The Day of Death: The Lies. The Truth. The Choice.: The Beginning of the End, #3

By Alexandra Kleanthous

"All these years, you have run from the voices that wanted to tell you of their pain, for fear they would devour you."

 

Eight years on from her escape from a Vatican City prison, mankind's long-hidden saviour – the miraculous child, Salvatrice – is now twelve years old.

 

Yet with her eternal nemesis having ascended to a position of global power, and his dark conspiracy soon to be unleashed, it is time for the Messiah to emerge.

As the earth's inhabitants are plunged into an overnight dystopia, and the lives of billions hang in the balance, can Salvatrice save humanity from her enemy's, and ultimately its own, destructive ways?

 

The Day of Death is the thrilling finale to the Beginning of the End trilogy, which began with The Priest of Santa Maria and The Alpha and the Omega.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anemos Books Limited
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781999313265

Alexandra Kleanthous

Alexandra Kleanthous was born and raised in Greater London. She attended Film School in Sheffield where she explored the world of story-writing in fine detail. After writing and directing a few short films, her graduate film was screened internationally, including The Edinburgh International Film Festival. She has worked as a feature writer and even an artisan chocolatier. Alex’s stories always carry an element of the mystical with many of her works featuring biblical and religious themes, mythology, esoteric teachings, and the occult. These subjects hold a particular fascination for her.

Book preview

I had to appear to (him) as the devil since I had accepted my darkness. I ate the earth and I drank the sun and I became a greening tree that stands alone and grows.

Carl Gustav Jung

Prologue

Burundi, Africa, three a.m.

At first, it seemed a night like any other. A bulging moon illuminated the lush valley below, while the cries and screeches of nocturnal wildlife sprayed the air like a Jackson Pollock painting. Then they fell silent. A new, sinister sound approached. Distant, but growing closer.

Soaring high above the heads of humans, the foreign creatures traversed the basin, rising to meet the hilltops and winding with the natural curves of the land. Flying at one hundred miles per hour, their metallic bodies swerved, swooped and zoomed with perfected synergy until they reached the end of the valley.

The leader stopped in its tracks. Its aloof and microscopic eyes registered the open land, identified the targets ahead and sent a confirmation to the swarms behind it.

Each was suspended in mid-air; an alien armada waiting for the affirmative to attack. Each programmed with a specific target. Their mission: the acres of coffee, tea and cotton plantations ahead.

While some veered to the fields of coffee, others continued to the cotton and tea.

The leader landed on a leaf and hopped onto the stalk. Its grey irises flickered to red, delivering an electric current of fifteen thousand volts, ripping through the stalk and running straight to the root, cremating it in an instant. The others emitted the same volts to their initial targets and continued onto the next and the next. With the plantations annihilated in minutes, the drone locusts lifted off and steamed their way back to the valley.

Burundi, early morning, after the attack

The flame-haired female correspondent stood on a hazy hilltop, waiting as the camerawoman set up the equipment to film the Burundi piece for the Worldwide News Channel.

The air reeked like a forest fire had ravaged the land. Both women wore face masks to minimise the effects of breathing in the carcinogenic air engulfing them. Through the smoky overcast, acres of devastated fields served as the backdrop. Black, charred crops stood, it seemed, almost defiant to death’s will.

Awaiting the go-ahead, the correspondent removed her mask as the camerawoman counted down from five to one before pointing her finger.

"It appears the landlocked, poverty-stricken country of Burundi, with its years of conflict between the majority Hutu and minority Tutsi population, has been hit with another disaster. In the early hours of this morning, these acres of coffee, tea and cotton plantations behind me were literally fried to death, rendering the stock useless. This is a devastating blow to the country’s economy, as these were Burundi’s greatest exports.

"Forensic experts gathered behind me are examining the land for any clues or evidence as to what or whom committed these heinous acts. The Tutsi owners insist that this is a malicious act of sabotage by the Hutus who farm their lands. The question is, how could the Hutu farmhands create such mass destruction?

"With the army despatched, there’s talk of war between the two factions, who have shared a fragile and volatile coexistence since the sixties, when they gained their independence from Belgium.

