His Dark Empire (Tears of Blood)

by Forbes, M. R.

  The second is an ancient text I stole from the furnace in the Elling library, describing methods of science that predate the Empire, and referencing an amazing tool which allows you to look very closely at things that are invisible to our eyes. I have reconstructed such a tool based on the principles described, though I fear it is a poor facsimile. Even so, it has allowed me to confirm my suspicions.

  The third is a journal of the research I have done to determine the exact nature of the Curse, which I will briefly outline here.

  My studies have shown that what makes up the Curse is a living thing, a creature of some kind that survives in our blood, thriving on those very things which bring us life. Through the use of the tool, I have discovered that these creatures are in every single bit of water that covers the Empire, from river to raindrop, and therefor in every single one of us. Yet in most cases it sleeps, and never wakes.

  For others, the Cursed, the creature is woken by the changes that occur between childhood and adulthood. It begins a process of reproducing, at rates that differ from one individual to the next. I believe that it continues this reproduction until its numbers become so great that they ruin the host's blood, and kill them.

  In between their waking, and the Cursed's death, a relationship can develop between the creatures and their host. The forming of this relationship is unique to each person, but the end result is that the host can enter a state of communication with these creatures, and make use of a strange power they seem to have to be able to affect the very nature of the world around them in a way that I cannot understand. I have created a word, 'magic', to describe this relationship, for lack of any better description.

  It is based on this information that I have tried to create a cure of my own and find a way to kill these creatures. I have failed. He has the cure, I know it. The Mediators live, and they are all Cursed. I believe the Overlords may be as well.

  You might wonder why this matters so much to me, and why I have pursued this information with every ounce of my soul. At first, I sought only knowledge of the past. I didn't question his rule, or his decisions. I wanted only to learn all there was to learn. My curiosity got the better of me, and I became determined to read the books that we were ordered to destroy. It was this path that led me towards understanding, and ultimately will mean my death.

  I could have accepted that. I never would have made this place, or studied the Curse to save my own life. I did it to save my daughter.

  Kaelyn gave birth only a week ago. She is a healthy girl, but I fear that the risk of her being Cursed is high. Kaelyn became pregnant after I was infected with the woken creatures, but before I knew what had happened. I have worked so hard these months to find the cure, so she might never have the Curse, and might never die from it, either at his hand, or through the course of the disease.

  I've heard that you have sent soldiers and a Mediator to come and take me. If you're reading this, I'm sure you've already seen the note I left with the innkeeper in Heathers. I want to tell you again that I forgive you. I pray that, Amman willing, you find this place in time to save her. I question if I should have told you of her in that letter, but I feared the innkeeper's trustworthiness and was not willing to risk her life.

  You know him. Please, go to him. Ask him for the cure, and if he will not give it willingly, take it from him. For the sake of your granddaughter, and every other child and grandchild who he allows to perish if they do not meet his needs.

  Once you have the cure, find her. I'm to bring her to a village not far from here, a place called Watertown. There is a blacksmith there, who helped me to fashion the parts for the tool. Seek him out, and ask after his girl.

  Please.

  I beg you.

  - Aren

  His Cure for Magic

  Magic is a disease. Magic can be cured. He has it, they need it, or thousands more will die.

  In the second book of the Tears of Blood series, Silas and Eryn find themselves running out of time and with only one hope: an ancient map discovered by chance, revealing the location of a place thought only to exist in legend.

  The Dark. A place of nightmares. A place of death. A place of magic gone horribly wrong. A valley perpetually shrouded in thick clouds, where the very air instills the deepest fear, and monsters lurk in every crevice. It is a place none would visit by choice, but for the Silas and Eryn there is no choice. They must descend into its darkness and uncover the secrets hidden within. If they fail, Eryn and the magicians like her will die, taking all hope of a free Empire with them.

  They think they are searching for the cure for magic. Nothing will prepare them for what they find instead.

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  Thank You!

  It is readers like you, who take a chance on self-published works that is what makes the very existence of such works possible. Thank you so very much for spending your hard-earned money, time, and energy on this work. It is my sincerest hope that you have enjoyed reading!

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  To My Own Love,

  Who thankfully is not lost.

  You continue to be my inspiration.

  About the Author

  I grew up with books. When I was eleven, I used to ride my bicycle three miles to the nearest bookstore to check the shelves for any new science fiction or fantasy titles they may have added in the last week, and eagerly put down almost all of my paper route money for the pleasure of escaping to a different place.

  It's hard to be an avid reader without wanting to create worlds of your own, and so that's what I then set out to do. Too many years later, it's a dream come true to be published, and have people read and enjoy my work.

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  Balance Preview

  If you liked His Dark Empire, you might like Balance, the first book in The Divine Series.

