Darko Cernovsek
Soul Of Vengeance
"BLOOD OF THE NOBLE. HEART OF THE SACRED. IT SHALL GIVE BIRTH TO OUR DOMINION OVER THIS EARTH."
The necromancer repeated the chant, over and over again, in a reverent, projecting tone, which reverberated through the spacious crypt, an ivory-hilted athame in his hand. Dressed in a tattered, worn down, moth-eaten grey cloak, that might not have looked out of place on a homeless person, and a hood covering his gaunt, sunken face, one could only make out his eyes, in the semi-darkness of the crypt.
They were wild, restless, darting from side to side, even as his voice remained steady and reverent. They were seeing something beyond the mortal realm, something only one as attuned to death energy as he was, could see. Suddenly, he went rigid.
"Yes... yes, master. I can sense it! I sense a noble soul. It shall serve our purpose!" - he breathed, then suddenly brought the athame to his palm, scoring a deep cut.
The necromancer's blood looked almost oily, thick, as it poured down onto the altar. It smelled of rot and decay, as his hood dropped from his head, revealing a bald, pale, withered face, covered in sickly pustules. He brought his bleeding palm, above a stone chalice, letting a stream of it fill it. All the while, he chanted an incantation.
***
Not far from the graveyard, a monk was walking down the road, dressed in a simple, yet elegant white/yellow robe. A young man, his longish hair dropping to just past his shoulders. An expression of tranquility, on his face. The night was peaceful, and he had enjoyed his stroll so far, yet a strange... feeling of coldness, seemed to permeate him, as he passed by the graveyard's gates. He dropped his gaze to the cobblestone road, and he could just glimpse a beautiful black cat, crossing his path, it's shiny, silky fur, the color of the darkest night.
The animal paused briefly, turning it's head toward him... and the monk was taken aback by the color of it's eyes. They were red, and they seemed to be piercing right through him, to his soul. He had seen cats of all kinds, before. The monastery was home to quite a number of them. But this one... this one seemed to... call to him. Almost beckoning him to follow. And those eyes... they almost mesmerised him.
"Meow..." - the cat's meow carried a sense of... longing... in it, as the animal rubbed itself briefly on the gates, before gracefully disappeared through the hedge past them, not making a sound.
Without even realising why, the monk followed. He was strangely... drawn... to the cat. That sense of cold, was now mixed with an almost intoxicating scent of sweet decay. It made him slightly light-headed, as he continued following the cat, which led him on a labyrinthine trek between the gravestones and tombs. The deeper into the graveyard he went, the more that sweet-decaying scent assailed the monk's nostrils. And his light-headedness was increasing.
The wind rustled through the trees, as the cat paused again, next to a pair of gargoyles, guarding a large crypt, in the center of the graveyard. It turned it's head around again, to pierce him with that red, mesmerising gaze. Enticing him... inviting him...
"Meow-eeeow. Meooow!" - it's tail sticking up high, in invitation.
The young man shook his head, violently, trying to drive that... haze... out of it. But the scent, and those red eyes pulled him. Inexorably.
"...what? What is it, my dear... what is it... you want me to... ahhh... see... ?" - he whispered, as he found himself approaching the crypt entrance, and the cat, his eyes wide.
"MRRRAWWWR!" - the cat's demeanor suddenly changed completely, once he came within a couple of steps of it. The animal bared it's fangs, long and razor sharp, and before he could so much as blink, leapt up, at his face.
"AAAAHHHH!" - he screamed, as the cat's claws, long and equally sharp, made a bloody mess of his face.
He stumbled back, losing balance and falling, trying to get the frenzied animal off of him, but it was too late. The cat let go on it's own, leaping off, as the monk squeezed his fists into his eyes...
...or rather, the twin holes seeping fluid, mixing up with blood on his face. The cat had put out his eyes.
"Aahh... no... I'm... I'm blind! HELP! Somebody help me!!!" - he screamed, scrabbling around in the dirt.
