Ancient Awakening (The Ancient) Read online

  ANCIENT AWAKENING

  Matthew Bryan Laube

  www.ancientawakening.com

  1- Miller

  Oculus ex Inferni – Symphony X – Paradise Lost

  Outside of Vannes, France 1908

  The monsters were out there, just beyond the fire's light. Dallas strained his eyes to make them out at the top of the hill in front of them. He counted six werewolves at least, prowling just out of view. For any other group of men this would be something truly terrifying; for Dallas’ group of soldiers, it was Wednesday. They were “the Terrible 13th”, a unit that didn't strictly exist in any army. Instead, it was made up of various volunteers from around the world. Most of the men were English with a few French and two Russians, and for the first time last year, one American. Their group had the dangerous and extremely classified job of dealing with those things that were not supposed to exist - werewolves, vampires, demons; the list was long and not particularly pleasant.

  “At least six of the wolves,” Dallas said to the old man.

  The old man was staring up at the night sky. That mad grin he always wore was plastered to his face. “Seven,” he said, “but those are not the ones we need to worry about”.

  That bothered Dallas. When the old man was nervous that meant something. He had been working under Joseph Miller, aka “the old man”, for about a year now. Because of him, Dallas had seen some terrible and wonderful things, none of which he believed possible just a short twelve months ago. Dallas had been recruited as an explosive expert. Miller and Dallas had hit it off; something about the Texan’s hard living manner seem to mesh well with the old man's point of view on life. Although he kept no second in command, Dallas had quickly become the Miller’s go-to man.

  “Dallas, there is a demon out there; one of the Fallen. You might say the king of them of all.” Miller looked directly at Dallas; his face suddenly becoming grim. “When you see him, you pull these men back. This isn't something you can help me with.”

  “Yes sir,” Dallas responded then he glanced back up the hill and said “Do we look enough like a tasty doggy treat?”

  “Oh I think it will do.” Miller’s eyes lit up at Dallas' attempt at humor. He was a big man with long white hair wrapped into a ridiculous looking ponytail and a white beard. He looked maybe 60 years old to Dallas but moved like a man in his 20’s.

  The Thirteenth had made camp directly at the base of a hill, tactically an unwise move, but then they were not fighting a traditional war. Behind them they had built a huge bonfire to light up the night. In front of them they hid an extra surprise underneath a tarp. Dallas was never sure how the old man knew where to go, but he was never wrong. And sure enough, a few short hours after setting up camp, he began to make out the hulking masses of the wolves shifting in the dark.

  “All right boys, listen up,” Miller shouted. His accent was almost Scottish, but not quite, like he was pretending to be Scottish. “Lads, there are some big bad beasties out there tonight. They will be down here shortly for dinner. You know the drill at this point. Stay sharp. The big one leave to me. You'll know him when you see him.” The twelve all nodded in agreement and readied their rifles. There was no need to say more. They had done this before.

  And as if the monsters knew they were ready, they suddenly attacked. Seven wolves running down the hill, side by side. Dallas could see them clearly now under the moonlight, six male and one female. Looking at the figures running at him and the men serving with him, he couldn't help to once again struggle with the question: Why did they call them werewolves? Huge figures, and while they were covered in thick black hair, they looked nothing like wolves. Rather they reminded him of the apes Dallas had seen in a book he had read about Africa. They all looked like large men with huge claws, five large knives sticking out of each hand. Even the one that had been a woman was at least twice the size of Dallas. She still wore what appeared to be the remains of a pink dress. Most disturbing, though, was their eyes, black and empty things, reflecting the light from the bonfire.

  As the werewolves bore down on them, Miller shouted “Now!”

  Dallas brought the plunger down; igniting the explosives he had set into the hillside just hours before. The hilltop seemed to jump up under the wolves, tossing them into the night sky. Three of the wolves seemed to just come apart in the air. A fourth crumpled into a ball and skidded to a stop. The remaining three were not disturbed by the death of their comrades and carried on down the hill. Dallas could clearly see the white foam streaming out of their mouths.