  The first nine chapters are included here for your reading pleasure! If you enjoy it, please consider giving the rest of it a read:

  http://amzn.to/10KdkJW

  ***

  My name is Landon Hamilton. Once upon a time I was a twenty-three year old security guard, trying to regain my life after spending a year in prison for stealing people's credit card numbers.

  Now, I'm dead.

  Okay, I was supposed to be dead. I got killed after all; but a funny thing happened after I had turned the mortal coil...

  I met Dante Alighieri - yeah, that Dante. He told me I was special, a diuscrucis. That's what they call a perfect balance of human, demon, and angel. Apparently, I'm the only one of my kind.

  I also learned that there was a war raging on Earth between Heaven and Hell, and that I was the only one who could save the human race from annihilation. Dante asked me to help, and I was naive enough to agree.

  Sounds crazy, I know, but he wished me luck and sent me back to the mortal world. Oh yeah, he also gave me instructions on how to use my Divine 'magic' to bend the universe to my wi
ll. The problem is, a sexy vampire crushed them while I was crushing on her.

  Now I have to somehow find my own way to stay alive in a world of angels, vampires, werewolves, demons and humans that all want to kill me before I can mess up their plans for humanity's future. If that isn't enough, I also have to find the queen of all demons and recover the Holy Grail.

  It's not like it's the end of the world if I fail.

  Wait. It is.

  Chapter 1

  There was something about the way she moved; the feline grace of her body, the softness of her steps. The way her arms swayed languidly back and forth as she sauntered past me. She had black hair that fell to her hips in a single silken flow, blue eyes, olive skin, a pair of tights, a fitted red sweater, and a something extra that put her at the top of the 'out-of-your-league' Christmas wish list. What's more, she was in a Museum! By herself! Yeah, I stared. No, she didn't notice.

  It was my second week on the job at the Museum of Natural History, my first job post-incarceration. It was a long story, but the short simple version had to do with being a too-social computer geek and other people's credit cards. I had been lucky to get such cake work. Normally the Museum didn't hire ex-cons, but they'd imported a special 'first time ever outside the Vatican, limited time only!' exhibit of ancient Catholic relics, prompting them to beef up staff. The nature of my crime hadn't been violent or physical in any way, shape, or form, so they were willing to look past it. My job was simple, stand around and make sure nobody even tried to breathe funny on the artifacts.

  Today, I was guarding cups. Excuse me, chalices. One in particular, a simple wooden one that sat at the end of the exhibit hall on a special pedestal surrounded by a rope, ten feet of space, tamper-proof, bullet-proof glass, and surveilled by every type of technology you could imagine. They said it was the cup Jesus drank out of at the Last Supper, the Holy Grail. It looked like it had come from 'The Last Crusade'. Lucas hadn't been off by much.

  So far, the job had been as boring as I had assumed it would be. Every day from nine to twelve and one to close I would stand at the entrance to the exhibit room, watch the people go in and out, and occasionally wander up and down the aisles to make sure nobody got fingerprints on the glass enclosures. My greatest adversaries in this new career were children. They liked to touch things.

  A particularly ambitious offender caught the corner of my eye, and I was forced to stop staring at the girl, who was approaching the wooden chalice at the end of the room. She seemed really interested in it. Very sexy.

  Annoyed by the interruption to my creepy stalking, I walked over to where the little boy was standing, his hands and face pressed up against the glass. I peeked down at the label, Diamond Chalice, 771 A.D. There was more, but I didn't need to read it, I already had over a hundred times. It was a fancy piece of work that had been gifted to the Pope by Charlemagne. It tended to be a favorite with women, and even more so with kids. My guess was that the 'ooh shiny' part of his underdeveloped mind had taken over.

  "Excuse me young sir," I said, kneeling down to get my face at a level with his. "The rules clearly state there will be no touching of the glass."

  He looked at me, and I pointed my finger over at the 'DO NOT TOUCH' sign. He laughed and ran off to find his mother, who had moved on with little concern for the location of her brood. I watched him go, skirting through the line of adults and latching onto her hand. She looked down at him, and he pointed back to where I was still crouching. She gave me a Medusa look and yanked the little tattletale forward. What was with parents these days anyway? God forbid their kids actually follow the rules. Wait... did I just say that?

  I was contemplating the human aging process and that weird phenomenon that occurs when we somehow begin to turn into our parents, when a collective murmur caught my attention. I stood and looked around for the source. Damn!

  The cutie with the black hair was inside the rope line! Not really that impressive I know, but this was a major infraction in the Museum Guard handbook. At least it would give me an excuse to talk to her. I began pushing my way through the gathering crowd, who were complaining of course that she was obstructing their view.

  "Excuse me, miss," I said to her back.