The next thing he knew, was a hard blow, landing on the back of his head. Somebody had clubbed him. Unconsciousness took him.
***
"Good kitty... good work, my sweet. You will have his liver, all to yourself, when we are finished!" - the necromancer petted the cat briefly, giving the animal a kiss, before he started dragging the unconscious, blinded monk, into the crypt.
"Meeeeowwww! Meow-ow." - the cat meowed, giving it's master a lick, licking one of the sickly, bloated pustules on his face. It seemed to enjoy the taste.
As the monk was dragged down the stairs into the crypt, by his feet, the cat leapt up on the man's head, eagerly lapping any and all blood from the scratches, and the eyesockets. The taste of human blood seemed to drive the animal mad, with desire.
"Patience... patience. You will have your full measure." - the necromancer assured it, his bony, weak body struggling to drag the unconscious man down the stairs.
Once the monk was dragged to the altar, already stirring back to consciousness, the necromancer again picked up the athame. He held it up high, in both hands, as he called out:
"BLOOD OF THE NOBLE!" - before he plunged it down, into his victim's chest.
"Aaaagggghh!" - the monk screamed a death scream, some blood spurting from his mouth, shuddering in his death throes, before he expired.
"HEART OF THE SACRED!" - the necromancer called, using the athame, to cut through the dead man's ribcage, to get to the heart. Spurts of blood covered his arms and face, as he did his grisly work.
It took some doing, but eventually he was able to open up the chest, and cut out the heart. Holding the bloody, fleshy mass in one hand, he lifted it high above his head, the bloody athame, in the other.
"IT SHALL GIVE BIRTH TO OUR DOMINION, OVER THIS EARTH!" - he called out the final part of the lithany.
Then he brought the organ to his mouth, and took a deep, lustful bite, of the raw, bloody flesh. As he did, the skies above the crypt flashed with lightning and thunder, out of the clear night sky.
Suddenly, he went rigid again... then started to shudder and shake uncontrollably. His eyes started glowing. Another force was posessing him... destroying him from the inside out. His eyes started pouring blood at the seams, also coming from his ears, and his nose.
"NO! Master... No... that... that was not our... our agreement! Noooaaaaagggghhh!" - he screamed, before he collapsed on the dirty floor of the crypt, next to the altar, and the butchered monk's corpse.
The black cat hissed, and backed away from it's master's body, sidling up to the wall. There, the animal started to transform... slowly taking the shape of a female. A ghoul female, with blood red eyes on her grey face, and pointed ears. Claw-like fingers protruded from her hands, and that sickly-sweet stench of death, intensified ten-fold. She was dressed in an elaborate robe, inlaid with white gold.
"You have outlived your usefulness, greedy, stupid little mortal. Now it is up to me, to prepare for the Master's return, and raise his army." - she stated, in a condescending, mocking whisper.
Leaning down, to take the monk's heart, from the dead necromancer's hands, the ghoul woman finished eating it raw. Then she took the athame herself, and hacked-off the monk's head.
She ascended the stairs of the crypt, to the graveyard, holding the monk's head in her arms. Her eyes glowing in the night. Her light, ghostly steps took her amongst the graves and tombs, and wherever she passed, her arms outstretched, the grass withered away, dying, as sounds of clawing and scratching, could be heard from the graves, as drops of blood from the severed head, landed on them. The dead, digging their way out.
The stones started moving, bony hands clawing from under them. Maggoty, half-rotten undead, shambling corpses rising again, to walk the Earth.
***
At the far side of the graveyard grounds, the gravekeeper was roused from his sleep. He could've sworn he heard screams earlier, and now... he could see shapes moving, out there among the graves. Getting dressed, he grabbed a flashlight from the nightstand, and went outside, to take a look.
He froze in the doorway, the beam from the flashlight illuminating the walking corpses. He blinked twice.
