A moment passed 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.