The Alexandru Chronicles: The Beginning

Prologue

Romania

(An unreported time—possibly in the 200 BC era)

As the sun glistened off of his blood soaked sword, his gaze wandered over all the grotesquely mutilated bodies that laid before him. It was the sight and smell of all that blood, that had his stomach instinctively lurching. The ground reeked with decay, brought on by the unforgiving sun beating down upon his already blistering red flesh. Yet, he didn't know if the rawness of his flesh was all too blame on the hot sun. Or, if it was the blood from not just his men, but these ungodly creatures that dyed the color of his fair skin. Nevertheless, it was disconcerting.

Granted, he should have been used to this monstrous act of brutality. For he'd been in war for years. Since he was a young lad, able to wield a blade, he had fought horrible battles; but none so horrible as this slaughter—a massacre brought on by the undead.

It had been found out, that the only way to kill these creatures was to decapitate them. Yet, this observation had come too late to save his men.  All his men laid butchered or, worse, turned into the very monsters they were fighting.  He stood, alone, on a hellish battle field, with no one to help him.  

As he brought his sword, once again, up, and decapitated, yet, another monstrous creature, he felt the blood of this one soak through his armor. If it wasn't bad enough that this extra crimson color had already mixed itself in with the rest of the blood on him, successfully making his skin darker, the blood now had crusted, like the other, to his skin – it was like a second skin, the way this blood molded itself to his hot flesh. He did not just reek from the stench of these creatures' blood, but he looked as horrible as the monsters themselves. Before the remaining monsters even made a move to attack him, they had instinctively cringed away from him – none too sure, if they were actually interested in his blood.

He had just decapitated another monster, who oddly resembled one of his men, when he felt this sudden excruciating pain in his side. If not for this instant draining sensation, he would have ignored the horrible pain and continued on with his barbaric escapade. Yet, it was that very draining, that had his strength quickly depleting and this looming sense of death rearing it's head. 

It took him hastily swiveling around, and seeing this monster standing behind him, that had him knowing, just from the wicked smirk on the creature's face, that it had gotten in a cheap blow. Yet, before the ugly bastard even had time to gloat over it's cheap victory, he, growling, angrily decapitated his enemy.

It was after the creature had dissolved in front of his eyes, that he again felt this excruciating infliction.

Glancing down at his side, he noticed the violent wound. He knew just from how his blood was pouring out of him, and that continued draining feeling, that death was not but a close second behind. He would be as dead as most of his men, in a few seconds...

But not before he took as many of these creatures with him.

Tightening his grip on his sword, he turned to take on the hundreds upon hundreds of undead that still laid before him.

It seemed like a hopeless feat. No sooner had he taken off one head, was another in its place.

Yet, he reasoned that as long as he still had life in him, he would be able to fight until his very last breathe. And by how quick his strength was passing, he hadn't long yet.

It was his determination, that had him surprised at the sudden halt in the fighting. While he was all too ready to butcher every single one of the monsters in front of him, they had suddenly stopped charging him. For that brief moment, it seemed as if these creatures were uninterested in him. Yet, he knew that their disinterest would not last. It was that very thirst in their eyes, for the blood draining out of him, that alerted him of how much they truly wanted to pounce on him – the reason they weren't doing so at that moment was beyond him. Presently their attention was drawn away from whatever it was that they were fixated on. Yet, the moment they were no longer fixated on whatever it was, they would deal with him.

As he continued to wearily watch them, he noticed how they all were hungrily licking their lips as they stared at whatever it was that had their attention. They hadn't halted in their bloodthirsty escapade, because of want. They ceased because of someone or somethings, late, arrival on this horrible battlefield. Adverting his attention away from them, he turned to look at who or what these monsters were staring at.  

It was then, when this late arrival stepped into the late afternoon sun light, that he saw him.

As a young lad, he would have felt nothing but unbelievable excitement at just the mere sight of him. Yet, now all he felt was this indescribable hateful resentment, for what this person had become to him.

Swallowing down his revulsion, he said, “So..., it's you...”

“
It's me, brother.”

“
We are not brothers...” he spit out the last, along with the blood forming in his throat.

“
You use to say that we were...Do you not remember, my sweet...”

“
I remember nothing...Just like you remember nothing...!”

The whole time they had talked, the monstrous man before him had seemed coldly stoic, but when he had said the last statement, he saw a flash of fury, in his red, rimmed, eyes. Yet, no sooner had that anger come, did it just as quickly melt away.

“Join us..., brother.”

It was that anger he had toward the snake in front of him, that had him raising his sword for one last stance against this ungodly evil.

Letting out a bellowing growl, he rushed towards the viper who had brought this upon him and all mankind, “Never!!!” 

Chapter One

The Present

As
John Mellencamp
sang about how it hurt so good on the radio, the man, whose grayish blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark shades,  attentively listened. The whole time that the radio blared out from his speakers, he gently tapped his slender masculine fingers against the steering wheel and sung softly along with the music. Lightly pressing down on the gas, he felt the car rev up as he brought his speed way above the posted speed limit. His thoughts were far from that of being pulled over or even getting a ticket. He had never had a speeding ticket. For he'd always, charismatically, talked his way out of one. Or used those powers, which he so despised, in to changing the cop's mind over even pulling him over. 