"There must be a perfectly rational explanation for this... either that, or I'm still asleep." - he muttered, mouth falling open.
Moments before the undead rushed him, and tore him to pieces.
The necromancer repeated the chant, over and over again, in a reverent, projecting tone, which reverberated through the spacious crypt, an ivory-hilted athame in his hand. Dressed in a tattered, worn down, moth-eaten grey cloak, that might not have looked out of place on a homeless person, and a hood covering his gaunt, sunken face, one could only make out his eyes, in the semi-darkness of the crypt.
They were wild, restless, darting from side to side, even as his voice remained steady and reverent. They were seeing something beyond the mortal realm, something only one as attuned to death energy as he was, could see. Suddenly, he went rigid.
"Yes... yes, master. I can sense it! I sense a noble soul. It shall serve our purpose!" - he breathed, then suddenly brought the athame to his palm, scoring a deep cut.
The necromancer's blood looked almost oily, thick, as it poured down onto the altar. It smelled of rot and decay, as his hood dropped from his head, revealing a bald, pale, withered face, covered in sickly pustules. He brought his bleeding palm, above a stone chalice, letting a stream of it fill it. All the while, he chanted an incantation.
***
Not far from the graveyard, a monk was walking down the road, dressed in a simple, yet elegant white/yellow robe. A young man, his longish hair dropping to just past his shoulders. An expression of tranquility, on his face. The night was peaceful, and he had enjoyed his stroll so far, yet a strange... feeling of coldness, seemed to permeate him, as he passed by the graveyard's gates. He dropped his gaze to the cobblestone road, and he could just glimpse a beautiful black cat, crossing his path, it's shiny, silky fur, the color of the darkest night.
The animal paused briefly, turning it's head toward him... and the monk was taken aback by the color of it's eyes. They were red, and they seemed to be piercing right through him, to his soul. He had seen cats of all kinds, before. The monastery was home to quite a number of them. But this one... this one seemed to... call to him. Almost beckoning him to follow. And those eyes... they almost mesmerised him.
"Meow..." - the cat's meow carried a sense of... longing... in it, as the animal rubbed itself briefly on the gates, before gracefully disappeared through the hedge past them, not making a sound.
Without even realising why, the monk followed. He was strangely... drawn... to the cat. That sense of cold, was now mixed with an almost intoxicating scent of sweet decay. It made him slightly light-headed, as he continued following the cat, which led him on a labyrinthine trek between the gravestones and tombs. The deeper into the graveyard he went, the more that sweet-decaying scent assailed the monk's nostrils. And his light-headedness was increasing.
The wind rustled through the trees, as the cat paused again, next to a pair of gargoyles, guarding a large crypt, in the center of the graveyard. It turned it's head around again, to pierce him with that red, mesmerising gaze. Enticing him... inviting him...
"Meow-eeeow. Meooow!" - it's tail sticking up high, in invitation.
The young man shook his head, violently, trying to drive that... haze... out of it. But the scent, and those red eyes pulled him. Inexorably.
"...what? What is it, my dear... what is it... you want me to... ahhh... see... ?" - he whispered, as he found himself approaching the crypt entrance, and the cat, his eyes wide.
"MRRRAWWWR!" - the cat's demeanor suddenly changed completely, once he came within a couple of steps of it. The animal bared it's fangs, long and razor sharp, and before he could so much as blink, leapt up, at his face.
"AAAAHHHH!" - he screamed, as the cat's claws, long and equally sharp, made a bloody mess of his face.
He stumbled back, losing balance and falling, trying to get the frenzied animal off of him, but it was too late. The cat let go on it's own, leaping off, as the monk squeezed his fists into his eyes...
...or rather, the twin holes seeping fluid, mixing up with blood on his face. The cat had put out his eyes.
"Aahh... no... I'm... I'm blind! HELP! Somebody help me!!!" - he screamed, scrabbling around in the dirt.
The next thing he knew, was a hard blow, landing on the back of his head. Somebody had clubbed him. Unconsciousness took him.
