Red Serpent_ The Falsifier.

by Delson Armstrong.

For Mom, Dad, and Baby Thanks for your support, your commitment and for being the way you guys are. I love you all very much!

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been made possible without the following people whom I'd like to acknowledge.

First and foremost, I'd like to thank my editors, Kenneth Brosky and Daniel Kenyon for their advice, ruthlessness, and complete faith in this work.

If it were not for Sidhesh Sarda and Rudraksh M. Kulshreshtha, this book would have never been as it is now. They've been and remain my constant critics.

In India, they say that the most important person in your life, more than your parents, is the guru, the teacher. And I tend to follow that view because I have been blessed by such teachers while I was actually in the writing process. It was because of them that I was able to get a broader view on life which, at the time, I desperately needed. Those teachers are: Sandeep Sehgal, for nourishing my mind with some great literature and practical wisdom.

Dr. CVL Srinivas, for helping me to advance spiritually and broadening my creative abilities.

Cmdr. D.N. Joshi and his family, for making me a part of their home.

Nishanth Nagavar, for his constant help and insights on life and for the fun times we had.

Pritha Mukherjee, for helping me with the historical and political basis of this book, without even knowing it!

I also want to acknowledge Luke Sequeira, for those crazy times in Bombay, the love and support of a true friend and just for being the way you are and helping me more than was ever required!

And of course, there are so many people out there who've touched my mind and heart in a way that's helped to go on with the mental journey of completing a book that took a total of almost nine years. There are literally hundreds of people that I've met along the way who've shaped my views on life. I'd like to thank those nameless faces who've done so.

Darkness eclipsed all of Migra and its people as they waited. "This is a d.a.m.n waste of time!" said the beefy man, as he looked up at the window of the highest tower of the castle.

His wife was three feet shorter than him but almost as plump. She looked at him, her eyes widened and glistening with relentless fear. "Don't say such things, Kalev," she scolded him.

"Good riddance to the wretch," he said, continuing his steady gaze.

The surrounding crowd pushed and shoved, awaiting news. Some hoped for good, but most for bad. The ones who wanted him to die waited eagerly for the word. They looked up to the window, wondering when the hour of his death would arrive. Those who supported Anaxagoras XXIX wept, praying the king would escape from this fate.

A man nearby, skinny and fraught with a n.o.ble arrogance, said to Kalev, "You're wrong, you know. Mind your tongue or I'll report you to the commander." His beady eyes pierced at Kalev.

"Will you now?" the large man said. His fuzzy mustached face reddened. "Do you know what he's put us through? We've suffered four deaths in the family." He boldly pointed to the castle, "He threw my son into the dungeons. It's been thirty years since we last saw him! Not a day goes by that we don't think of him."

The scrawny man scrutinized Kalev's wife and then turned his eyes back to Kalev. "What does it matter," he scoffed, as people shoved harder to hear what news would arrive from outside the castle. The crowd almost pushed the man and those in front to the filthy edge of the moat. The man gesticulated, "Look around you. The majority here wants him alive and we'll stand by him." His vicious smile revealed dirty yellow teeth. Kalev said nothing and kept his eyes on the tower. His frightened wife stood closer to him and looked at this stranger, so loyal to the crown.

Suddenly the three of them turned their heads as the crowd made way, separating in two halves. Kalev and his wife walked to one side, while the n.o.ble ran across to the other.

A cloaked figure appeared on the middle path between the crowds, his face hidden within the shadow of his hood. He glided through the air towards the castle, where he demanded with a gesture of his hands to be let in.

The bridge dropped over the moat with a loud thud. On the other side, where the spectators stood, the large gates opened, making a deep and hollow moan. Hushed whispers and gasps erupted from the crowd. From inside the walls of the castle, came the sound of stamping feet. The marching amplified by the moment until shadowy figures could be seen. The shadows formed into men with spears and shields. Their armor shone silver and gold.

