as well as the good and bad times that come with it. In a world like ours where people suffer from unexplainable acts of violence and sickness, Peter brings forward a fantasy of answers and explanations to the disturbing acts that man faces. His ideas, his feelings, and his answers come with a price that his character must over come to survive. Because when you break it all down life is a simple scheme of the known and the un-known, and it’s a hard game of survival that we all try to beat.

Book preview

Good vs. Evil

Final Days

Peter Martelli

Copyright © 2009 by Peter Martelli.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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Contents

Chapter One

Path of Revenge

Chapter Two

Demon Night

Chapter Three

Fate

Chapter Four

Passion of Love

Chapter Five

New York

Chapter Six

The Hunters Become the Hunted

Chapter Seven

Unbalance

Chapter Eight

Class of 2003

Chapter Nine

Sour Goodbye

Chapter Ten

Welcome to Los Angeles

Chapter Eleven

Fellow Hunter

Chapter Twelve

Outcast

Chapter Thirteen

Torment

Chapter Fourteen

My Violent Heart

Chapter Fifteen

Alone?

Chapter Sixteen

Demon Hunters

Chapter Seventeen

The Source

Chapter Eighteen

Betrayal

Chapter Nineteen

Rise of Chaos

Chapter Twenty

Final Days

Chapter Twenty-One

December 19, 2012

Chapter Twenty-Two

December 20, 2012

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Nightmare Begins

There’s dignity in suffering

Nobility in pain

But failure is a salted wound

That burns and burns again.

—Margery Eldredge Howell, Wormwood

Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up

Here we are, on the planet Earth, the bright blue sphere in our solar system, which contains the only known life in the universe. This life consists of many different species, one of which is the human race that swarms the planet—a race that looks for answers for its origin and its purpose. But on this quest, blood was shed, and lives were taken. A history of violence is what became of the world. When the superior species, man, became ruler of the world, the true nature of one’s purpose was revealed: war. Our whole reason for being is for a war that’s been going on since the beginning of time, the war between good versus evil. All these hate, evil, and death were building up for the climatic end of the war.

Perhaps it’s man’s destiny to be evil to one another. The dark energy within us waits for man to clash with one another to fuel the evil to victory. We, as a race, allowed our souls and world to be taken from the twisted hand of the evil one. Everything we have done was set in place by the influential voice of the evil one. To cause as much hatred, death, and horror possible for the second coming of the dark gods. And now that we have failed those people, who have survived by love and peace, have to fix what the rest destroyed. When it is every man’s responsibility to change before it was too late, they turned away. So prepare for your life, your home, and your soul to be collected for the hard work at allowing hell to enter our world. This will be the end of life on the bright blue planet called Earth.

In a world where the nature of species is violence and death, people look for hope. We look toward God to save us. Unfortunately, God is no more than something we created to understand why we do evil things. I’ll tell you, evil is our birthright, but we also have another birthright—to clash with the evil through the goodness in our souls. The year and date unknown, I have fought through this hell for years. But now as I lay bleeding to death on the lost land of Atlantis, trying to slay the evil one that destroyed the earth, I look back. I look at my journey from the beginning to the end that led me here alone. I’m hoping, after all is said and done, that this tale will help man to change so hell can never return.

Like most twisted tales, I shall start from the beginning and open with a simple question. What is life? Moments of important times, sad times, loving times, our final times, are that all life really is? Everyone’s definition of life is different; its meaning is based on how their life was lived. I just wish things could have been different. But when you fall into the line of seeing things, understanding things, and knowing actuality, your life adapts a new meaning. It grows with a purpose, a destiny, a reason to live. But what is life, if not a game of survival?

Born on June 12, 1984, I started my crusade through this cryptic conception called life. Like most human beings, when I was born, I was labeled with a name to serve the purpose of an identity. Only very few know my real name; I kept it hidden, maybe even lost, deep within the silent tunnels of my mind. Sometimes I even started to forget what my name was, or who I even was. But this is for my own protection, at least, it was at first, but something of that significance could only stay hidden for so long. The name that I carry, hungered for the attention of others to hear it; but hell, it was just a name, and it didn’t define who I truly am.

There wasn’t much to say about my childhood before it led up to the point where I started my downward path of self-destruction. It was all filled with happiness and total bliss. I saw this world, thanks to my parents, as a heaven for the greatest moments of my life. There it was again, moments, and those were my happy ones. But I guessed it’s good to experience those moments when you’re young because as you got older, you came to realize that the world wasn’t the heaven you thought it was but a dimension of a hell far worse than the one the Bible speaks of.