***
"Good kitty... good work, my sweet. You will have his liver, all to yourself, when we are finished!" - the necromancer petted the cat briefly, giving the animal a kiss, before he started dragging the unconscious, blinded monk, into the crypt.
"Meeeeowwww! Meow-ow." - the cat meowed, giving it's master a lick, licking one of the sickly, bloated pustules on his face. It seemed to enjoy the taste.
As the monk was dragged down the stairs into the crypt, by his feet, the cat leapt up on the man's head, eagerly lapping any and all blood from the scratches, and the eyesockets. The taste of human blood seemed to drive the animal mad, with desire.
"Patience... patience. You will have your full measure." - the necromancer assured it, his bony, weak body struggling to drag the unconscious man down the stairs.
Once the monk was dragged to the altar, already stirring back to consciousness, the necromancer again picked up the athame. He held it up high, in both hands, as he called out:
"BLOOD OF THE NOBLE!" - before he plunged it down, into his victim's chest.
"Aaaagggghh!" - the monk screamed a death scream, some blood spurting from his mouth, shuddering in his death throes, before he expired.
"HEART OF THE SACRED!" - the necromancer called, using the athame, to cut through the dead man's ribcage, to get to the heart. Spurts of blood covered his arms and face, as he did his grisly work.
It took some doing, but eventually he was able to open up the chest, and cut out the heart. Holding the bloody, fleshy mass in one hand, he lifted it high above his head, the bloody athame, in the other.
"IT SHALL GIVE BIRTH TO OUR DOMINION, OVER THIS EARTH!" - he called out the final part of the lithany.
Then he brought the organ to his mouth, and took a deep, lustful bite, of the raw, bloody flesh. As he did, the skies above the crypt flashed with lightning and thunder, out of the clear night sky.
Suddenly, he went rigid again... then started to shudder and shake uncontrollably. His eyes started glowing. Another force was posessing him... destroying him from the inside out. His eyes started pouring blood at the seams, also coming from his ears, and his nose.
"NO! Master... No... that... that was not our... our agreement! Noooaaaaagggghhh!" - he screamed, before he collapsed on the dirty floor of the crypt, next to the altar, and the butchered monk's corpse.
The black cat hissed, and backed away from it's master's body, sidling up to the wall. There, the animal started to transform... slowly taking the shape of a female. A ghoul female, with blood red eyes on her grey face, and pointed ears. Claw-like fingers protruded from her hands, and that sickly-sweet stench of death, intensified ten-fold. She was dressed in an elaborate robe, inlaid with white gold.
"You have outlived your usefulness, greedy, stupid little mortal. Now it is up to me, to prepare for the Master's return, and raise his army." - she stated, in a condescending, mocking whisper.
Leaning down, to take the monk's heart, from the dead necromancer's hands, the ghoul woman finished eating it raw. Then she took the athame herself, and hacked-off the monk's head.
She ascended the stairs of the crypt, to the graveyard, holding the monk's head in her arms. Her eyes glowing in the night. Her light, ghostly steps took her amongst the graves and tombs, and wherever she passed, her arms outstretched, the grass withered away, dying, as sounds of clawing and scratching, could be heard from the graves, as drops of blood from the severed head, landed on them. The dead, digging their way out.
The stones started moving, bony hands clawing from under them. Maggoty, half-rotten undead, shambling corpses rising again, to walk the Earth.
***
At the far side of the graveyard grounds, the gravekeeper was roused from his sleep. He could've sworn he heard screams earlier, and now... he could see shapes moving, out there among the graves. Getting dressed, he grabbed a flashlight from the nightstand, and went outside, to take a look.
He froze in the doorway, the beam from the flashlight illuminating the walking corpses. He blinked twice.
"There must be a perfectly rational explanation for this... either that, or I'm still asleep." - he muttered, mouth falling open.
Moments before the undead rushed him, and tore him to pieces.