Unhallowed Shadows



  Unhallowed Shadows

  By Stefanos Kottas

  Copyright 2015 Stefanos Kottas

  Chronicles of Archytas, Book 1

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Part Two

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part Three

  Chapter 7

  Prologue

  A river flowed through one of the most stunning gardens in the entire world, on its way to meet the endless sea. Massive trees dotted the garden, along with springs that flowed from within ancient rocks. Innumerable flowers covered the ground, while the few paths led to a pond at the center of the garden; its crystal-clear waters playing host to exotic fish, which were swimming fervently, as if participating in some unknown contest. Next to the garden stood the buildings of the academy, three imposing towers built on the slope of an emerald green hill, with the road leading to the palace. Each building was built from the whitest marble, entirely flawless, and the houses extended like rows of wheat around the towers and the garden. The massive walls protecting this place were the only thing that stood apart compared to the other structures. Its perimeter had turned into the blackest black from the various assaults, a blackness that could not be erased, despite the efforts of the people. And yet, this was the most beautiful place that I’d ever seen, save for the Kingdom of Heaven.

  And it was being consumed by flames.

  Black clouds strangled the sky, while the few sunrays that managed, here and there, to pierce that daunting veil, illuminated thousands upon thousands of monstrous flying creatures, screeching and howling. Outside the walls, armies of demons and angels were fiercely trying to break down the defenses of the few protectors of the city. Gargantuan catapults launched fiery projectiles against the magnificent buildings. The two of the three towers already had been reduced to ruins, while the lake was now turning red from the blood; pieces of broken masonry were sticking out from its waters, like mangled limbs. The river had turned tar black, while the few angels attempting to defend the city against their brothers were falling, in quick succession. And yet, despite the cacophony of battle, nothing compared to the roar of the flames spewing from the tallest balcony of the palace, keeping at bay the flying monstrosities, away from the city. Nothing compared to the despair of the man who breathed all those flames, in a desperate attempt to protect his child, or with the tears of his wife, as she saw death circling her newborn child.

  “You shall live”, whispered the woman to her child.

  “He shall suffer”, I responded, but she did not hear me, she could not hear me.

  I went outside, stood on the balcony, the moment a group of demons stormed the room, while her husband walked right through me, without even realizing I was there. I stood and watched the Fortress of the Angels burn, strewn with dead bodies and razed buildings.

  It was a magnificent sight.

  Extract from Chronicles of a Madman

  Part One

  An Ancient Promise

  Chapter 1

  The sound of the machines at the entrance of the shelter had stopped bothering him. He was standing on a disc upon the floor, which had tens of recesses on the inside part of its perimeter, from which sharp blades would spring, in case the alarm sounded, even if that was the result of some technical glitch. The shelter had to be protected. He kept his eyes closed, while a metal ring around him checked his body, bombarding it with radiation. Any change in his organism, compared to the profile stored in the computers of the Order of the Silver Sun would activate the alarm and kill him. Any microorganism detected inside him, other those few which were beneficial to the human body, would activate the alarm and kill him. Any change, however minute, would activate the alarm and kill him. None of this bothered him, for he knew that the safety of the Order was of paramount importance.

  He was accustomed to the whole process, so while he kept his eyes shut, his mind focused on other issues; matters that he considered to be more important than his own life. Eventually, his thoughts were interrupted by an electronic female voice, coming from speakers hidden on the walls:

  “Scan complete. Welcome home, Sir Angelus”.

  An automated voice, computer generated. It spoke in English, but he had no difficulty in understanding it. For the last decade, he had been living in the States, thus he spoke the language almost flawlessly. He opened his eyes and saw the familiar white room, which served as the entrance to the shelter. The old knight had to wait for a few more moments, while the ring around him moved to the ceiling. The door before him, which sealed the room hermetically, opened with a slight hiss and revealed behind it a platoon of armed men; they were armed and ready to act in the event that someone had somehow managed to trick the automated scan. Amongst them stood a priest dressed in a scarlet red cassock, with a silver cross hanging on his chest. He looked exactly like the cardinals in the Vatican, except that he was armed; a sword was hanging from his belt.

  “Welcome, my child, to this house of God”, said the priest.

  Sir Angelus did not reply, he walked towards him and stopped at a respectful distance, then took a knee, with his long, black cloak touching the floor. He removed from around his neck a cross like the one worn by the priest, which was made from solid silver and had two Latin words inscribed on it; in English they translated as “eternal faith”. He extended his arm, offering the cross to the priest who had welcomed him.

  “Eternal faith to the Almighty. May He deem me worthy to rest among His chosen ones”.

  The sincerity in the heavy voice of Sir Angelus reverberated within the room and a smile appeared on the face of the priest. He placed his palm upon the stretched arm of the knight and, as he clasped it, a white light shone and spread in his body. The damage sustained by the machine at the entrance was healed and this gestured confirmed that he had passed the final check. The holy touch of the priest would have wounded an undead.

  “Have they begun?” asked Sir Angelus, as he was standing up.