  She had reached the tamper-proof, bulletproof glass, and was standing there in a very thoughtful pose, her left hand up to her chin, her right tapping on her hip. She ignored me, which was about what I would expect from someone like her. I picked up my radio and called for backup. I didn't have the authority to move her. Only the senior guards could do that.

  "Hey Jimmy," I said. "I have a little situation over in the chalice exhibit. There's a girl here who thinks she has exclusive viewing rights to the Last Supper cup." There was a short silence before the reply.

  "Chalice, Landon. It's a chalice. I'll be right there." He sounded like I had woken him up. I probably had.

  I broke the rope barrier and approached the girl. She still didn't move. "Miss, are you okay?" I asked.

  Better to play it sensitive. She didn't react at all to the sound of my voice. I didn't expect much attention from someone like her, but to treat me like I wasn't there? That was a little much. I flicked my eyes back towards the entrance. It should only take Jimmy a minute to get over from the office. When I looked back at the girl, she was cutting through the glass with her fingertip.

  "Uhh..." My mind lost a step at the sight, tripping over itself and sending the rest of my body into a spastic overload. Does not compute. I picked up the radio again.

  "Jimmy, where the hell are you," I yelled, my voice going up an octave. I looked again. Her finger appeared more like a claw now, and it really was cutting through the glass; the bulletproof, tamper-proof glass. The alarm started ringing.

  Jimmy finally trundled into the exhibition hall, his breathing heavy as he pulled up next to me. Old... check. Overweight... check. Out of shape... did you doubt? He was your standard issue Museum guard.

  "Geez Landon," he said. "You didn't tell me she was hot." He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry miss but you'll have to go back behind the rope line."

  There was a blur of red, and the next thing I knew, Jimmy was on the floor sans one appendage. Chaos entered the building.

  The crowd that had gathered to watch the show began to scream. I began to scream and backpedal as the girl turned and looked at me. Her eyes were yellow; her teeth were elongated into fangs. It was straight out of an issue of Fangoria. She growled, blasted the rest of the tamper-proof, bulletproof, glass into dust with her fist, grabbed the Grail, and ran towards the spectators - all in the space of three seconds.

  Still backpedaling, my legs hit the rope and I tumbled backwards. The last thing I saw was the devil-girl dropping a package that looked all too familiar from any number of action movies. There was a loud pop, and a lot of heat. As I felt my life slipping away, I could hear the screams and smell the cooked flesh. I wasn't the only one who died that day.

  Chapter 2

  I came to, if you could call it that, with my face literally buried in the sand. My head was pounding and my heart was racing. Wasn't I supposed to be dead? I clearly recalled the white light, the fading away of my senses, and an overwhelming sense of freedom.

  I picked my head up and looked around through the sand that was stuck to my eyelashes. I was lying on a beach, wearing a pair of board shorts. I was alone. If this was Heaven, it was going to be a lonely eternity.

  Who was she, I wondered, forgetting my predicament for a moment. The girl had killed me, but I was still thinking about her. Did that make me crazy? I pushed myself to my feet and began brushing off the more tenacious grains of sand, then took a deep breath and tried to think. Okay, so I had just died in an explosion, I was standing on a beach completely alone, and for some reason I wasn't afraid. In fact, other than the headache, I felt pretty darn good.

  "Landon Hamilton." The voice was old, deep, and smooth as jazz. It scared the crap out of me. I spun around.

  The man had
appeared out of nowhere. He was a good six inches shorter than me, middle-aged, gaunt but muscular, and bald. He had a short white goatee and pale blue eyes. He was wearing a tailored black suit.

  "Are you God?" I asked.

  He gave me a 'you're an idiot' smile. "Thankfully, no. You can call me Mr. Ross. I'm the Collector."

  Oh. "I am dead right?" I asked.

  He nodded.

  "A beach?"

  "Look around son," he said. "Earth, water, air, fire; the feel of sand between your toes, cooling off in the water from the heat of the sun. The fresh salt sea air... Where else does humanity so perfectly merge with the most basic natural elements?"

  It made sense, in a nothing-is-really-making-sense sense. "Okay. So, I'm pretty sure this isn't Hell, unless you're tricking me into thinking this isn't Hell, and then it turns out it actually is. If this is Heaven, I don't know... don't take this personally but, it's kind of a bummer."

  Mr. Ross sighed. "You may not be much, but if you're all we've got I guess we'll have to make a go of it. Now, please try to stop making a fool of yourself. Let's go."

  He started walking. I followed behind.

  "Wait a second. Where are we going?" He didn't answer. "Mr. Ross!" Nothing.

  What did he expect? Two minutes earlier I had seen a beautiful woman turn into some kind of monster right before she blew me to smithereens. I was dead, but I was standing on a beach with one of the Blues Brothers. It had left me a little disoriented, confused, and giddy. I was finding it hard to calm down, so I was getting a little stupid.