This small militia was led by a portly commander, bearded and bald except for a few oily black wisps of hair that sprung out on the back and sides. "What do you want?" the commander barked. The figure remained silent and the commander asked him again, this time more impatiently. Again, the figure remained silent. "I think," said the frustrated commander, "I asked you a question. What is it you want?" Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. The figure raised his right hand and snapped his fingers and the commander and spectators froze in time.

A moment pa.s.sed and everyone snapped out of the trance. This time the commander spoke in a softer tone, "Let this man in; he wishes to see the king, and says the king orders it done. So be it!"

Inside the king's room, the cold dark walls seemed to express death. A little light flickered around the room, from the dancing flames of torches, and yet darkness seeped through everything.

The king slept fitfully. As the hour of his demise drew near, he felt the haunting presence of his surroundings. He felt it in every ounce of his soul.

The large wooden door croaked open and the cloaked figure sashayed across the room. The king opened his eyes. He looked up at the intruder and frowned. "Don't you know I want to be alone? Let me die in peace. Don't tell me you are my blood for I have no one left"

"You, my dear king, will soon be of my blood," the figure said in a frosty tone. He faced the king, the darkness of his hood still hiding his face.

The king was sure that the intruder was the manifestation of death; this was the end.

"No," the figure read his thoughts, "I am not your death, Anaxagoras. I am your life, eternal and everlasting. This is what I have come to offer."

"Why?" Anaxagoras's pale face looked on weakly. "I'm nothing. I know I deserve death."

The figure said, "And what would happen if you died? There would be anarchy."

"It's already like that," the king replied.

"But when you come back from the dead, they will praise you."

"I have such powers already. What does it matter?" The king looked at the figure, his filmy eyes trying to uncover the face within the cloak.

"But the power I give you will make you a king of kings, the royal leader of all leaders of this universe." The dark one hissed, "You will make this universe a part of our undying power, a part of a new and immortal race."

"What do you mean?" The king coughed.

"I offer you that which Christ offered to his people one thousand years ago. I am giving you my blood. When you drink from the fountain of real life, you shall become part of me. You shall be like me. You will be immortal and invincible forever."

"Truly I want this," the king said, his eyes widening.

"But," the figure said, holding out a long-nailed, pale finger, "I warn you. The road to immortality is difficult. You will come and live with me for some time and I will show you everything. When you come back from the dead you must bend the people to your will. They will be like you in all ways but one. They will die by silver, the one thing that they will abhor. So long as you are with your people, treading the same ground that they do, no harm and no death shall come upon them.

"They will acquire powers beyond anything imaginable but they must feed on blood. For it is written: the blood is the life. When you return, the blood will be yours and your people's life. They will no longer produce kin to take over their welfare. But those they wish to inflict slavery upon they may do so by spilling blood from their victims and making them feed on the blood of our race." The dark one paused, waiting for Anaxagoras's reaction. The king was mesmerized. "So do you choose life or a death with no glory or honor?"

"I choose life!" the king said, struggling to sit up on his bed. His features remained obscured by the shadows of the curtains as he leaned on a silky pillow.

"Listen to me carefully," the figure said. Just then, his right hand swirled around and a mist started to form above his palm. The smoke darkened and formed into the shape of a silver chalice, encrusted with rubies and emeralds. "Drink this and listen," hissed the figure. The king did as he was told. "There will come a day when I am gone. You must conquer the Men of the Earth and you must resurrect me so that I can come and reign in peace. I will tell you more soon. For now, just drink."

In the king's hand the chalice became a link between himself and the life-giver. He felt a gentle but painful spark that lasted only a moment yet seemed eternal. As the last drop touched his lips his spirit tore away from his flesh and followed the dark being into the nether-realms and his limp body fell back on the bed.

The supporters mourned their king's unfortunate death. No one knew what had occurred that day when the figure went to his room and no one ever spoke of it until the king came back.

