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View Full Version : Prologue from my first book, Shards of Fate: The Rising



CharlesAnthony
June 3rd, 2012, 06:38 PM
This is the prologue I ripped directly from my book, I hope you all enjoy it. Please keep in mind that if my Kickstarter Project gets all of it's funding I will be having professional editors comb through everything. So please be gentle.. :D


Prologue:

The cool night air strikes him in the face as he gets out of the heated driver’s seat of his car. The falling rain nearly soaks through to his skin as quickly as it is exposed to the outside world and darkens his slicked back blonde hair. He pulls a black duffel bag out of the passenger side seat. It is filled with clothes of the modern era. Clothes that he figures his father might wear if he wakes up sometime this decade. All the while, the youthful man struggles with his new umbrella (the damned things never seem to work) before hurling it back into the car. Stepping onto the curb, he pulls his collar a little closer to his exposed neck as he makes his way towards the stairs of the large church in downtown Los Angeles. He’s visited here often since his first arrival more than thirty years ago. Whatever it might be, something about this church just seemed to draw him and other immortals’ to it.
These visits have come to feel futile and like a waste of time. Yet at the same time it also seems like the least he can do to stay connected to his father, Kamae Caineson. Due to his frequent visits, Father Paul, the local priest, has managed to adjust to the idea of immortals, demonic and divine alike, rather well. Before he has a chance make it to the large double doors of the church, his immortal ears hear their subtle creaking informing him that someone already knew he was here. The familiar, though aged voice of Father Paul greets him casually in welcome.
“Good evening Lyle! Is everything alright? You normally drop clothes off at 8 o’clock sharp, which would make you… about an hour and a half late as of two minutes ago. That’s not like you. Not like you at all.” Ah, Father Paul, he’s been tracking the young immortal's time since he started coming here. Which he had to admit, that such regularity only illustrated his need to get out more. That thought was only half as annoying, as the fact that the priest continued to call him Lyle. He had told the good natured priest on a thousand or more occasions that his name was Lilos. Lyle was only an alias for humans to use that didn’t know about the immortal world.
Lilos replied hoping to keep the wariness out of his beleaguered tone. “Everything’s just fine Father. I just had a a harder time picking these out.” “Understandably so, I wouldn’t know what to get my father if I were in your shoes. Though, I have been meaning to ask… are you absolutely sure he’s going to come here?” Father Paul asked skeptically. “Like a moth to the flame Father, he’ll come here the very day he wakes up.” Lilos answers with a quick smile. “Your faith in that is inspiring my boy, but how will I know him, when I see him?” He inquires with a laugh, making Lilos chuckle. “Oh, I think you’ll know him pretty easily. He’s roughly 6 ft. 5 inches tall, built like a linebacker on steroids, with long, dark brown hair and eyes. His skin is pale and he has a long, thin black scar that goes over his left eye. Half dressed in Renaissance era clothing and armor, I expect he’ll stick out like a sore thumb.” “And you really think he might wake up in this particular decade?” Father Paul asks the rain soaked immortal for the thirteenth time, his smile and voice still bursting with skepticism. The same question the Priest asked every time Lilos visited the Church. Really, and here Lilos was just thinking that he was the predictable one. “You never know with these things Father. I’ve heard some Vampires can sleep away an entire millennium. So let’s just pray this isn’t the case here.”
“Of course Lyle, of course.” Father Paul says, his kind, but skeptical, smile fading quickly, as his skin pigment turns a full three shades paler at the mere mention of Vampires.

Higurro
June 4th, 2012, 11:26 PM
I'm assuming that if this is the prologue it's the very first part of the story the reader is likely to encounter. I know it's always a good idea to make the prologue something snappy and intriguing, but I feel in this case it's more bafflingly vague than snappy. I think a mood to focus on here would be the sense of strange unreality that something like David Wong's John Dies at the End engenders. With that story there is a strong element of the supernatural, contrasted against normal American lifestyles and locations, which serves to make the prose very fast-paced and edgy. There is very little telling what's coming on the next page, but the reader can rely upon it being effectively worded. In that case, the writing never gets in the way of the events and characters. It's almost the definition of a page-turner, and I mention it as a prologue should be primarily concerned with drawing the reader in.

I'm not about to question your priorities, of course, but I would suggest that rather than relying on poor formatting, punctuation and grammar to attract money for professional editors, the task of bringing those elements up to scratch should lie with you as the author. In turn this might also strengthen the confidence of potential investors in your project.