Turning the music up, so that the speakers were, now, vibrating, he sped past another car, that was going too slow for his taste. As the music hit it's climax, he didn't even care that he had sped past a cop—that was parked a few feet off the road. Possibly the cop wasn't paying attention or he'd gotten so good at creating a shadow around, not just himself, but the car, that the cop hadn't even seen him. Whatever the reason, he just kept speeding down the road and listening to good music on the radio.

He had a long drive ahead of him, and he was too tired to care about the consequences of his actions. He needed a long rest, but, right at that moment, he was too pressed for time to know when an appropriate moment would arise for him.

Over the years of being alive, he had paid little to no attention to anyone – enjoying the simple life of a recluse. Occasionally, if he was overwhelmed with loneliness, he took notice to an attractively delicious woman. Yet, once he had his fill of pleasure, he took off. He did try, though, not to enjoy the opposite sex regularly. For it was soon after that brief enjoyment, when morning made it's abrupt presence known, that the harsh reality of his existence reared it's ugly head – in truth, it was that reality, that had him unable to bear the idea of subjecting a woman to his life. 

He so hated hurting beautiful butterflies. And possibly that was why he preferred contacting an escort service than hooking up with a poor innocent woman, who was searching for her perfect match – for he was far from that. With a paid escort, there was no false commitments or empty promises. 

Turning the music up, so to drown out his wandering thoughts, he tried halting the course of his persisted nagging thoughts.  As it was, he thought too much. Yet, what was he suppose to do? He had no real life or, worse yet, he had too long of one. The desire to die was in him, but there was too much for him to do. Besides that, there was too many pleasures—like the occasional, pleasurable, feel of a woman's lips against his naked flesh – that had him not really wanting to end it all.

As it was, he knew, that while he had tried to do right, there were still too many wrongs that he hadn't been able to stop from happening. 

He would continue his quest or, in his case, drive, heading toward a voice that was summoning him.  

A familiar voice that he had ignored all these years in his quest to right a wrong done so many centuries ago. Now, he realized that that voice was, ultimately, his calling card out of this life of, blissful, misery. Maybe if he destroyed that voice, God would welcome him into heaven. Or, if not that, he could have some semblance of a life.

His plan had been to keep trailing the voice, until he found the owner of it. He had come close, in Phoenix, but lost it among the many people there. And, when he had heard it again, he had started driving, heading west toward Nevada. He had not a clue on what he expected to find in the places he stopped. He knew only that while there had been unexplained deaths in Phoenix, there would also be, in where ever the voice stopped, even more deaths and disappearances. Yet, where the deaths would be his quarry's own doing, the unexplained disappearances, of these so called deaths, would be solely his doing. 

He had to beat the voice before it got to it's new destination; where ever that was—he wasn't entirely sure.

All he knew, was that he had to keep driving and stopping when the voice became hungry and had to feed.

Sometimes he thought that the voice was just his tortured soul, keeping him at bay with it's persisted hunger. What brought him some dwindling reassurance, was that he knew, that, while human shrinks would object to his sanity, the voice was not his own.

Yet, that only meant one thing, and that was that this creature—a horrible soulless monster, that he had buried centuries ago—had found a way out of it's tomb.

While this creature had woken up weak, it was hungry and it's hunger was what drove it to feed. And because of it's unquenchable hunger, he had to kill whoever it had fed upon. For if he didn't, these ungodly monsters would then create their own unimaginable horrors.

XXX

As Amelia Steleman sat irritably tapping her fingers upon the desk, waiting for her new client, the mysterious Mr. Cirpian Alexandru, to show up, she tried keeping her temper under wraps.

Not only was his name mysterious, but so was he. She had never met him, nor had she spoken to him on the phone – so she hadn't a clue on whether or not he was young or old. The only communications she had had with him, was either through these brief text messages or through email. What she knew, from these short communications, was that he wanted a house; a house in a very secluded region—that in, itself, told her something about her new client.

Amelia had been in real estate long enough, to gain an insight on what certain people were like—just by their preferences. People who wanted to live next to parks and schools, were either parents or grandparents—or, her sister would have interjected that they were possibly child molesters.

Yet, since this man did not want to live any where near people, that meant only one or two things, he was a recluse. If that was the case, she could just imagine what he looked like. He was probably some wrinkly old man, with a bad temper, who hated children, and...

Looking back over at her desk clock, she was instantly pulled out of her thoughts, when she saw what time it was. It was going on midnight, and her mysterious client still hadn't bothered to show. It was that frustrating realization, that he was either very late or he was a total no show.  Irritably sighing, she stood up from her desk, and mumbling expletives under her breathe, she got ready to leave. She had been understanding about Mr. Alexandru wanting to come in at night, but this was unacceptable. She had thought he would be in her office at nine or, at the latest, ten. Yet, midnight was stretching her patience.

After putting her coat on, she switch off her desk lamp, and, once she had left her office, she, before closing the door, inspected the cramp space – making sure that everything was off. It was upon her turning to leave, that she practically screamed when she noticed a dark figure—standing over by one of the five desks, that was situated in her real estate building.

When he stepped into the faint light, emanating from the only over head light that was still on, she was still somewhat frightened, but not as much as before.

Amelia couldn't say why, she suddenly started to relax. She was even more baffled by how strangely enticed she was by the man that stood in front of her. He had wavy shoulder length platinum blonde hair, these mysterious grayish blue eyes, and he was clothed in an inklike black suit.