As many of the Hutus are Roman Catholic, the Church has come to their aid, with His Holiness, Pope Leo XIV, promising food and medical aid where it’s needed – and, most generously, even to the non-Catholics. The US and the UN have also stepped in, to secure peace as well as to get to the bottom of this conundrum. Even Victor Di Mercurio, the Italian banker who had some bad press six years ago, is pledging one million Euros of his own money to the Church funds.

In an inordinately large room in Vatican City which served as the Pontiff’s study, Pope Leo lowered the volume on his television. Victor sat beside him on a plush purple-velvet sofa, resting his hands on the floral-carved mahogany armrest. His blue opal cane leaned regally against the wall behind them with a commanding presence. Above it hung a simple antique wooden cross, seemingly almost swallowed by the whitewashed walls on which it perched.

We both warranted a mention, said Pope Leo with a smile.

"Yes, but at any opportunity, the media relishes in raising the subject of my bad press six years ago," seethed Victor.

Still, your pledge of a million euros erases their futile attempts at smearing your reputation. You’ll see. It will be good for your presidential hopes.

Hopes. Pfft! It’s as good as in the bag, as they say. Of the one thousand plus electoral assembly, two-thirds are newly elected members of the Order, while others are personal friends, or men and women who do business with my bank, and the rest have no choice.

And the current premier?

With one year of her presidency left, she is keen to retire to look after her ailing husband and leave behind the scandals with which her children have ungratefully cursed her presidency.

Well then. Let’s drink to your future presidency, said the Pope.

They clinked their glasses and sipped their port.

And once elected, what will become of the bank?

I will name my puppet of a nephew as the CEO and I will be the puppeteer behind the scenes. It’s all hush, of course.

Your secrets are always safe with me. Grinning, Pope Leo tapped the edge of his nose as he spoke.

As are yours with me, added Victor.

And? questioned the Pope.

And what? replied Victor.

The elephant in the room.

Victor rolled his eyes. We have not seen or heard from her for six years.

And you think this means she has somehow let us be?

Well, think about it. We have left her alone, and we have heard nothing from her. It’s clear she is of no threat to us. She is one voice and we are the voice of the people.

The Pope contemplated his words. Mm. It’s true. She has as good as disappeared. But is she gathering troops, strategising, or hiding from us?

She is outnumbered, outmatched and running scared. We got to her once and we can do it again. She knows this. All she can do is preach her gospel and reach a few people. But she is silent. I have my best man scouring every channel, social media page and smoke signal, and she is nowhere to be found. And if she surfaces, she will never gain momentum. People are cynical and untrusting of controversial viewpoints. They think people are trying to indoctrinate them, when the irony is that they were indoctrinated from birth. Derisive laughter left his lips. We got to them before they were born. Now, our way of life and what we tell them is normality – and anything else is a threat.

Not everyone is so gullible, said the Pope.

No, but there aren’t enough rebels to make a difference, especially when those of us in power hold not just the purse strings, but positions of prominence and influence. We make the laws. And those who rebel fall into the abyss while the majority conform.

Well, one can only hope you’re right. But then what of her purpose?

She is still young and weak. Even when she grows up, we will never allow her to reach a prominent position. We are watching.

There are influencers nowadays who seem to have the public totally beguiled.

Yes: but for fame, fashion and nonsense. Nothing of significance. Superficial rubbish that has them seduced, while matters of seriousness have their eyes glazing over. And this just helps to keep them occupied while we continue to control them.

I don’t think we should underestimate her.

She is nowhere to be found. I refuse to be a slave to worry. Besides, let’s not forget that we gave her attention and fame just so that we could find her. At the time, it was the only way to flush her out.

Perhaps if we had not used that incompetent Cäsar, who was supposed to find and eliminate the mother before the child was born?

Well, what’s done is done. At least it has enabled us to see our enemy. Plus, he made a good scapegoat, added Victor. So, unless she resurfaces, we should leave her be.

Yes, I agree. And so we shall remain poised and vigilant.

PART ONE

THE RIVALRY

Chapter One

One Year Later

What happened to the Messiah?