  “Yes and you must hurry, before they forget they are servants of God and start talking with their fists”, responded the priest.

  The two men stood there for a while, as if they were engaged in a silent exchange of thoughts. As if they were statues sculpted by the same artist, they looked fairly alike. Both were tall, with silvery gray hair, in their fifties, their faces scarred by lines and wrinkles from the hardships and the constant strain. They both turned and looked somewhat melancholy at the door behind them, which was hermetically sealing the room once more; the men in the platoon had already relaxed and were walking away. With a sigh, Sir Angelus clapped the priest on his shoulder and walked further inside the shelter.

  “I am telling you, attacking an Ancient is tantamount to suicide! The fact that we’ve discovered his lair changes nothing! We are not prepared for such an attack! We’ll get slaughtered, one and all!” shouted a man in his thirties, who had stood up from his place around a fairly large crescent-shaped table, where he and the other leaders of the Order were seated. Another man opened his mouth, as if to respond, but the speaker did not let him. He kept on shouting and waving his arms emphatically, desperately trying to get his point across.

  “No, Sir Adrian, I am not afraid to die, but I see no point in throwing my life away, especially when there’s so much more of His work left to be done!”

  His hand was pointing towards the ceiling as he spoke those words, referring to God, while his face had reddened.

  “No one is keen to throw their lives away, worry not, Sir Gyrd… and the rest of you”, came the unexpected reply from Sir Angelus who had just entered the room.
>
  Ignoring the empty armchair waiting for him, he walked to the table at the center of the room and addressed each and every one of them:

  “Apologies for my late arrival, but as you may recall, I had made a promise to you all. Eight months ago, I had told you that it was quite pointless discussing the possibility of more aggressive actions, while we lacked the weapons necessary to get the job done. I had vowed to return when I had in my possession what we lacked. So here I am, standing before you. Allow me to present to you all the sword of Saint Peter!”

  With a magnificent sweep, he threw aside his cloak and from there he removed a sword, which he held on his open palms, turning around so as to show it to all those present. Its blade was forged from a metal alloy, steel smelted with silver, masterfully made so that the blade was thin, strong and sharp. Streaks of silver light radiated periodically from within the blade and dissipated in the air around it. The blade was enchanted and held much within it. The grip was equally magnificent, about the fifth of the sword in length, making it suited to be used in conjunction with a shield or to be wielded as a two-handed weapon. On the pommel of the handle there was a ring, and from that ring a small cross was hanging, identical to those worn by the members of the Order.

  “I discovered it in a secret room, at the tombs of Galilee, the place where the saint was born. It took me all these months to discover what had been sitting right there, before me, from the start. Those close to Saint Peter took care so that his sword would remain hidden, until someone worthy of discovering it came along. All I can do now is praise the Lord who allowed us to discover this weapon now, that we need it the most. With this blade at our disposal, we shall manage to turn the tide of this war and emerge victorious in our eternal struggle against the vampires. With the aid of the other shelters we shall exterminate the Ancients and put an end to all this”.

  Sir Angelus was beaming in the thought that one day the world would be free from those bloodthirsty monstrosities he had been killing all his life, those fiends that had caused immeasurable suffering to his family and countless others. Lost in those thoughts, at first he failed to notice the chill that had gripped his audience. Eventually, he realized that something was amiss, and as fear was creeping in his heart, he turned towards the orthodox patriarch who was present at the meeting.

  “Your Holiness…?” he asked, turning tentatively towards the aged cleric.

  The patriarch’s face was pale as a ghost’s, he looked haunted and tired. His eyes seemed unfocussed and he had about him the look of a defeated man. When he spoke, he did so plainly, putting aside all formalities, and addressed his friend thus:

  “They are all dead, Angelus. In the months of your absence, the rest of our shelters were destroyed and all its members slaughtered by the vampires. One of the Ancients, the very one whose lair we have discovered, led his brood in an onslaught against us and now… we are the only ones left…”

  His voice complemented his appearance, giving an even more somber note to his words. He turned his eyes and looked at the stunned face of Sir Angelus.

  “We fear that, should we fail to take the battle to him, our shelter will be his next target. After all, this bastion is all that’s left, and the Ancient knows it… He sent one of our comrades here, dead, with a letter on his body, taunting us to challenge him at his lair… It is clearly a trap, yet what else is there left to us, but a glorious death in God’s name?” said the patriarch, with the air of defeat hanging heavy around him.

  Sir Gyrd, upon hearing those last words of the patriarch, reacted:

  “We must survive! We can go into hiding, regroup, until we are strong enough to fight properly! The sword of Saint Peter will keep us secure enough in order to achieve this goal. If not ourselves, then our children! We owe this to humanity! The Order of the Silver Sun must not fall!” pleaded the knight, trying to convince the others, almost shouting those last words.