  “Shields!” Miller shouted. The men grabbed huge metal shields, the likes of which Dallas was sure had not been used since medieval times. They drove them into the ground just as the wolves reached the first row of men. Not even this form of protection could slow the wolves down, however. The lead wolf's claws knocked three men aside with a single swipe. The female pounced on one of the downed men, tearing at his shield.

  “Down!” Miller yelled. The rest of the men dropped, covering their bodies with the shields. With one smooth motion, Miller removed the tarp in front of him, like a magician revealing his next big trick, and lit the fuse to short barreled cannon. Dallas covered his ears and opened his mouth to handle the shock of the blast. The wolf man in front seemed to pause for a second, as whatever remained of its human mind recognized the device. Then it vanished in a red mist as, with a huge boom, the pellet-shot fired almost point blank on it. The she-wolf was caught by the edge of the blast. She spun around, her arm becoming a mangled mess, and fell to the ground. Several pellets bounced off the men's shields, now covering their bodies as they lay flat on the ground. The force of the cannon made Dallas’ teeth ache.

  The remaining wolf seemed to pause for a second to note his missing brothers. Seeing Miller as the one man standing, he dove at the old man with a howl. Miller was ready though, and simply side stepped the beast, drawing a large and ancient looking broad sword from his back. Using the momentum of his step, Miller spun around and brought the sword to the wolf-man’s neck, slicing his head clear off his shoulders. Black blood spurted from the wound, as first the head hit the ground and then wolf's huge body toppled over. Then the she-wolf was on her feet again and managed to tag Miller in the back with three of her claws. Miller stepped forward, away from his attacker, but managed to trip over the newly dead wolf’s head on the ground. Recovering in mid-fall, he spun to face his new opponent, drew a pistol from his belt, and fired one clean shot before landing on his back. Dallas heard the old man grunt from the pain of landing on his shredded back as the she-wolf stepped back. The bullet had passed clean though her eye, leaving a gaping black hole. For a second the wolf rocked back and forth on its heels, stunned. Then, with a sickening “pop”, black fluid seemed to leap out of the wound and reform the missing eye.

  Dallas was back on his feet. Tossing the metal shield to the side, he drew the saber from his hip and slashed with all the might he could muster at the she–wolf’s back. It struck the creature’s shoulder and stuck. Freddie, an Englishman from London, was in front of the wolf. He drew an axe and drove it deep into her chest. She screamed in rage and gored Freddie with one huge claw. The man was knocked back, a large chunk of his face torn open. The she-wolf then turned to face Dallas, fast enough that his saber was ripped from his hands. He cringed and backed away. He had actually never seen a female wolf before, and none this close still alive. She was a truly terrible creature. The fact that she had at one point been a woman, maybe even attractive, made it somehow worse. Here was a creature of beauty (although he was guessing at this, it was far too late to tell now), twisted and misshapen into the stuff of nightmares. Oh, and she was hungry. It took all his strength of will not to turn and run, for he knew that was certain death. Instead, he continued to step backward as the wolf advanced, arms up in front of him as if trying to calm the creature down. “Umm, sorry about this miss, I'll just be going,” he joked, mostly to himself. She wasn't listening.

  “The head man, go for the head!” Miller’s voice came from beyond the creature. The edge of Miller’s broadsword flashed though the wolf’s neck. The wolf seemed to freeze for a moment and then her head simply rolled off her shoulders, dropping to Dallas' feet. “It is the only way to kill them, how many times do I have to repeat myself?” Miller continued. Miller seemed to stumble a bit, as if the sword he always carried was suddenly too heavy. Turning away from Dallas, he shouted to the men. “It is a fine start people, but our work is not done. Time for Clean up. Make sure they stay down. Medic, take a look at Freddie.” At his words, several men pulled axes from their packs and went at the messy work of dismembering any werewolf that looked like it might still get up. Staring at Miller's back, Dallas noted the blood flowing freely from the new scratches. “James can look at that for you sir,” he said, referring to their medic. “It’ll be fine. The big one is still out there”.