One foot, then a second, trampled across the questioning words of the old fly-poster now lying ripped and discarded on the ground. They continued their way into St Peter’s Square.

A scruffy man with a board strapped to his body – with the words HAS THE LORD FORSAKEN US? – unsuccessfully attempted to hand their owner a leaflet as he passed by. The tourist sidestepped, scowling as he moved on.

The man called out:

Atone for your sins before it’s too late.

Nearby, a group of teenagers stood around waiting for instructions from their teacher. One picked up a discarded leaflet from the ground, folded it into an aeroplane, and sent it drifting through the air.

As it made its way into St Peter’s Square, the crowds roared.

Pope Leo XIV stepped onto his balcony and squinted his azure eyes at the sun’s piercing rays. Using his customary method, he held his hands up to silence the throngs. As always, it had the immediate effect of lulling his devout followers. With skin so thin and pale that it was almost translucent, his wizened face was well rehearsed at appearing sapient to the crowds who could see a close shot of his features on the screens mounted around the square.

He raised his hand and signed the cross over the people gathered. They responded with a cheer. He quietened them again and spoke.

Today, we will honour the new Premier Victor Di Mercurio. Victor walked onto the balcony and joined him. He will take our wonderful Italy to new heights.

Cries of Hurrah! reverberated throughout the square.

Let us close our eyes as I make a blessing for his successful premiership.

As the masses followed the Pope’s instructions, closing their eyes and holding poses respectful of prayer, a piercing ring that sounded like feedback from a microphone deafened all in the square. People simultaneously shielded their ears and opened their eyes to stare, transfixed, on the screens mounted around the square.

A large capital-letter omega flashed up on the screen, with a capital-letter alpha in its centre. THE POPE IS LYING TO YOU followed. Then the words ONLY THE MESSIAH CAN SAVE YOU.

Sparks flew, wires shorted out, and the screens blackened.

The crowds muttered fearfully amongst themselves as a dark cloud descended over the square. A burst of torrential rain sent everyone running for cover.

Chapter Two

The rain ceased as spontaneously as it had begun, and the sun filtered through the clouds, brightening up St Peter’s Square. The dispirited Pope turned away from the window and took his seat behind his desk. Leave us, he uttered to all in the room.

Everyone but Victor left with prompt urgency.

Pope Leo glanced up at Victor, who was standing by the chair opposite him, his hand resting on the crest rail. So, after seven years of silence, she has returned with a vengeful wrath. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth.

Victor sat down with a look unfazed by the preceding events. Come now, Your Holiness, did you expect she wouldn’t resurface once we announced my premiership?

The Pope glanced up at him. May I remind you of our conversation one year ago?

Victor let out a weary sigh of his own.

I fear we became apathetic. We stopped speaking of her. We ceased looking for her.

No. I told you. I never stopped looking.

"Checking social media channels is not looking for her!"

She fell off the face of the earth, declared Victor. Now she’s back. The hunt begins. And this time, we are armed and ready.

Are you certain? We do not know of what she is capable. Before her disappearance and the stunt with the newspaper article, she had you running from the law for a week.

Victor leaned forward with a smirk. Thanks for the reminder, yet again. It was just one week while our knights – which, I might add, are strategically placed in the highest echelons of society – not only made it go away . . . I am now the Premier of Italy.

She turned one of our most promising operatives against us and he helped her steal the real premonition. He knows everything about us.

Yet, we have more devout followers than ever before – worldwide. Again, I might add. And you are the head of the most powerful and affluent Church in the world. Together, we are two of the most influential men in Italy and beyond. We have absolutely nothing to fear. We have influence and she has not. Do not underestimate what we can achieve.

The Pope’s concerned expression stared into the ether.

I have never seen you so afraid and heard such defeat from your lips, observed Victor. What are you worried about?

Pope Leo leaned forward, every wrinkle of his features etched with fear. She is the Messiah! You yourself admitted you underestimated her. I fear your arrogance will work against us.

Do not mistake arrogance for confidence, corrected Victor. May I remind you it was people in positions of power who put an end to the last Messiah? We are exactly where we need to be.