I brought up this point because I was one of those unfortunate children, who one day, learned this sooner than most and that was when my happy moments were covered over with dark skies. And on that day when I was ten years old, I would begin my long path of revenge. The time when those dark skies had formed over my life and the day my parents were taken from me.

Chapter One

Path of Revenge

Show me a hero and I will tell you a story of tragedy.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up

Tragedy seems to fall upon those who have great happiness surrounding them, and those people who are jealous of that become the scum that took my happiness away. I guess my parents did the right thing by sending me over to my grandparents’ house for the night. I fought hard to stay with my parents, but my dad was unusually reluctant to the idea of me staying at home. Perhaps they knew what was going to happen to them that night; this was for my protection, to insure that I survive and live on as earth’s last hope. But where was my choice in the matter? What if I wanted to die with them? I mean, how can they just leave me alone in this world with this hole of pain that has engraved itself into my heart? But when I heard the news of their death, a reason sparked in my mind to use this misunderstood choice that my parents made as a purpose for the greater good.

The police documented that an unidentified group of men broke into the house and massacred my parents. The cops were shocked and disgusted at the murder scene; they claimed to have never seen anything like this before. The means of death were sinister and gruesome. It appeared as though a sick and twisted act of torture was used to mangle and tear pieces of skin off their bodies. Pints of blood poured out from their visible veins. It looked like the wounds were caused by marks that looked like they came from vicious sharp teeth that just sucked the fountain of life out of them. Then what life they had left in them appeared to have expired through ruthless beatings. It was almost inhuman the way they were killed. Men are sick, but not that sick; and as I continue on through my quest, I would later find out that the killers being men just wasn’t logical but that they were the unholy creatures that I’ve been hunting for years.

The police also pointed out that the house was demolished and awfully destroyed. It seemed the men were looking for me also. It seemed I was their main concern.

So after that devastating incident, I moved with my grandparents in a small town called Hillsborough. The police made no record of me living with them to keep those who were hunting me off the path. This gave me ample time to prepare in safety for what I had to do. I had to avenge the death of my parents and make sure that something like this wouldn’t happen to anyone else. But the path of revenge I undertook wasn’t as easy as I thought.

Years of plotted revenge flew by as I began to train myself to seek revenge. I started out my martial arts training like most people do, in a dojo. I quickly adapted myself to all the techniques I learned from my instructor as if I was born with the gift to defend myself. It was strange at first to be able to adapt so quickly to techniques that took my fellow classmates months to learn. But like I said, it was a gift I was born with. But time was passing quickly, and I needed to progress a lot faster than I was. So I left the dojo to start my own training in the ways of fighting.

Using the woods near my grandparents’ house as a secret workout area, I started to stuff leaves, rocks, and sticks in old clothes, which I used for punching dummies. The rocks and sticks were used to recreate the feel of hitting a real person. I did this so that my hands can harden to a strength where hitting a person wouldn’t hurt. I mastered all the basic punches and kick attacks that I learned from the dojo and soon moved on to harder and powerful techniques.

With the books and videos I bought from a yard sale, I began my true training. I soon gathered the strength, the ability, and the reflexes at a quick pace. I would sometimes train using a blindfold and let my hearing guide me to the enemy. I would string up the stuffed dummies with a trip rope hiding under the leaves and lying on the ground. When the rope was tripped, the force would drop the dummy, creating a noise pointing to its whereabouts. My mind and body were starting to work as one. Now that I mastered hand-to-hand combat and self-defense, I needed to practice my sword fighting.

If I was going to go up against men who carry guns and knives, I needed something to get an extra reach on them. I figured a sword would put some fear in the eyes of the deadly killers. But since at the time I couldn’t purchase my own sword, I constructed a look-alike blade from a thick tree branch. I curved it down to a size of a sword and made a handle for it. Unfortunately, the weight of it was light unlike a real sword, but my only concern was to master the techniques.

Five years of training and patience had passed as I grew into my own person. I was young and strong with spiky black hair, a clean face, and a wardrobe of nothing but black. The reason I preferred black was to blend in with the darkness. My enemies hid in the shadows, preying on the weak and waiting for their moment to strike. In order for me to understand what I was hunting, I had to become them, see what they see, feel what they feel, and have the same thirst for power that they fed on when they threatened the weak. The power of fear, for they had none to express. But as I lurked in the shadows of the dark nights and forced out the evil from their hiding places, they would come to fear me, for I had become the hunter in the shadows.