  Miller grinned at him “Trust me; it takes a lot more than those scratches to slow me down.”

  A woman's voice snapped Dallas’ attention again to the hill.

  “Oh thank God, those beasts where about to do us in.” A woman spoke in French, walking briskly down the hill towards their group. She had an almost eerie sense of calm about her. Even in the dim moonlight she was striking. Dressed in fine silks, she seemed to be a noblewoman or some rich man’s wife. The men stopped, distracted by this beauty. Everyone, that is, except for Miller, who raised his pistol and shot the woman.

  Dallas was
stunned for a moment. The woman, however, did not crumble as the bullet struck, missing only a step before quickening her pace forward. Miller fired three more shots and broke into a jog. “Get away from it!”

  The men were sluggish, as if coming awake from a dream. At last becoming aware that something was not right about this woman, they began to raise their axes. Closing in, the woman shrugged off Miller’s bullets and opened her mouth wide as if to scream. Instead, a huge black tongue snapped out of her mouth as if she was some giant lizard. It wrapped itself around one man's throat. Instantly the man stiffened and appeared to shrink as the woman sucked the life from him.

  “Vampire!” Miller shouted “Vampire!” The woman’s arm seemed to double in size. She used this instant club to swat aside another man trying to save his friend. More bullets struck her, and then an axe, but she simply grinned an unearthly smile as she finished her meal. Then Miller was there at her victim’s side. With one smooth motion of his sword, he sliced the tongue in two with his sword. The man dropped to the ground as the vampire screamed. Black blood gushed from her mouth. In an instant, several men were upon her, chopping away with the axes. The shrieking ended with a gurgle.

  Miller strode past the men exacting their vengeance and up the hill into the darkness. Dallas did his best to follow. Several feet beyond them a man was waiting in the dark. In the moonlight Dallas could not make out his exact features, but having been reminded by the woman just moments before, he unsheathed a long dagger from his belt.

  “So you are the ancient one,” the man said. His voice seemed to shake in fear. Dallas raised his pistol. He knew it would do little good but it made him feel better. His other hand still held the dagger.

  “I am,” Miller said, stopping before him. “And you are the demon Asmodai, the last of your kind. I have searched for you for 90 long years. Tonight, I end this.” Miller towered over this strange man in the darkness.

  “You may be right, old one, but know this: I can never truly die. Even if you win this battle tonight, in time I will rise up again...”

  “Yes, yes I know!” Miller cut him off. “A great evil, blah, blah, blah, retake the earth from the filth that is humanity, blah, blah, cannot stop you. Do you have any idea how many times I've heard this speech? Lad, you need a new line!” Miller raised his broadsword and lunged at the smaller man but the man sprung backward out of reach with an incredible leap. The man seemed to smile, although Dallas could be for sure in the darkness.

  “It is not that easy, old one.” With that, the man seemed to explode. He tore at his chest, ripping through both cloth and flesh, revealing dark black scales underneath. His mouth opened impossibly wide, his jaw seeming to melt and a huge black head rose out of his throat snout first, followed by a long neck. It tore the remaining flesh from his face into shreds. Huge black wings appeared on his back and his hands exploded into massive talons. The monster seemed to stretch and stretch, tripling its size in an instant.

  Dallas pulled the pistol’s trigger, backing away from the still growing beast. It appeared to be a dragon, as in the old story books, complete with wings and snout, but oddly missing a tail. It stood like a man on massive legs. It must have been 10 feet tall! Miller however, seemed unimpressed.

  “Aye, you are a big one. Well good, I like a fair fight.”

  Miller charged the beast, not flinching for a second. He dodged the first swipe of a massive talon, rolled between the beast’s legs, and slammed his sword into its back. The dragon roared in pain and leapt into the air with Miller still clinging to the embedded sword. They rose over the hill and high in to the air.