The year was 3328 A.D and the vampiric race had almost succeeded in conquering the humans. The invaders expected an easy victory but the war lasted for almost fifteen years. They had underestimated the humans, presuming them to be weak and incompetent. On the contrary, they found them to be a formidable enemy.

General John Benjamin Howe III despised fear, which was the only emotion he felt now. However, he did not show this to his men who looked up to him. Externally he emanated courage and valiance. He had to. He knew in his heart they were going to lose this battle but he still wanted to fight it to the bitter end.

John surveyed his brave men, each one of them ready to fight, and sensed their fear. "Listen!" he said. Every single man of all the one hundred and fifty thousand units remained silent, eager to hear their general. "What do you hear?" he continued, cupping his right ear. He turned to the open battlefield with his back to the army. "Watch! Tell me what you see?" In their hearts, they already knew the answer. "Death!" He spat. "Do you all think that it's death? If it were so, we would not be here now at the final battle, so close to victory. We are a tougher species than that!

"I'll tell you what I hear," boomed the General. "I hear the clamor of more than a hundred thousand vampiric blood-stained swords. I hear the battle cry of the human race, a cry that shall be written in the annals of history as the roar of a lion that vanquished its enemy. For I tell you, we will rise again out of the ashes. We will cry so loud that the entire universe will know that if they cross us they'll perish!" The general waved his sword in the air. "Let me hear that cry now!"

The large army shouted in unison, clattered their swords against each other and stamped their feet. The ground trembled all the way to the vampiric army, two thousand meters away.

"And," he went on in the same vein, "I'll tell you what I see. I see the armies of Anaxagoras begging for mercy because they have been subjugated. For those who seek to conquer will be conquered. I see them crushed by our boots. I see them all destroyed by the sword and wrath of the human race!" Again, there was a loud outburst of enthusiasm. "Come, my brothers-in-arms: let's show them what we're made of!"

They marched on as death's shadow towered over each one of them, ready to pounce and devour them.

"General," said Nikolas to Varenkoff in the ancient vampiric language. "Is everything ready?" He stared into the eyes of the Rebel and sensed a great amount of apprehension in them. He wondered if his comrade's eyes simply reflected his own emotions; for a moment he thought he saw fear personified as a cloaked and brooding figure in the crimson darkness.

"Yes," Varenkoff said, "The scouts we sent are posted midway between here and the human army." He whispered, "Once we reach the area, our units will be ready and we'll catch them by surprise." Nikolas noticed the fear and doubt in Varenkoff's tone.

General Nikolas Gareng was a member of the Rebels, and he had been careful not to let the Imperial Regime know this. Ever since the beginning of the Great Rebellion, he played the part of the heroic and loyal subject of the king. He was useful to the Rebels because he showed them the vampires' most secret of plans. Now, at the final battle, he would reveal his true allegiance.

At the start, John Howe didn't trust him. He seemed too much of a loyalist to be a Rebel or to help the humans. But over the years the human general learned to trust him with his life and even became like a brother to him. There was a time when Nikolas disapproved of John and his ways. The human wanted to study the vampiric mythologies and ancient lore in order to learn their ways of energy manipulation. Nikolas felt that it was wrong for any human to even think of this. But as the years pa.s.sed and the war magnified in scale, Nikolas knew he needed to be more forgiving and accepting. At his cousin's behest he started to accept the humans and finally came to see what John really was: a loyal man to life itself and a man of honor. For that he respected him. Eventually, their friendship grew and was strengthened by their family ties.

"Where is he?" Nikolas asked as he thought of his cousin. "We don't have much time. If the army senses we're together, it will ruin the entire operation."

"He should be here shortly." Varenkoff said.

At that instant a fiery dashing warrior appeared, flying through the dark red sky. Above him the thick black clouds looked like they were about to burst. A blue light encapsulated him, giving him the appearance of an avenging angel returning from the heavens to report on the battle with Satan. He flew towards them and gently landed on the ground with his feet.

"What are you doing here?" he asked Nikolas. "Weren't we supposed to go directly to the king?"

