Ritual - Robert W. Ringwald (ebooks online reader TXT) 📗

Darien walked into the cemetery, he could smell them, they were everywhere. The Daemon, monsters in human form, had become civilized, well, as civilized as monsters could be. The modern Daemon kept the Primal ones at bay, executing or exiling them. At least that was supposed to be the law of the tribunal. The laws, he would be breaking a lot in the hours to come.
The Three laws of the Hunter; One: No killing in public, the Daemon reverted back into human form, so it would be considered murder. Two: All Hallows Eve is sacred, no killing of Daemon. Three: The Daemon Royal families were not bound to the laws handed to the common Daemon, and were therefor untouchable.
It was the laws that bound, him, and it would be the laws that destroyed humanity. The tip had come from Sanja, his Russian informant, and he was certain now. One whiff of the air here, and he could smell them, the Vampires, their bodies stank of damp earth. They were planning to resurrect the long-dead Strigoi, their forefathers.
Darien surveyed the headstones, any of them big enough to hide behind. His nickname among the hunters was the Pale Slayer for a reason, his gray eyes saw everything. He rushed forward, the smell of death could only be overpowered by that of magic. He calmed himself from his run, just before he entered the central grave site. Nine graves in a circle with the lids next to them. A large fire burned at the center, with a regal vampire standing on a raised platform opposite of Darien, and other Vampires on top of each gravestone.
He was mumbling some ancient Vampiric Texts, Darien could only understand so much of it. The words for death, unlife, and rebirth were all about the same to the Strigoi. It was on the word 'Belzub' that he lost control of his heart, and the master's guards launched themselves from their perches. He slipped both his Ash wood stake from it's holster, and his silver crescent from his other hip.
“Nomus Farthrentus Arcantus,” the vampire said, and cast his grimoire into the fire, which turned Green. “Kill him my brothers, so they may feast on his Flesh.”
Darien caught the first vampire by surprise, he was still listening to his master when Darien plunged the stake into his heart. The death of a vampire was quick, he hit the ground, and quickly sublimated, leaving no trace of where he had fallen. The rest attacked him en masse, surrounding him with a flurry of clawed hands.
He sliced and stabbed one at a time, taking off hands, vanquishing them, dodging them. As he sliced he head off of the final vampire, the ground began to rumble. The Coffins all raised at once, and he saw a giant standing in the fire, the Demon breathed unlife into each of the sarcophagi.
On the fifth one, when the demon turned to face him, he flung his stake through the fire, it had been laced with blessed silver as well as holy water, and even goat's blood. The other Sarcophagi fell as Beelzebub was dismissed. A shriek filled the graveyard, reverberating off of all of the headstones. The stake had Embedded itself into the heart of the vampire master.
It was after the master sublimated that he saw what the Lord of Gluttony had done. From each of the sealed sarcophagi burst a tall, shrouded figure, every one of them seemed to float, not truly touching the ground. A Smell of undeath much stronger than anything he had ever smelled filled his nose, the creatures breathed unnecessarily, polluting the air with a feeling of dread.
He had heard stories, but never had he thought of even seeing a Strigoi, much less fight them, five on one. The first, and tallest, floated up to him, and looked him in the eyes, it's face covered in fur, looking like a bat, a demonic presence almost overwhelming his will. “You are one of us,” it wheezed, pointing it's long talon in his face.
“Not quite,” he said, bringing the silver crescent up, but the Strigoi was out of the way.
“Hunter, don't think you can do anything, even with this,” it grabbed his crescent blade with two of it's long fingers, which started to smoke. “Consecrated silver is weaker than it used to be.”
“Fine,” Darien said, and released his inner vampire, his fury increasing his speed ten fold, the Strigoi moved, but not fast enough, the blade embedded into his jaw, and then up, farther, until Darien felt the tip scrape it's skull.
He waited a moment for it to sublimate, but it didn't. That's why they needed the coffins, he thought to himself.
Darien flung the Strigoi into a coffin, and with the ancient creature inside, the lid sealed and the coffin returned to the grave. He turned to face the other four, all but one of the others had disappeared into the night.
“You must know,” the last said, walking to one of the coffins. “They have gone to revive their masters.”
“Wait, their masters, who are their masters,” Darien asked, the one Strigoi had caused him to use his only secret weapon, and the others knew it.
“Much worse, they all deserved what I gave them,” it choked, wrapping it's hand around something in it's coffin. “You have work ahead of you, Hunter.”
Darien's face returned to normal as he settled down. “What do you mean, you gave them.”
“I'm the martyr,” it said, handing him a long cloth-wrapped object. “And I loathe this world if my brothers are in it.”
Darien pulled the death-shroud off of the object, and found it was a blade, half silver, and the other half a dark crimson like dried blood. The Strigoi disappeared inside it's coffin. He stood for a moment in disbelief. He collected his stake, and then ran from the graveyard, leaving it silent.

Text: Robert W. Ringwald II
Publication Date: 11-03-2012

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