Higurro
June 5th, 2012, 03:48 PM
I thought I'd better add a bit more as I had to leave my computer before I was quite done yesterday. I feel this has the potential to be quite intriguing but I have no idea at all what kind of story this is going to be from this short section. I'm imagining some kind of supernatural thriller with lots of plot twists and situation-driven character development, but for all I know it could turn into a vampire-romance. This isn't major criticism of your project, just of the prologue bit.

Another question I have is why you decided to go for present tense. It feels cumbersome to read (and no doubt to write, judging from the way you switched to past tense halfway through). Again not a serious criticism, provided there's a good reason for it.

Please don't feel disheartened from this feedback; these are merely doubts rather than accusations. Perhaps a rewrite of the Prologue is in order, though perhaps a short synopsis of the rest of the story, plus the opening few paragraphs would help too. Quick note on formatting: usually it's best to leave spaces between paragraphs as it's a bit easier to read on the screen.

Hope this is some help to you.

CharlesAnthony
June 6th, 2012, 07:04 AM
Thanks Higurro, that does help alot actually. The prologue has been through repeated edits so far, and its still unpolished state is one of the reasons why I wanted the Createspace Editors to give it a run through. I will be making some changes in the next month, before I hand in the manuscript to the Self publishing company, and will definately take your notes into consideration!

Diogenes
June 6th, 2012, 10:23 PM
“Good evening Lyle! Is everything alright? You normally drop clothes off at 8 o’clock sharp, which would make you… about an hour and a half late as of two minutes ago. That’s not like you. Not like you at all.”

This feels a bit too forced. I'm not sure if you're using it to tell the reader specifically what time it is, or if it's just a way for Father Paul to greet Lyle. If it's the former, you may want to just nix the time comment entirely. I think "You're late, that's not like you." would work just as well.
If it's the latter, then you may just wish to leave it as such. Example:

"Good evening Lyle! Is everything alright?" asked Father Paul, looking concerned. "Yes, why do you ask?" replied Lilos, frustrated. Lilos had told him countless times, Lyle was simply to keep those ignorant of his true nature from suspicion. "You're late, that's not like you." offered Father Paul.




“Your faith in that is inspiring my boy, but how will I know him, when I see him?” He inquires with a laugh, making Lilos chuckle. “Oh, I think you’ll know him pretty easily. He’s roughly 6 ft. 5 inches tall, built like a linebacker on steroids, with long, dark brown hair and eyes. His skin is pale and he has a long, thin black scar that goes over his left eye. Half dressed in Renaissance era clothing and armor, I expect he’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

I understand that you are trying to describe a character that will appear later, but again this feels too forced. Now, I can't say what Lilos will be like seeing as how this is only a prologue, however I didn't get the vibe from him that he's THAT incredibly descriptive when speaking of others he knows. It also raises some questions to me personally that you may wish to think of as well. How does Lilos know that is what his father will look like? Do their bodies not change at all? If so, why not? Are there forces that keep them as such? Can his father change his physical appearance should he so choose to? If not, why can't he?

Obviously this is a bad AND a good thing. It definitely tells me that if I'm asking those questions there is more to the story and that I want to learn the answers to those questions. Oh the other hand it tells me I'm not entirely sure what boundaries there are in this universe, or even if there are any pertaining to this issue. Lilos knowing exactly what his father looks like makes me think he would also know exactly when he would wake up. Not to mention, if he's so confident his father will go to this church when he does wake up, how does he NOT know when his father will wake up? You know the answers to these questions, I don't. It just may be something to keep in mind when editing this.

The good news for you is I do want to read more. It appears to be an interesting story based on what little I'm given. So take some comfort in knowing that even though I have a few critiques for you, I care enough about the story to try and make it better. :)

CharlesAnthony
June 7th, 2012, 12:08 AM
Thanks Diogenes, I will definately take those edits into sincere consideration. I was actually trying to set the time so people would know when he got there. Because of an excerpt coming later. But I will try to nix it out completely. The time really isn't the important issue in the prologue, only setting up that Kamae hasbeen sleeping for a very long time. Also, what would be a better way to describe Lilos' Father? Thanks again for the Critique, your kind words mean alot after the issue with Reddit.com I've been dealing with.

CharlesAnthony
June 29th, 2012, 02:02 AM
Hey guys, I'm still working on those edits we last talked about. Haven't had a lot of time to work on it because of all the other stuff for my book I've been working on to see this through. However, You guys had mentioned about wanting to read a little farther into the book, so I decided to post the first 2 chapters. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

Chapter 1:
Into the Night

The echo of footfalls thunder through the dimly lit stairwell of the strange and unfamiliar building, his breath is even as he gracefully climbs the stairs in front of him. Light bounces off the sterile white walls. Dressed from head to toe in black armor with a red vampiric style, he also sports long dark hair tied in a loose ponytail which dances behind him as he runs.

