The Bewitching - Book 1

Chapter 1 - The Beginning

Throughout history there have been many battles. Lives have been lost, blood shed, all in the name of power and greed. It was a petty war, a battle among the seemingly innocent. It was a war for those who didn’t know they were pawns for something larger, something more unimaginable and menacing. They died building cities, monuments for those who controlled them, without a second thought. They knew nothing of how things really worked. They knew nothing of the true power behind the scenes, those who were their masters, those of the invisible hand. The innocents were their puppets and they relished the fact that it was so easy to manipulate them to do their bidding.

History often repeated itself. In the end evil was always defeated. Mankind was always given another chance. But over time the protectors grew weary. Their numbers dwindled, and they began to give up hope. Seeing the foolishness of mankind, some began to change sides. The wars had been too much for them. They had seen too much bloodshed, lost too many friends. They began to see mankind as no better than the very evil that they fought. With each passing century the grip of evil had become stronger and more cunning. The so-called innocent ones became more divided, and the forces of good less stable. Sometimes the lines blurred so greatly that it was difficult to tell which side was which. Sometimes there were those who fell between the lines...

These thoughts flowed through his mind as he watched the battle before him. He looked down at the puddle of blood he now stood in, his boots drenched in a dark red. He could hear the whispers around him as prayers escaped from dying lips. The stench of rotting flesh filled the air from days of fighting that never seemed to stop. Those that hung to their last strands of life reached out to him calling for help, asking for mercy.

But mercy was no longer something to be found in his heart. Mercy was for those with a conscience, those who reasoned for the greater good. If they chose to follow their “leaders” blindly and without question, he reasoned that they deserved the fate that came upon them. How could he show mercy for those who themselves chose to be here. It was their choice, not his, that lead them to this point in time. He was merely an observer of their ignorance.

Thousands of men had died within minutes. More fell with each passing second. He found he no longer cared. He hadn’t for a long time. It wasn’t his place to. 

“Innocent indeed...,” he thought as he walked through the ravaged pile of bodies before him, easily avoiding the swords whose only mission was to take his life and the lives of those around him. It was as if he was there, yet wasn’t. No one seemed to notice. Their animalistic nature, the very basis of human nature needed for survival, had taken over. All they could see was blood as they lashed out savagely at anything and everything that moved. They were like a pack of wild animals. Their actions only furthered his belief that he was justified in his actions, or lack thereof as the case may be.

He scanned the faces of those around him. It was easy for him to tell the demons from the men. The savageness alone in how they fought, the joy they found in causing pain, was enough to tell there was something different about them. They inhaled death like a sweet nectar to be enjoyed.

For those who possessed power like himself though he saw more than he wanted. Their faces were twisted representations of regular men, often distorted and shifting in excruciating ways. Their eyes bulged from their sockets with a deep black emptiness of hate. Their grins of joy were more like viscous, toothy snarls as the skin stretched taut across their faces. If normal men could see them as he did, surely they would go mad within moments of such a sight.

Something puzzled him though as he walked through the battlefield. The demons, those who would usually go after those of his kind first, merely glanced at him and paid him little heed otherwise. Usually upon the fields of battle his kind were the one’s often targeted first by them, leaving the normal men to fight among themselves. Why did they now ignore him? Some appeared to even be grinning at him through their twisted faces as if they were waiting for him to join them in the chaos they had created. Had he finally crossed that line?