Nearly two thousand miles away, in Cyprus, aka the ‘Island of Love’, the crew farmed their land in Kato Platres, Troodos.

After they had escaped their jail in the depths of Vatican City – and after the theft of the real premonition from Victor’s home – Angelica, Christiano, and Victor’s former operative knight, Erik, had whisked Salvatrice from the town of Lombardy to Lake Maggiore. Looking like any other tourists, they sped through to the Swiss side by speedboat where they lay in wait for the other six to join them over a period of a month. Once all together, Achilleus arranged for their new fake passports and names, while Aku organised the various travel methods they would use to travel to their new destination. They then made their way in separate groups to Cyprus. Salvatrice was the first to reach the shores – by boat with Erik, Aku and Angelica. To avoid Christiano unnecessary sea sickness, he and Kurush flew to Cyprus in a private plane about a week later. Frya, Achilleus, Domenico and Gia followed two weeks on from them, also by boat.

Aku purchased the six acres of land for two hundred thousand Euros from the sons of a deceased goat herder who had passed away the month before, leaving his herd of goats which were destined for slaughter had she not accepted them with the property. The goats were now cared for by Salvatrice and Domenico, who ensured they were healthy and well fed on hay, along with treats of seeds, raisins, carrots and other vegetables.

On the vast property, a variety of olive, fruit and nut trees lined the groves, enriching the land with their delectable offerings and willingly sharing them with the local birds and wildlife. In a separate area, a wide assortment of homegrown vegetables and herbs ensured an abundance of foods for the crew. The main farmhouse was home to Salvatrice, Christiano, Angelica and their now six-year-old son named Luka. And also to Erik, who insisted on remaining close to Salvatrice.

On the property was a barn to keep the goats safe at night, and three more outbuildings, refurbished by the crew on arrival seven years prior. Kurush, with his daughter Frya and her partner Achilleus, and their five-year-old daughter, Aleah, occupied one building, while Domenico and Gia were in another dwelling close by. Aku insisted on occupying her own outhouse, which she turned into a media centre for her various activities, solely focused on Salvatrice. It was from here that she sabotaged the Pope’s speech in St Peter’s Square.

While some cooked in their respective kitchens, others attended to the vegetable and herb garden, while Salvatrice sat on a stool in Aku’s studio.

That went well, don’t you think? asked Aku, turning to Salvatrice.

It’s a start, replied the twelve-year-old.

Aku swivelled her chair round to face Salvatrice. I don’t like to question your motives, but are you sure it was a good idea to leave them for so long? It’s been seven years. We might have prevented Victor’s premiership.

It must play out for as long as possible. Only then will the people understand.

You know exactly what’s going to happen, don’t you?

Salvatrice stood up. Actually, I don’t. Sometimes I know in advance, sometimes it comes to me at that moment, and other times I am as unaware as the next person. It appears unpredictable, but there are reasons some things are kept from me. Her eyes shot to the right as if looking into her brain. I must go. Patricio hurt his leg.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Salvatrice opened it to see Angelica at the door.

Before she could relay her information, Salvatrice spoke. I know what’s happened to Patricio. I’m coming. She walked past Angelica and made her way to the backyard.

Angelica glanced at Aku, who shrugged.

It’s as if she gave birth to the goats herself, joked Angelica as she turned to follow Salvatrice.

Salvatrice reached the backyard to see Aleah and Luka standing curiously next to Domenico, who was sitting beside Patricio. The herd was close by.

Salvatrice knelt down by Patricio, whose injured leg was raised in the air.

Patricio’s mother, Lulu, concerned for his welfare, nuzzled her face into his.

He’s got into mischief again. He’s a naughty one, said Domenico.

He’s just adventurous, replied Salvatrice. Hey, Patricio. She stroked his head, and he nuzzled up against her with a maa. She replied with a sound not one human present could understand. But Patricio did, as did Lulu.

She placed her hands on either side of his wounded leg. It’s just a slight strain.

Less than a minute later, she let go and Patricio placed his foot firmly down on the ground.