Behind him the immortal hears two men in pursuit and their gasps for air as they exert themselves to keep up with his unnatural pace. Their hearts pounding in their chests sounds like marching drum to his ears.

Suddenly, he hears, “Stop! Federal Agents,” the younger of the two men exclaim after him.

“Junior, d’ ya really think that’s gonna stop ‘im?” he hears the older man scoff under his breath, his breathing heavy from the run.

“Well, the museum locks the door to the roof every night before closing. That should stop him. We’ll get him when he runs into the dead end.”
The immortal hears the younger man’s shouts and the excitement filling his words as though he’d already won some great victory.

He slows, coming to a brightly lit section of a corridor. At the end of the hallway, is a large green door with a sign reading “Exit.”
Concentrating on the task at hand, he feels a strong tingling sensation run through his arm, and he can hear the faint sound of the electrical current crackling off his skin. It’s been centuries since he used his powers, but it all comes back to him like it was only yesterday. The summoned bolt of lightning passes from his fist to the green door which has barred his escape, connecting the well timed punch mid-stride. He watches in silence, as the shredded pieces of metal door collide with the rooftop outside, like shrapnel from a grenade. The echoing of the thunderclap would be too deafening for mortals to hear anything more than the disorienting ringing in their weak and fragile ears.
As they fire their weapons at him, he hears the two men behind him curse in frustration and anger at this turn in events. He winces as one of the bullets grazes his arm, ricocheting off the metal doorway and into the stormy night air. The shock sends sparks into his line of sight. All the while, he keeps his eyes trained on the wet rooftop outside and the rain pouring down onto the city as far as his immortal eyes could see. On the rooftop, he glances at the edge of the building and judges the distance looking from this rooftop, to the next.

“I would imagine they should be able jump across that,” he concludes to himself in an inaudible mumble. His footfalls maintain their speed as he continues to evade the two mortals behind him. With effortless and inhuman grace, he leaps from the ledge of the wall. Hurtling himself over the gap between the two buildings and onto the next rooftop. He lands with ease on his outstretched leg, continuing his run as though he had never made the impossible leap.

“Jesus! What in the hell are we dealing with here?! He blew that door off its hinges like it was made out of rice paper, and then he jumped that gap like it was a crack in the road! How is he doing that?!” The younger man shouted behind him.

“He jumped Junior, and it’s our job to follow ‘im. So grab yer running shoes, we gotta pretend like we’re on the track and field team of the Bureau.” The older man replied gruffly.

The immortal’s steps slowed as he puts some distance between himself and his pursuers. He wanted them to follow him. Their style of dress was unfamiliar to him, but at the same time he was sure he looked strange to them as well. Truly, fashion had changed a great deal since the Elizabethan era. Without a second thought, he continued forward, as a bolt of lightning cracked in the distance, illuminating his form for a fraction of a second, before taking the last leap to a rooftop alongside a major city street.

He landed with ease. Taking in this last rooftop, he moved quickly to the edge of the building. Looking onto the rain sodden street below and then across to the next building, he noticed it’s roof lined up farther into the air than the building he currently stood on. Even if he could jump to the next rooftop in his current condition, his mortal pursuers could not, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to fly. The problem with being human, so limited in their potential and so very… breakable…a truly painful, if not pitiful, existence indeed.

So this would have to be where he stopped to get some answers. He had so many questions. Why were the humans shooting at him? And why were they so intent on capturing a vampire instead of killing it?

Looking over the ledge of the building, he located the perfect spot to interrogate his would be captors. In the distance, he can hear the younger man say, “there’s a street up ahead, he shouldn’t be able to jump past that. One way or another, he’s ours.” The previous sense of victory wiped clean from his tone.

He heard the older man reply in the same gruff tone from before. “Don’t get too far ahead of yerself kid, this Vampire ain’t your typical specimen of the breed. Like I told you earlier, he’s a born son of the house of Caine, not turned. He might still surprise us.”
Their voices grew closer, as the incessant banter back and forth gnawed on his already thin patience. He’d wait until the mortals got onto the rooftop with him. Listening to the sounds of their footsteps on the wet roof, the clumsy feet splashing through puddles and the pounding of their heartbeats was all he needed to know exactly where they were. They were finally here.

As he continued to examine the brick archways just below him, he took a deep breath, stepped onto the ledge and turned to face the two men who had finally come to a stop in front of him. With guns pointed at his head and shaking in the rain, the younger man yelled, “Alright, all out of space to run Fang-face!”