  The patriarch shook his head and responded:

  “You are trying to find hope where there is none and quite frankly... it is pointless. You must realize that a single Ancient, from a cadre of ten, was able to defeat the vast majority of our Order. He revealed his position to us, so that we may target him… He wants to toy with us. And if we do not rise to his challenge, I see no reason for him not to inform the rest of the Ancients. This shelter houses countless children and civilians, people unable to defend themselves. No, no, if we don’t go to him, we will be sentencing them to death. We shall go and meet our doom, and hopefully this fiend shall spare those left behind, since they won’t be a threat to him any longer”.

  The words of the elder cleric rung true to the rest of them. They knew that relocating the shelter, with all of its equipment and the hundreds of civilians it housed, would require more time than they had. Attacking the Ancient, while keeping a token force behind to oversee the evacuation, made more sense to them.

  “If we attack, there is hope of survival. The sword of Saint Peter is a powerful artifact, capable of killing the Ancient. If we manage to kill him, all the vampires around him will perish instantly; we will have gained not only a significant victory over the undead but also enough time to relocate our shelter. Come, brothers, show some faith. God has not forsaken us yet!”

  Those were the words of Sir Adrian, the knight who earlier had been arguing with Sir Gyrd. The latter, defeated, returned to his seat.

  Silence descended upon the room, with the knights and the priest alike lost in their thoughts. Since no one had disagreed with that final argument, it would be pointless to vote on the matter. They would attack, they had no other choice.

  Eventually, it was Sir Angelus the one who broke the silence:

  “Who shall protect us from the aura of the Ancient? If memory serves, we do not have a priest strong enough amongst us. And if the other shelters have been destroyed…”

  His voice trailed and the question was left hanging in the air, the answer sadly obvious to all but him.

  The council had adjourned and Sir Angelus was walking alone, along the corridors of the shelter. It had been constructed several feet underground, beneath the city of New Washington and had several, well-guarded entrances, which were concealed within the basements of various buildings around the metropolis. The original shelter had been leveled during the bombardment of Washington in 1936, by the forces of the SS. The knights at the time had attempted to rebuild the shelter while the war raged, but were forced to abandon the project when the city was utterly destroyed in 1944, six years before the end of the “Fifty Years’ War”, as the historians named the war between the Free World against the forces of the Axis, which began in March 1900 and ended with the death of Hitler’s son, in 1950. With their economy in ruins, following the devastatingly prolonged war, the United States of America were left without a capital city for almost ten years. And yet, the proud American people, despite the hardships, took all necessary steps and thus in 1953 the construction of New Washington began; a significant part of the city was completed within a mere three years, by 1956. At the same time and unbeknownst to the public, the foundations were laid for what would become the largest bunker ever in the history of the Order. The “Sons of the Fathers”, as the surviving leaders of the American army came to be known, believed that the public would be unable to deal with the existence of knights and unholy creatures; especially so close to the devastating war. Thus, along with the new capital, the main shelter of the Order of the Silver Sun was constructed, which was, now, the last one left standing. It housed the knights of the Order, their training grounds as well as the academy for the priests, where the latter learned how to channel the power of the Lord. Moreover, the members of the Order would locate many of the homeless children in the city and the surrounding areas and would bring them there, to offer them food and shelter. The children were not forced to become members of the Order. At the age of eighteen, they had the choice either to leave, taking with them a small sum to help them make a decent start in life, or to join th
e Order’s efforts.

  When the wife of Sir Angelus died, during an attack by vampires, the knight was forced to bring his daughter to the States, the homeland of his wife, in order to make sure that his child would be safe. She was just ten years old at the time and now, ten years later, at twenty, she was a member of the Order. She was still a trainee, but she was the best in her class. She was a deadly swordfighter, a crack shot and the strength of her soul was undoubtable, even by the holiest priests.

  Sir Angelus approached her room, found the door open and walked in. She was kneeling before the altar she kept there, praying. She had not heard him; Sir Angelus always walked silently. It was an ingrained habit, acquired in the course of a long and distinguished career in the struggle against the vampires, as the fiends’ hearing could detect the slightest noise. He stood there for a while, watching her proudly. She had taken her mother’s looks. She wore her hair long, despite the instructions of her superiors, like her mother did. Their blackness shamed the deepest black and her hair flowed like the sea in the night. Her face was angelic, her lips full, her eyes keen and beautiful. The color of her eyes was the only characteristic she had inherited from her father, a shade of blue that resembled that of the skies. She was not particularly tall, though taller than most young women at her age. Her father would rather not admit it, but her body was particularly attractive and, as his daughter was growing up, there were boys who flirted with her, even within the ranks of the Order, something which was strictly forbidden. Once, when Sir Angelus caught a young knight commenting that his daughter boasted “curves at all the right places”, he almost forgot his vows never to take an innocent life. What bothered him the most was that his daughter had not followed his way of life. He wasn’t a fool, he knew of the various affairs of his daughter and all that she had done. Even the Order was aware of it, and that meant automatic banishment from its ranks. Not out of spitefulness, but out of necessity, since only those who possessed a pure soul had the strength to fight the vampires. And yet, his daughter had astounded them all in this, too.