With only one thing on my mind, I felt I was ready to walk the streets at night and help those who needed to be saved from men who do evil, hoping to fill the hole in my soul caused by my parents’ death. On my first night out, I would see the nature of evil that fills man.

What drives a man to kill another man? Could it be the pleasure of feeling like a god, to take someone’s life, or maybe the feel of the innocent’s blood splashing in their faces? Perhaps they’ve gone mad and lost track of right and wrong. Or could it possibly be a gene in the DNA that was encoded in the human race that’s triggered by devastating events in someone’s life. This just might cause a person to kill. No, it is the little voice that’s carried in our minds that influences the delightful pleasure to rule over one. We’re all born with demons inside us, half good and half evil. Our souls in this life are tainted. Those who fight this voice in their minds will never be free, but they will live on. And the others, they will become something more, something sick. They are the rapists, thieves, murderers, and the demons that destroy our world.

My first hunt for the evil men came to me as I was flipping through the local newspaper. Looking for any nearby robberies, local vandalism, wanted fugitives, or anything in that sort when I noticed a missing person ad hidden at the bottom of the paper. The person was a young girl, no more than ten years old, last seen with her mom who was killed the same day she went missing. It stated that no more than two days ago, the daughter and her mother were walking down the street heading for their car when something happened. They found the mother raped and murdered in an alleyway just downtown, but the girl was nowhere to be found. As to where she is and who took her is still a mystery while authorities investigate, which means they have no leads, so they’re clueless in the matter.

My hands curled into the paper with tight rage. It was sad how a mother and her daughter couldn’t even make it home alive in a world like this. What has our world turned into? My mind wrestled with the thought of what could have caused all this horror to happen to the innocent, but nothing would be more shocking than the truth I would later find out.

While the police would take their time in piecing the puzzle together, this was my chance to do a little detective work of my own. Find the girl, save her, and ensure that the men who did this rot in jail forever. Because unlike me, the girl had a chance to see the men who destroyed her life and feel safe, knowing they’re suffering behind bars.

The stenchy, muggy scent of death filled the gloomy alleyway. The crime scene was bordered off with yellow No Trespassing tape. The white-chalk outline of the woman’s body that the cops made is still visible. I took my time surveying the area, looking for clues. I was still new at this, but I was sure that the cops had missed something. As I looked through the crime scene, the muddy tracks of three different footprints were outlined by the police. Two set of tracks stayed in one place, probably where the woman was raped, but the third set moved fast out of the alleyway. There was no sign of the girl’s tracks; they possible got covered up by the other set of footprints. I followed the prints out of the alleyway to an almost-empty parking lot. There sat a sky blue two-door sedan, which was probably the mother’s car.

As I looked around the car, I noticed a small bloodstain on the door. Then it was all falling into place like a puzzle. The one man was holding the little girl, making her watch as they took turns raping her mom. The girl got loose and ran for the car, but the doors were locked. The man caught up and bashed the girl’s head into the driver’s side door to keep her quiet. As I examined the car closer, I looked down to see in a mild light-filled puddle a card. It could have fallen out from the man’s pocket as he pulled something out to tie the girl up. It was a complimentary pass to a nightclub called the Night Owl, a gentlemen’s club. It was located on the outskirts of town. The townspeople had it pushed to be built out there so they could sleep at night knowing their little town is free from sin. This card was my only lead in finding the missing girl, so off I went to the Night Owl.

During the tedious long walk to the nightclub, I started to wonder what the little girl was feeling. She was ten years old, the same age I was when my life changed. I could remember the feeling I had like it was yesterday. The silent crack of my heart as it snapped in two, the boiling pot that housed my anger had blown its top, filling my mind with rage and agony. The complete misunderstanding of why and how this could happen. The torment of these questions scared my mind for years, turning me into something else. That one simple night altered my life and the lives that will come to know me. But now I’m not alone because I’m sure whatever the girl is going through, she is feeling the same pain I felt. And punishment for those who see no law or human emotion is the only way to balance things out.