“I told you not to get ahead of yourself kid. We haven’t caught the beast yet, just cornered him.” The older agent replied.
The immortal raised his brow to observe the two pursuers. He noted the older man’s tan coat, matching pants and what appeared to be rather unusual black shoes. His younger companion was wearing an even longer black coat that reached down to his ankles, matching pants and the same unusual shoes. Taking a moment to ponder, he wondered what the clothes meant, When he decided to sleep, what he wore was a sign of his power. Nobles always wore more expensive clothes than those born to serve, but as it often does, times do change.

“Time to get down from the ledge, Blood-sucker, you are hereby under arrest by the Bureau of Super Natural Authority for three separate section violations of the Shadowpact.” The younger man yelled to him, his hands shivering in the cold. He would have thought the boy was crying as well by the way the rain was pouring over his face, but he couldn’t smell the salt from the tears.

“Under… arrest? Truly, you must be joking… Are you trying to tell me, that you are going to take me into custody?” He replied coldly to the shaking young man.

“Afraid we’re gonna hafta sir, part of the job and all… you understand.” The older man replied with a slight triumphant smirk on his face.
“I see… yes, well, as I’m sure you’ll understand, you still have to catch me,” he says, falling off the ledge of the rooftop backwards. His hands outstretched like wings, flipping end over end and floating quickly into the archway below. He sets his feet securely onto the brick of the building, hiding himself completely from sight.

He heard the two agents begin to utter modern obscenities. He looked at the archway again, as an idea formed in his mind. This would strain his powers a bit in his current condition, but he couldn’t deny himself the artful and frightening nature of his plan. Listening to the older man talk to someone he couldn’t hear, he stepped onto the side of the archway, walking upward until he was standing up perfectly under the center of the arch.

A bright light flashed over the side of the building, he heard a series of high pitched tones, followed by the older man yelling at a person whose voice he couldn’t clearly make out. He glanced up the side of the building, for a moment, seeing the fingertips of the younger man’s hand.
“No… We are not gonna look ova tha edge of tha building! Kamae might be waitin’ for that! You keep shining that light along tha wall down there and tell us where he is!” He heard the older man shout angrily.

“They must have some way of communicating with men on the street…” he concludes, glancing up the building again. This time he sees the younger agent leaning as far over the edge as he dares, trying to see where the immortal might have gone.
“Vaughn! Don’t lean off the…” The older agent shouts, gaining the attention of the young man.

A human error, and a critical one. He grabs the young man, Vaughn, by the multi-colored tie and white shirt and tears him from the top of the building and stopping mid fall.

“Oh god!!!” Vaughn shouts, His hands wrapped tightly around the immortal’s arm who had his shirt and tie bunched within his gauntleted fist. Far below, the man’s heard his gun bounce off the pavement.

“Dear god, please, please don’t let him drop me! Please god, don’t let me fall!” Vaughn begs, tightly gripping his arm. Kamae felt the urge to laugh, a forgotten sensation, but quickly urges it back. He didn’t want his captive to have heart failure before he could question him.
He pulled the young man closer to him, so the two are almost face-to-face. “Listen closely child, for I will only say this once… There is not a god on this plane, or the next, that will save you from me. So I recommend you answer all of my questions, and if I am satisfied, you live. If not?” Kamae explained looking to the street below. “Well I’m sure you can see, that is an awful… long way down.” He says threateningly to the frightened agent, making sure to twist his face into a monstrous sneer and baring his fangs as he spoke.

“Oh Jesus! Alright, alright! Whatever you want! Just don’t drop me! Please!!” Vaughn begs him, and Kamae knows, if this young man wasn’t crying before, he certainly was now.

“Good, I’m glad we understand one another. Now, give me your coat.”

“But, but it’s raining!!” Vaughn stammers in response.

“Exactly, think of me like an old distressed cat, I hate getting wet. Coat, now.” He says coldly, punctuating the last word with as much ire as he could muster.

Vaughn quickly strips off the long black coat, and tries his best to hand it over to the immortal holding him captive. He made no sign of reaching for the coat, so the young Agent Vaughn threw it onto the ledge just below the immortal’s head.
“Very good little one. Now, why are the two of you chasing me?” He inquired, the monotonous tone of his voice echoed the emotionlessness of his words.

“We, we told you! You are in violation of…” Vaughn stammers, shivering violently in the cold and rain as another thunderclap meets their ears.

“Yes, yes… ‘The Shadowpact.’ You said that already, why exactly are you chasing me? Or do I have to drop you? Your elderly friend up there is just as easy a target as you are for my questions.” He replies, shaking the frightened Agent, slightly tearing his shirt.

“Oh god! Don’t drop me! I’m cooperating!!” The young man says, getting a tighter grip on his arm.