"There seems to be a change of plans, Aidan. We will go to the king, but first I have to make contact with General Howe. He's to tell me when to go. He commands that you go ahead first and wait for me and do as the king bids. Buy time. As much as you can. But if there's going to be any kind of conflict, be quick with it and a.s.sa.s.sinate him." They could hear the Imperial army fast approaching. "Go now!" said Nikolas. They embraced each other, and Nikolas said to him, "Be careful, brother!"

Aidan levitated off the ground and sped off through the clouds.

Varenkoff shook Nikolas's hand and flew high into the air. His body twisted rapidly and returned down to the earth where he dug deep into the ground between the two armies. Nikolas waited for Anaxagoras's army, calculating his next move.

A few minutes later he could see them marching over the horizon, led by General Adiraan. When they reached Nikolas's tent, they stopped at Adiraan's command. Nikolas walked up to the general and embraced him. Adiraan smiled and said, "After all these years, we shall have victory." His deep raspy voice rang in Nikolas's ears. Every time he heard him speak, Nikolas felt a fear rise from his heart. He felt as if Adiraan knew too much, that he knew Nikolas's true allegiance. But for now, he let it slide from his mind and returned Adiraan's smile.

"Yes," Nikolas said. "Come, let's ready the men." He put his arm over Adiraan's shoulder and they approached the two hundred thousand soldiers. Nikolas ordered them to be at ease and inspected them with a general's eye. They were the creme de la creme of the king's battalions. Their armor and shields were embossed like the warriors of old in gold and white gold and depicted a cross with a serpent wound around it. Some carried swords, some bow and arrows, and some axes, all intricately designed. "Now!" shouted Nikolas in the modern tongue, "my men, is the time to show this sc.u.m race what and who we really are. We came here to conquer, and conquer we shall!" They burst out into shouts of fervor for war and blood. Nikolas turned around and saw John's army reaching closer. He continued, "Look at the army you are about to face charging at us in a frenzy! But we are better than that; more civilized civilized. Let us end this war once and for all!" He broke into a jog and they followed him, their pace increasing with every step.

As they rushed closer to the enemy, Nikolas's heart heaved. Something was going on at the King's Base. "General," he said as they charged onwards. General Adiraan turned to his left as he sprinted along with his men. "Take charge of this legion!" Adiraan nodded and Nikolas flew off into the air.

Aidan monitored the large curved surface of the ship, black with the volcanic ash of Antarctica. The volcanoes that erupted here, as a result of nuclear global warming and four world wars, created a h.e.l.lish environment of soot, ash, and lava. There was no vegetation and other than humans and vampires, there was no life. The fumes made it almost impossible for humans to breathe, so this area was the best possible place for the king to remain safe. Soon after the war it was known to all as the King's Base.

He's in there, Aidan thought. His target's presence, deep within the thick walls of the ship, emanated a dark and deadly aura of hatred. He landed on the cliff, a few meters away from the base. His brow furrowed deep in concentration, as if looking through the ship. Aidan thought. His target's presence, deep within the thick walls of the ship, emanated a dark and deadly aura of hatred. He landed on the cliff, a few meters away from the base. His brow furrowed deep in concentration, as if looking through the ship.

The entrance to the base opened up and five guards, all dressed in black and maroon, flew towards Aidan and drew their swords. The leader of the guards addressed him, "You've been commanded to come with us."

"I don't take commands from anyone. Especially your king!" Aidan spat into the guard's face.

"If I didn't consider your lineage," the guard replied, "I would have killed you already." He wiped the spit away. The other guards bound Aidan with handcuffs and tied chains around him. The chains were made of an alloy of silver and steel; there was just enough silver to keep him tortured but not enough to be fatal. Because of their rebellion, Aidan and those who followed him suffered to be unprotected by the king's presence.