  Dallas stood below, watching in terror. He did not notice he was still pulling the trigger on the pistol, even though he had long since run out of bullets. Several men raced to his side, raising rifles into the sky, trying to track the monster.

  “My God, was that really a dragon?” he asked no one in particular.

  The demon reappeared, swooping low over the camp. Miller was still hanging on; in fact, he had somehow managed to move up its back, toward the head. The demon was spinning madly, trying to shake him off. Then they were gone in the darkness. Belatedly several men fired rifles.

  “No! You’ll hit Miller!” Dallas shouted, becoming aware of his surroundings once again. The men lowered their guns.

  “Follow me, back to the cannon. Once Miller gets clear, we're going to need to hit that thing with something big!” Dallas ordered. The chain of command after Miller was a bit unclear but no man argued with Dallas and they all took off back to the base camp at a run.

  Somewhere in the darkness above them, the demon screamed. The sound of it made Dallas's head ache. Everyone froze, looking up at the night sky, trying to find the source. The demon dropped out of the sky, smashing into the ground like a cannon ball. The troop of men again reversed course and raced back up the hill to the crash site.

  Something grabbed Dallas's leg as he ran by. A werewolf, apparently blown farther away with the initial explosion than the rest of his pack, was still very much alive.

  “Help me, please help me,” it begged in French. Dallas reached toward the now long-empty pistol, but paused. The werewolf's eyes were a bright and very human-looking grey instead of the pitch black they normally were. Dallas pulled his leg free but did not strike the wolf, suddenly unsure of what to do. Instead, he ran on up the hill to check on Miller.

  Arriving at the crash site, he pushed his way to the front to see. The monster was most certainly dead, its head hung attached to its neck by only a few shreds of flesh. Black blood still pulsed from its trunk. Miller must have somehow managed to cleave its head off in mid-flight. But where was he?

  “Here!” someone shouted and they all turned to see. Miller was there as well, crushed underneath the demon’s massive bulk. Blood ran freely from his mouth. He laid still, eyes staring blankly at the stars above in the night sky.

  2 – Arrival

  Trouble In Paradise (Variation on a Theme) – Unkle –End Titles… Stories for Film

  Someplace in New Jersey, Today

  He was staring up at the stars as if waking from a dream. He had been dead, he was sure of that. But for him, being dead was no new experience. The act of dying itself was not what he considered a good time. But being dead, that wasn't so bad. It wasn't cold, it wasn't dark. There was no bright light, at least not for him. There was simply nothing. And nothing was not so bad.

  And then just like that, with a blink, he was back. He never understood why or how, but there was no arguing it. For thousands of years he had been mankind's protector. He’d had many names throughout time. He had been Gilgamesh, Orion, Beowulf, and Theseus. In China he had been called Lu Tung-Pin, the great slayer of dragons. The demons called him “The Great Hunter” and “Ancient One”. In recent times, he had taken the name Joseph Miller. The demons would appear; he would be reborn and hunt them down. It was the natural order of things. Perhaps it was some kind of balance between good and evil. Or maybe some God found it amusing to toss him again and again at the monsters of the world. He supposed it was a curse of sorts to never truly rest. But it rarely bothered him. After all this time, it was just what he did, what he was, as natural as breathing. Or it had long ago driven him mad and he no longer noticed. One of the two.

  He took a long, deep breath and his face twisted in disgust. The air tasted terrible here, like his time in London, but the smells were all new, and not exactly pleasant. Looking around, it resembled nothing he had seen in all his many years. Huge buildings of glass like giant trees sprung up in every direction. “Well well, this should be interesting,” he thought and took his first step forward.

  A loud screeching noise filled his ears as a huge metal beast sprang at him, striking full on. As he felt the darkness retake him, he thought, “This is not starting well”.

  The truck driver never saw the small Hispanic man until it was far too late. “Why was the idiot standing in the middle of the road past midnight? Fool deserved to be hit by a truck,” he told himself as he dialed 911.