“Then answer the question, boy… What laws could I have broken, when I have only just awoken from a long arduous slumber?” He lets the growl in his throat shake through the man, who turns white with fear, as all the blood rushed out of his face. A scare tactic often used by his kind, with an alarmingly high success rate. Humans… such an easy species to manipulate, it was hard for Kamae to believe they could have ever been a thorn in the side of the immortals. To think that he had once thought he was one, was a thought that troubled him regularly throughout the centuries.

“You were seen by a civilian, in a public forum coming out of a coffin. In addition to destroying public property within a museum and running from federal agents. All of which are infractions against the Shadowpact.” Agent Vaughn says, his teeth beginning to chatter from the cold and his fear.

“I see, but there is more isn’t there?” He says more calmly than before, looking at the side of the man’s face, who was looking at the street far below, and muttering prayers to his god.

“Our commander informed us that you were sealed away for slaughtering countless mortals to sate your endless thirst by hunters under orders from the Catholic Priesthood.” Vaughn replied calmly.

The sound of the angelic voice coming from his captor, soothed him like an answer to his prayers. “Interesting… this raises a few other questions then, exactly where did your Commander get that information, and how exactly did you get my coffin out of my castle?” He replied coldly, giving him a good shake. All the while, his cold and icy stare bore into the young agent, as though Kamae were staring through him. It would require fear to get this information and to keep his fragile, and mortal, mind off balance.

“Oh God! I don‘t know! I’m new! I shouldn’t know anything about you at all! My partner was the one who told me how you got sealed away.” The young man stammered, snapping out of his previous trance.

“You neglected to answer one of my questions child. What about having my coffin, with me in it, in that strange building?” Kamae inquired again, letting his fury ripple through the terrified Agent Vaughn like a stone thrown into a shallow pond.

“Some scientists were excavating an old castle in Ireland!! They found you in the only room not buried under all that rubble!! They also found a sword, which we can’t remove from the scabbard, and armor matching what you‘re wearing now!” Vaughn responded, shivering and holding onto the immortal’s arm for his life. While resigning himself to the fact that Kamae held his life literally in the palm of his hand.

“And where, pray tell might I find my sword and armor now?” He said at the irritated and thirsty beast inside him, to keep it at bay.

“The sword and armor were transferred to a deeper inventory storage area, three years ago from the holding tank they were in at the Bureau. Now please! I don’t know anymore!! Please let me go!” Agent Vaughn pleaded, his hope bleeding into his voice. Smiling, the immortal leaned forward, baring his fangs in the faint light of the street lamps below, the rain flowing over his face.

“Let you go? Are you sure little one? As we discussed before, that is an awful long way down.” His voice has calmed and a glimmer of humor echoes into his words, though his face betrayed nothing of his thoughts and feelings. Enjoying the young man’s fright far more than he knew he should.

“No!! Please don’t drop me!! Just let me go free!! Please!” Vaughn stammer again, tears flowing freely from his eyes now. The immortal tilts his head back with a condescending stare, leaning back into the darkness.

“Then I can only recommend one thing boy…” He says darkly washing all other emotion from his voice again.

“W.. w…Wha.. What?” Vaughn stammer, gripping the gauntlet more carefully, trying to reach for the edge of the archway with his foot.

“Tuck and roll,” He replied coldly, lowering his arm for a moment, the agent shrieking in fear, as his immortal captor hurls him upward. The wind picks up right at the perfect moment to blow him onto the roof. The young man lands on the rooftop again in front of the older man.

Kamae listened for a moment. He could hear the footsteps of the older man moving over to Agent Vaughn. The young agent’s heart pounding in his chest, and he thinks for a moment that he might have scared him a little too much.

“Vaughn! What did you tell him? Vaughn! Stop stammerin’ boy! Patrick! Patrick Vaughn, you tell me what you told the leech or so help me...” The older man stops short, as the sound of someone falling over reaches his ears, and then he hears the young Patrick Vaughn.

“Shut up Cahill! I didn’t join the Bureau to be hung off the side of a building!! You and the damned Bureau can go to hell!”

“Vaughn! You can’t just walk away from the Bureau!” Agent Cahill replied, his voice is low, grunting. He must have been the one who fell. He heard Vaughn begin to storm off the rooftop a moment later.

“No Cahill, I’m not walking away, I’m running. I never should have joined this damned outfit, or gone after the monster that took my Margarette from me!” He hears Vaughn exclaim, just before a metal door opens and slams shut.

“Dammit Vaughn… Great time to lose it, ya snot nosed punk…” Cahill mumbled to himself.

He hears another series of high pitched beeps, then the sounds of ‘Cahill’ getting to his feet, remaining silent for a few moments before speaking again.