"Come along, sc.u.m!" The guard shouted. The others dragged him and hovered back to the base. As they neared their destination, Aidan scrutinized the ship with more attention. He noticed the black dust covering the once reflective silver ship. They landed near the entrance and walked on. It grew darker. The large edge of the ship towered over them like a ma.s.sive cover. The ground beneath them felt rugged and almost rubbery. Vein-like crevices broke apart as they walked, and lava oozed out slowly. "Hurry up," the leader of the guards said, frustrated as he pulled on the chains attached to Aidan's cuffs. The silver door slid upwards. Light filled the s.p.a.cious pa.s.sageway as they entered the threshold.

The inside was very similar to the ancient pyramids of Egypt. Hieroglyphs written in Cuneiform, Hebrew, Aramaic, and Sanskrit were engraved in the walls. Aidan read some of them but their meanings seemed undecipherable. All he could fathom was something about a legend of the First Vampire of the Race. Other scriptures, the ancient relics of Migra, seemed to float and were encased in gla.s.s. Aidan remembered seeing one of the texts somewhere, once a very long time ago.

It hit him. Of course! They were the prophecies of Ardemis, referring to the Falsifier. The same prophecies he had made thousands of years later. These scriptures remained unknown at the time of his prophetic utterances. Then one day an excavation in Antarctica revealed many ancient relics in this very cave the ship was lodged in. Amongst these finds were the vampiric scriptures, along with the apocrypha texts and the Ardemic Prophecies. There were many, and only a few had been translated into the modern dialect. Since not many knew the ancient dialects, Anaxagoras took it upon himself to study and unravel the truths of the vampires.

"Stop," said the leader of the pack. "We're to leave you here." They stopped in front of the throne room. A large pure copper crucifix, green in color, with a red bra.s.s serpent wound around it, seemed to protect the ma.s.sive platinum double-door.

The guards unchained Aidan but left on the handcuffs and took their leave. From the other side of the door, a snakelike voice hissed, "Enter." The door opened and Aidan walked in.

The hall was large and dark. A dim light surrounded the throne where the king sat. Just as his predecessor had done, he dressed like the dark figure who had given him new life. His face was covered by a dark cloak, but the pale light revealed his p.r.o.nounced mouth and bone-white skin. "Welcome, Aidan." Anaxagoras lifted his hands and unbound him with his will. He motioned for the soldier to come and Aidan felt himself being pushed towards the king. As he came closer, the flames of the torches all around the room grew hotter and brighter. They revealed gray walls adorned with weapons and shields embossed with various n.o.ble family crests. Aidan saw another crest, more intricately designed and larger than all the others, behind the black marble throne. It was the majestic and ancient emblem of the king's lineage and it was the same symbol of the serpent round the cross that was emblazoned on all the shields of the vampires.

"Take a seat, Aidan," said the king, moving a chair towards his visitor using his mind. "I know why you have come here," he continued once Aidan sat down.

Aidan sealed his mind so the king couldn't read it. But what if he knew already?

"It is an a.s.sa.s.sination attempt...isn't it?" the king asked. His wide mouth broke into a wicked smile, revealing large fangs.

Aidan swallowed his fear and said nothing.

Underneath the hood, the king chuckled softly. The deep demonic laugh echoed across the hall and rang in Aidan's ears. "Well then, finish me off if you must, young Aidan," the king said.

"It is not that," the Rebel said, "I do want diplomatic relations to continue"

"Useless! Your words are pathetic! Do you think peace can exist after all this? Do you think that the armies will surrender so easily?"

Aidan was taken aback. "Our army will not," he said, gathering himself. "What we're fighting for is freedom, for democracy"

"Democracy!" the king shouted, "You really have no idea what you're fighting for."

"Of course I know what I am fighting for."

As if not listening, the king rose from his throne and with a flick of the wrist, he materialized a sword out of thin air, long with a silver hilt and adorned with onyx and gold.

Aidan stood up and backed away, preparing himself and materializing his own weapon.

The king's face darkened as he stepped down from the throne.

Aidan moved forward.