There are many people out there like the little girl and I who somehow get sucked into this black void of suffering. Mostly it took time to heal, and when it did, they continue living their lives, hoping the suffering never returned. But people like me heal in a different kind of way. We knew the suffering would come again and again, but instead of just waiting for it, we looked for it. We stopped it in its tracks, destroying it before it flourished. It’s this harsh, unstable world of men and women who have no remorse in taking lives of people who have done nothing to harm them that has created the man I am today. This flaw in the human race that is encoded in our nature to cause suffering and pain is what destroyed us all.

As my mind continued to rapidly ponder the thoughts about the girl, loud sound of music could be heard just over the hill road ahead. I was getting closer and closer to the nightclub with every step. Just a few feet in front, I could see the big flashing neon sign saying, Night Owl. Under the flashing neon sign was an owl hooting out the words Welcome to the home of pleasure. I decided to make my attempt to go through the front door.

As I approached the red velvet door, a man walked in. Before the door could shut, the roar of hip-hop music caught my ear. Topless women were exotically dancing to the music on stage. The brainless, drooling, perverted men were waving dollars and shouting for the women as they slowly removed their bras. The door closed, and the loud music softened as I tried to walk in but was stopped by an emotionless big muscular black bouncer. This bouncer was a perfect fit to ensure safety for the nightclub. He may have looked like an overweight person, like the ones you see devouring hamburger after hamburger at your local fast-food joint, but don’t let looks deceive you. Under all that flesh was hard muscle, strength like an ox; it was easy for him to toss over excited men out of the club, especially the ones who thought they were tougher than him. So I approached the big black bouncer, calm as a cucumber, and looked straight at the door as he stood there with his arms crossed and a facial expression of a disturbed man.

Hey, what do you think you’re doing? asked the big bouncer.

Well, I said as I wiped out the damp, crumpled complimentary pass from my pocket.

He looked at the pass and then looked down at me.

You have ID?

I showed him the only ID I had, my freshman school ID. The man started to break out in a deep laugh as I stood there not amused.

You know, kid, you’re the first person to get me to laugh in a long time. Freshman school ID, ha, ha. Come back in three years, he said while he was chuckling.

My attempt to enter the front door didn’t go as well as I thought it would. There were few possibilities I could have undertaken. One was to take out the big bouncer quickly and quietly, but I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Besides, I wasn’t 100 percent sure that the little girl was in there. I didn’t want to cause any kind of scene that would put her and me in danger. So I deleted that idea from my mind and went with the second plan of action. I turned my back on the bouncer and walked away from the building, far enough where he couldn’t see me. I took a better look at the wide building from afar and noticed the roof had two skylight windows, just what I needed to get a perfect view of the inside.

Staying close to the shadows of the building, waiting for the neon sign to flash on and off, I dashed around the nightclub. Exposing myself to the small building light in the back of the nightclub where the ladder rested; the back door swung open. I froze for a quick second next to the ladder and waited to see if anyone would come. Two black garbage bags flew out of the building, slamming against the dumpers. The man who threw them reached out for the doorknob and closed it. I paused for a moment of relief and then ascended the ladder.

Clouds of white smoke flew out of the huge exhaust fans, and flashes of light shined through the skylight windows. As I moved closer to one of the skylight windows, I could feel the sound vibrations of the hip-hop music bouncing off the wall. Carefully looking through the window to see inside, I could see more of the nightclub. The bartender was pouring shot after shot to the perverted shit-faced men. The topless women were making their rounds through the tables, dropping off drinks and hoping to score a few extra bucks. Meanwhile the other women were dancing on stage for some money. There were no clues to lead me to the whereabouts of the girl in this part of the club. I moved on to the next window to see if the little girl was somewhere at the back.

There was no one in sight in the back room. It was a small office filled with a small maple oak desk with dark brownish stains of a spilled drink covering it along with a mess of papers. A small bar sat next to a pool table which had no balls on it, and what looked like a storage door with locks on the outside of the door. But there was no sign of the little girl anywhere in the room. As I was about to give up my search for the girl at the nightclub, three white average-built men walked through the door. The one man with the shaded beard of black and gray took a seat at the oak desk while the other guy in a blue suit went over to the bar to make a drink and the last man, who had a tattoo of a snake on the back of his neck, unlocked the storage door. I figured why not stick around for a bit to see what these guys were up to.

I watched as the one man walked in to the storage room and walked out, pulling on the arm of someone. I couldn’t tell who it was at first; the person in the storage room was putting up a fight to get free. The man pulled more and more as the person was becoming visible. It was in fact the short ten-year-old