“Lt. O’Hara? It’s Agent Cahill. Yes Ma’am, Agent Vaughn just went AWOL. He just took the stairs down. Shall I have the men pick him up? …No, we believe the Vampire is still on the side of the building. His name? We believe that the bloodsucker in question is ‘Kamae the Forgotten One.’” He heard the old man mention his name again, and his old title. It’s been a long time since he’d heard anyone refer to him by that name, even if it was said with disgust. “But protocol says… Yes Ma’am, understood. We will pursue the leech in question.”

“The Forgotten One, hmm, they have done their research, it seems…” He mutter to himself, picking up the coat Vaughn threw onto the ledge, and walk back onto the flat surface of the archway so he could stand right side up. He examines the coat before putting it on, Vaughn apparently takes good care of his wardrobe, his coat is immaculate. He decides he will have to give this back to him someday. Assuming of course the young Agent Vaughn has a someday.

He looks down to the street, seeing the one called Vaughn run out of the building onto the sidewalk, his head darts over to look at the van, and other men dressed in the same type of uniform begin to follow him before stopping and returning to their vehicle. Kamae watches for another moment, as the humans below move the light closer to where he stands. Not taking the chance they would see him, he forces himself out of the archway, launching himself over to the street far below. His body feels lighter to him for a moment, as he glides towards the ground effortlessly. Setting his feet on the pavement, he pulls his hair back behind his shoulders and re-wraps it with a small leather string so it falls into a neat ponytail down his back.

Turning, he can see the large white van that Vaughn had been so paranoid of. To Kamae, it appears to be nothing more than a strange looking carriage. The men he saw before sit in the front seat, he can hear them arguing but the sounds are muffled even for his ears. It was time to figure out just how much had changed, and perhaps find a way to sustain his hunger without hurting any innocent bystanders in the process.














Chapter 2:
Confessions of a Just Man

Kamae pulled the long coat around his centuries old clothing as he walk along the street at a hurried pace. The area he walks through seems to be some sort of marketplace. Signs on the buildings indicated jewelry stores, pawnshops, and one store farther up the road, which had a sign he couldn’t make out from where he was. Its display window was brightly lit. As he moved into sight of the display, the sounds of a woman talking from inside caught his attention.

The sight before him was immediately disorienting and confusing. In front of him, were several boxes with moving pictures, each stacked in neat little rows and… talking? The signs indicated the boxes were called ‘Televisions’ and the price of each individual set. Kamae read one of the signs which said, “Like new! High Definition compatible! Only $60.00!!!”

He glanced at the sign with a raised brow, and then looked at the screens themselves. An Asian woman dressed in expensive clothing is on all the screens.

“By the Gods… what is this?” He mutters to himself, shocked by this sight of technological advancement.

“Oh! Someone broke into the Museum not too long ago!” A small elderly woman, dressed from head to toe in rags, replied, startling him. He gave her a puzzled look, analyzing her dirty and worn attire, concluding this poor woman must be homeless, before glancing back at the TV screens. It was odd to him that he hadn‘t even realized she was there.

“As we reported earlier, a Caucasian male, in his early twenties, broke into the museum earlier this evening. Federal Authorities won’t release much of the details, but they say if you see this man you are to call your local authorities, as he is considered to be armed and dangerous.” The woman on the TV says in a pleasant but monotone voice as a black and white image of him running up a flight of stairs flashed on the screen.
“How?” He asked, the alarm in his voice causing his tone to shake slightly.

“Oh you think that’s bad? Apparently he beat the security guard to death before trying to escape. Whoever he is, I hope I don’t run into him. Streets are hard enough, don’t you think young man?” The old woman replied, looking at him with a worn, but kind face.

“Yes… yes of course Miss. I do not think I’d want to run into him anytime soon.” He said to her calmly, still focused on the screens thinking silently to himself. “But I didn’t beat anyone to death.”

He considers that thought, even in his condition it wouldn’t have been much of a beating. A solid hit would be enough to kill any mortal; they’re just so fragile.

“Well, you better get yourself home young man. This storm is the worst I’ve seen in a long time. It's enough to cause even the strongest of men to catch his death out here.” The old woman said to him, her stare seeming to burn a hole right through him. If only she knew that he should be calling her the young one.

“Of course Miss, you should do the same.” He replied to her kindly.

“Oh, don’t you worry young man, I will. Be seeing you soon!” She says, gripping her shopping cart and slowly pushing it down the rain sodden street. He waved his hand behind her, warming her tattered clothes, while drying some of them at the same time.

