Death Has No Dominion

Death Has No Dominion

Status: In Progress

Genre: Thrillers

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Thrillers

Summary

Hand to sword he serves his king. Brothers in blood and conquest they bend and shape the world to their collective will. From the ashes of a brutal civil war they built an empire, and their hand-picked tyrants, rule without mercy or pity. A kingdom with no borders, it exists within every continent, country, and city across the globe. Hand to sword he stands with his king. Once defenders and protectors, their disillusionment became disdain then hate. They embraced the predator and declared humanity a means to end, chattel to do with as they wish. At war with their ancient enemy they are unaware of the threat that lurks in the shadows. Loyal to the light, their brethren rose from the ashes and swore to defend humanity from the Thirty Tyrants and their world order. A rebellion, pitting evil against evil has raged for over two hundred years. On one fateful night three people are drawn into this world, one from the top, the other from the bottom, and the third as a means to an end. A soldier, a thief, and a librarian set on their paths to a collision with the Thirty Tyrants, their Hand, and his King.

Summary

Hand to sword he serves his king. Brothers in blood and conquest they bend and shape the world to their collective will. From the ashes of a brutal civil war they built an empire, and their hand-picked tyrants, rule without mercy or pity. A kingdom with no borders, it exists within every continent, country, and city across the globe.
Hand to sword he stands with his king. Once defenders and protectors, their disillusionment became disdain then hate. They embraced the predator and declared humanity a means to end, chattel to do with as they wish.
At war with their ancient enemy they are unaware of the threat that lurks in the shadows. Loyal to the light, their brethren rose from the ashes and swore to defend humanity from the Thirty Tyrants and their world order. A rebellion, pitting evil against evil has raged for over two hundred years.
On one fateful night three people are drawn into this world, one from the top, the other from the bottom, and the third as a means to an end. A soldier, a thief, and a librarian set on their paths to a collision with the Thirty Tyrants, their Hand, and his King.

Chapter14 (v.1) - Chapter Fourteen

Author Chapter Note

“There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell.”<br /> Edgar Allan Poe<br /> "The way you see people is the way you treat them, and the way you treat them is what they become."<br /> Johann Wolfgang Goethe<br /> <br />

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: February 03, 2017

Reads: 263

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: February 03, 2017

A A A

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It hadn’t taken more than a couple minutes to find him. The internet was a wonderful thing. Pulling into the parking lot across the street he watched. Paul’s breathing was getting more rapid, and his palms felt slick. Then he saw him, and all the air was suddenly gone. The fear and anguish of his childhood came roaring to the surface, memories so clear, it made his head swim.

His father. He couldn’t remember a time when the man wasn’t drinking and treating his family like punching bags. He went after Paul the most, and when his mother or sister tried to protect him, he would turn on them, and he wouldn’t stop until they were bawling and barely able to move. Paul hated him.

He waited patiently while his father sat behind the counter and read magazines for the next few hours. He found it funny that the man who loved to lord the power of his badge over family and strangers alike, was now reduced to working as a cashier at a gas station. The large, burly beast he remembered, had been replaced by a stout, sallow skinned, balding man with watery eyes. It was going to be even easier than he anticipated.

When his shift ended, his father drove off in an old brown pick-up truck. Paul followed discreetly, thrilled when he pulled up next to a ramshackle white house. Located at the end of a long dirt road, it was surrounded on all sides by trees and fields.

Good. No one will hear your screams.

His father got out of the truck and walked into the house through a back door. Paul waited for about ten minutes, then got out of the car and silently moved through the trees, avoiding the trash that littered the yard. Through a filthy window, he saw his father sitting in an old green recliner, feet out in front of him, watching TV. The inside of the house didn’t look a whole lot better than the outside. He sniffed the air for others, but his father was alone. No surprise there. Easing himself along the house, he opened the back door and walked into the kitchen. Curling his lip in disgust, he picked his way through the mess, and hesitated a split second before stepping into view.

His father stared at the TV oblivious. All of a sudden he jumped up swearing, spilling beer all over himself. “What the hell are you doing in my house?” he demanded.

Paul was silent, feeling the anger build as every slap, punch, kick, and shove, came back to him with perfect clarity. 

“Pauley?” his father said tentatively.

His eyes drained of color and he smiled. “Congratulations Dad. It only took you a minute to recognize your own son. Who says alcohol affects the brain?”

“What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“My eyes?” Paul asked innocently. “Nothing. They see everything perfectly, and I mean everything.”

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Want Dad?” he asked stepping closer. “I want you to hurt.”

His father backed up scared, and he moved, nailing him hard with a right hook. Grabbing his shirt before he could fall, Paul punched him in the jaw. When his head snapped back Paul felt a surge of satisfaction. His father tried to pry his hand loose but it only made Paul laugh. He punched him in the stomach, and as his father fell to the ground, Paul kicked him in the face.

“For years I would have given anything for you to be an actual father to me,” he growled. “Just one kind word. One! But you couldn’t even give me that.”

Paul dragged him to his feet and swung again, sending him flying into the wall. “Chink!” he yelled. “Slope head! Half breed! Your own children. You miserable piece of shit!”

Paul picked him up and threw him across the room, knocking over the television and shattering glass. Pulling him up by the front of his shirt, Paul pressed him against the wall. “How many times did you beat me to within an inch of my life? How many? You were supposed to protect me you fucking bastard. And your daughter!” Paul pulled him away from the wall, then slammed him into it, sending spider webs up the whole side of the house, the wood groaning under the pressure. “You destroyed her. My sister who loved me and tried to shield me from you!”

Paul lost it completely and broke his arm, relishing the man’s agony. “Please,” his father whispered, “No more Pauley.”

“Beg some more Dad. I wonder, how many times did Olivia beg you to stop?” Letting him slide down the wall, Paul crouched down, and slammed his head back, looking him in the eye. “Well?” he hissed. “How many?”

His father’s eyes were wide, he was going into shock. Paul jerked him close and whispered, “Enjoy your time in hell motherfucker.”

Driving his teeth into his neck, Paul pulled hard. All of his fangs were boring into the man’s flesh to make it as excruciating as possible. When his heart stopped, Paul pulled the last little bit of blood from his body and dropped him. Standing over his father’s corpse he felt exhilarated, he felt powerful. Finally he understood the rush of the kill. His father deserved what he got. He could have done so much worse and it still wouldn’t have come close to what the bastard truly had coming. There were others who deserved to die as much as his father, others whom he needn’t feel any remorse over killing. That was a compromise he could make, a compromise he could live with live. He didn’t know why he’d been fighting it. This was what he was now. A killer.

 

 


© Copyright 2018 Lucinda Paige. All rights reserved.

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