There you go, all fixed now. He pushed against her gratefully. She made the strange sound again. Then she spoke the translation aloud. You’re welcome. She kissed his forehead. Off you go with Mama Lulu.

Together, they joined the rest of the herd.

Chapter Three

In the office of his presidential home at Chigi Palace, Victor lounged at his desk, enshrouded in a fog of cigar smoke, as he always did when troubled and preoccupied. Somehow, it helped him think. An email notification alerted him to his inbox. It was a message from one of his operative knights, Xavier. He opened the email, and the message read: I thought you should see this.

Victor clicked on the link and it opened to the YouTube channel of a group called ANOMALY. He pressed play to see five people, each one wearing a face mask depicting the muzzle of a different animal. One had that of a lion, another a shark, another a wolf, yet another a hyena, and the last a gorilla. All the mouths were growling or bearing sharp teeth.

The lion spoke in an American accent. Thanks for joining us for our St Peter’s Square special.

The hyena spoke next. Yeah, what’s with the Pope blessing the premiership of a shady banker?

"And was that really the Messiah who hijacked the Pope’s speech?" added the shark in a female American accent.

"Yeah, the truth is, there is no Messiah," asserted the gorilla.

Yeah, folks. Come on. This is all Church propaganda to raise their profile and keep the masses terrified and reliant on them, added the wolf.

Next they all spoke in unison:

We don’t need the Church and we don’t need a Messiah. We decide our fate.

Doctored images appeared on screen: the Pope, wearing lipstick; and Victor, with two demonic red horns. A voice-over spoke as the images animated. "The truth is the Pope and Victor are lovers. Victor’s image moved across to the Pope and there was a kissing sound. And their love child is not the Messiah, but the Antichrist!" They showed a photo of Hitler as a baby, manipulated with the Pope’s eyes and Victor’s horns. The screen went black, before the words Don’t believe the hype then scrolled across it. Over this played the Public Enemy rap song of the same name. The screen faded to black again, before one final caption. This video was brought to you by ANOMALY. Rebels with a cause.

Victor’s face remained frozen, a malign twinkle in his eyes. His mobile phone rang, bringing him out of his thoughts. He checked the caller ID to see Xavier’s name flash on screen. He hit the accept button and set it to loudspeaker. I’ve seen the video you sent me. Who are these unoriginal imbeciles?

A group of rebel YouTubers with a large following who expose corporations, public figures and do everything they can to undermine the system, Grand Master. They are not important, but I thought it best you were aware of them.

Duly noted. They are nobodies and not worth my time. But monitor them, will you?

No one knows who they are. They cover their tracks well, and I’m not even convinced they’re American.

Just continue to watch their channel.

As you wish, Grand Master.

Do you have anything else for me?

Yes, Grand Master. I’ve looked into the interference in St Peter’s Square, but there is a long trail to follow that leads us nowhere.

Victor’s eyes widened in annoyance.

But this one incident has sparked worldwide interest and has appeared in numerous forums. Facebook accounts dedicated to the mystery of the Messiah are springing up globally. The people are hopeful.

Victor snorted. This one incident? She didn’t even show her face. He rubbed his brow in frustration.

There’s more. But you won’t like this.

Victor’s eyes narrowed. Continue.

There’s an upcoming podcast.

A flash of fear crossed his eyes. Whose podcast?

Hers, Grand Master. There’s a lot of buzz and excitement.

Victor’s breath stifled for a moment. So, today’s disruption was a warning that she’s resurfacing? His words were more of a statement than a question.

It appears so, Grand Master.

And she means business, he muttered. When is this podcast?

I don’t know, sir. I have it on good authority that it’s coming soon, but there’s a lot of secrecy. Just a link to sign up, but no date or time.

I want to hear it, demanded Victor. I need you to make it happen.

That’s not a problem, Grand Master. I can send you the link to see for yourself. Access is by scanning the alpha and omega symbol, and this acts as a sign-up to the podcast. From what I can gather, they send an alert to the device when it’s about to broadcast. The person clicks the link and is directed to the podcast site.

Right, well, you do that for me on a secure device.

It’s already done, Grand Master. I will keep you informed.

Victor ended the call wearing a baleful expression. She had