He watched as she turns down an alley, pulling her coat closer to her. No doubt she noticed the newfound warmth within them. He thought about this action for a moment, it had been a long time since he did something kind for an old woman. Strange that he would realize it now, given the current circumstances. Turning his head, he sees another street. He’d already been walking for hours, but for someone as old as himself, hours were more like minutes, or seconds.

At the far end of the street, he could see the frame of an old church. It was distant, a few miles perhaps, but it wouldn’t take him long to walk there. The streetlights before him were evidently of older design. They still had the faint smell of ionized air and electricity, but they didn’t sit over the street. They instead were placed directly over the paved path on either side. It was almost like they were leading him to the church, like beacons lighting a path.

He turned his head to look behind him, thinking again to the old woman and the mysterious televisions, which claimed he had killed someone. It occurred to him suddenly, that one of the two men who had been chasing him earlier must have killed the elderly man. These humans must be spreading the information that he was the killer in order to cause a public panic, that way the people who saw his face on the ‘television’ would be looking for him. The old woman didn’t appear to recognize him, but she was older, and he was almost certain she couldn’t really see his face. She did, however say something rather strange; she would ‘see him soon.’

Kamae looked back toward the church and quicken his pace. He had to assume that the old woman was turning him in to city officials right now, the only place he knew which granted sanctuary was the church. Though, so much had visibly changed during his slumber, even that couldn’t be certain anymore. The lightning cracks again nearby, thunder echoing through the street. His feet fall soundlessly on the pavement, his hair flowing in the wind of the storm, whipping around his body, as he ran down the road. At his strongest, he would have been at the church already, but it seemed two hundred years of slumber left him weak, and out of shape.

It took him several minutes, but his feet finally came to a stop across the street from the church. His eyes took in the sight, reminding him of a church he’d seen when he was still very young. “How long ago was that,” he pondered quietly to himself. Kamae willed himself forward, setting one foot onto the street, taking note of the white van parked by the sidewalk to his right. The agents following him must have beaten him here, he concluded. But how did they know he’d come here? Moving faster now, he ran up the stairs of the church to the large wooden double doors, a small bead of sweat trickling from his forehead. His eyes focus on the twin golden crosses adorning the doors.

With a swift, yet effortless motion, he swung open one of the heavy two doors, vanishing from sight in the shadows of the church. Inside, he immediately spotted three people in the pews, quickly recognizing the one called Cahill. He had been correct in his original assumption then, his pursuers had won the race for this religious sanctuary.

Kamae continued on his set path, turning to his left around the pews, walking directly to the confessional in the middle of the church. He paused in front of the small door, taking a moment to turn and look behind him, examining the church. A young woman, who he hadn’t seen until now, had joined the group pursuing him. The woman made eye contact with him for a moment, the hint of fear glazing over her expression as she turned her head to the face the church altar. Moving her hands quickly to her mouth in what appeared to be an attempt at prayer. This woman knew him, and she was scared, that much was clear. The only question now, was why was she so frightened?

Lowering his head, Kamae took a seat inside the confessional, closing the door behind him. It seemed to him like the moments were dragging on within these holy walls. Placing his hands on his legs, he leaned against the back of the confessional. Hallowed ground had always made him uncomfortable. Even now, so long after he had accidentally found out that objects of holy stature no longer seared his skin.
He could hear the door on the other side of the confessional open, the hinges giving a slight squeak, and then closings with a dull ‘thunk.’ The sounds of the priest rustling on the other side of the wall, before opening the adjoining window told Kamae a great deal about his personality. This was a man secure in his beliefs and actions, like he knew some unseen truth that the rest of the world wasn’t ready to know. Kamae noted a methodical element to the Priest’s movements. Every action leading to the next, informed him that the priest had been doing this for some time, so long in fact, that all of the human’s actions were cast in stone.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” He said quietly, beginning his confession.

“Tell me child, when was your last confession?” The priest replied, in a solemn tone.

He thinks for a moment, adding up the time in his head. Exactly how long had it been? He wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been asleep. Things had changed so much, and in his experience it took a long time for civilization to evolve so much.

“My sincerest apologies Father, but… I’m afraid I don’t really know.” He stated still trying to estimate how long his sleep had lasted.
“I‘m sorry my child, but that is a puzzling problem. About how long do you think it‘s been?” The Priest inquired, obviously confused at Kamae’s inability to remember when his last visit to confessional was.

“If I had to guess Father, it would be more than six hundred years.” He told the priest gravely.

The other side of the confessional was silent for a moment. He could smell the sweat running off the priest’s forehead. Apparently Kamae said something that struck a cord. He waited for several minutes, listening to the sounds from outside the confessional. The three people pursuing him were whispering, and he could tell by the sounds of their voices that they were no longer seated.

“Father, we need to hurry. There are currently three people in the church who wish to detain me, for infractions against a treaty I have never heard of.”

“Of course… child, please, continue…” The Priest implored of him, suddenly developing a problem with the word ‘child.’
He sighs heavily, thinking back.

“My name, Father, is Kamae Michael Caineson, and since my last confessional, I have been the cause for the deaths of many. I‘ve been powerless in the past to save the ones I loved, as I have been powerless to stop myself, from destroying so many countless lives. It seems in my haste… I have only served to make matters far worse…” Kamae said rambling to the audibly stunned Priest.

“Why do you say that, child?” The priest replies, trying to remain calm and contain the obvious tremble in his voice.

“I have been in a deep slumber since the late 17th century, which I took to keep from adding to my sins. However, it seems I was wrong in doing so. My enemy, a great demon, still walks this Earth…” Kamae begins to say, but the Priest cuts him off.

“You’re Lyle’s father, God in Heaven… You’re awake…” He heard the Priest say, trailing into an inaudible mumble; even for immortal ears.
“Father, you have to speak up. I’m afraid I am currently having trouble following what it is you are saying…” Kamae inquired, stunned by the man‘s sudden rambling.

“Like you said Kamae, we don’t have much in the way of time. I need you to follow me. I have some things your son left for you. Can you get past the Agents?” the Priest said in a hurried tone.

“Agents? You are referring to my pursuers? That shouldn’t be much of a problem.” He replied, placing a hand on the confessional door. Closing his eyes, he focused on each of the three agents individually. A single bead of sweat runs down the side of his face and each of the three agents froze in place, their breath becomes even, and relaxed, followed quickly by the Priest quickly stepping out of the confessional doors, staring dumbfounded at the three agents.

“My Lord in Heaven… what on Earth did you do to them?” The Priest asks in a near whisper. Kamae slowly opens his confessional door, and methodically steps into view.

“In a manner of speaking, I hypnotized them. However, this little trick of the mind will not last long, we must hurry Father…” He replied waiting for the Priest to give him his name.

“Paul, Father Paul, A trusted confidante of your children and humble Parishioner. Now please, we have to move quickly, this way!” Father Paul says hurrying through a doorway in the back.

Kamae follows the suddenly crazed Priest, looking back to the three agents. He shook his head for a moment, while he made his way behind Father Paul to a small office. Unsure of whether or not he should pity the humans in the Church for their weakness.
His eyes take in the small room that Father Paul has led him too. Across from him is a large wooden cross, with a bronze impression of the crucifixion on it. Below that is a small bed adorned with plain white bed linens, and a small white pillow. Father Paul stood in front of a small dresser, pulling a large duffel bag out of a hiding place built into the side. Kamae watched as Father Paul sets the bag on the bed, opened it, and set out a sleeveless black shirt, a pair of black jeans, and a pair of freshly polished black steel toed military boots. The clothing was similar to things he’d worn before his slumber, but foreign in their own way as well.

“What is all this Father?” Kamae inquires in a low bewildered tone.

“These are the clothes your son Lyle, left for you earlier this evening. He said that he had some trouble picking them out for you this time.” Father Paul replied, chuckling to himself.

“My son… brought these?” Kamae asked skeptically, as Father Paul pulled out a small black cell phone. Slowly flipping the device open, preparing to make a phone call.

“Indeed he did, just a few hours ago in fact. Give me just a moment Kamae. I need to make a call.” The Priest says to him in response, dialing Lilos’ number into the phone.

Kamae raised a brow, hearing the familiar beeping sound from earlier coming from the Priest’s phone. Having put on the new clothes, Kamae grabbed the coat he took earlier in the evening from Agent Vaughn and silently disappeared out the door. Faintly he could hear Father Paul talk to someone on the phone.

Kamae shook his head walking past the three agents, setting his out of date clothing and armor into the seat of the confessional booth, hiding it from view beneath the upholstered cushioning. Feeling rather foolish to have fallen for such an obvious trick, he stepped out past the pews, listening to Father Paul for a moment.

“Yes, Lyle? It’s Father Paul. He’s awake, and he’s come here just like you said he would…” he hears Father Paul say into the phone. “Yes, I’m sure he’s here! He’s right in… ”

Kamae lets out a low growl of outrage, turning his back on the Church pews and bursting through the double doors into the stormy streets outside.

“Uh… Lyle? You have a problem.” Father Paul says looking around the now empty room.

VioletS16
June 29th, 2012, 04:08 AM
I would love to read this, but I really can't read a big wall of text. It is very daunting indeed. Try breaking it up into paragraphs =) It'll make it a lot easier on the eyes!

CharlesAnthony
June 29th, 2012, 04:51 AM
There you go Violet!