The first in the Price of Vengeance series.
Oliver had it all. A brother who saw him as his hero, a caring uncle, the love of his life Charlotte, a successful racing career (even if it was of the illegal street-racing variety) and not a care in the...
This place has been left untouched for years. The brickwork is riddled with cracks and damp, the walls hiding secrets that nobody cares to explore. Along the walls, strange markings are inscribed into the mortar.
LEAVE
DO NOT FOLLOW
DEATH AWAITS THOSE WHO ENTER
Or this is what they would read were they translated from the tongue in which they were first written.
The tunnels lead deep down, past rows and rows of the deceased. If one searches far enough, the crypt opens up into a vast chamber, arches stretching far above and a single plinth remains in the centre. On this plinth lies a body of immense importance, long forgotten to time, but soon to be remembered.
This is where it has made its home, hidden in darkness, surrounded by the dead. It has lain dormant for a long, long time, but finally, something causes it to stir. A low grumble can be heard from its parched throat, one that has not been nourished since it first crawled into this hole as the body on the plinth awakens. It uncurls, stretching out to its full height. The human (or what is left of it) looks around, remembering its surroundings. It senses the presence. The presence of its former master. He has been here recently, finally daring to show his face once more. However, it knows he has left again, leaving behind one of his servants. A servant it knows all too well. Its gaunt face stretches even tighter as a pained smile appears. It knows what it must do. It must rise once more. It must find this old acquaintance, and crush it, once and for all.
It looks down at its body, dressed in the dirty white robe which now hangs off its skeletal form. The vessel must be restored before facing the might of its intended opponent. Looking like this will never do. It clenches its fists, feeling what is left of its power coursing through it.
As it opens its mouth, age-old dust falls through the gaps in its teeth and is evicted from its neglected airways. It takes its first, burning breath, feeling the organs come back to life once more as oxygen is finally fed to them.The bones click and crack as they fit back into place, muscles tired from atrophy slowly gaining their power again. It repeats this process over and over again, repairing the starving tissue, waiting for the vessel to start functioning once more.
It is done. The gaunt appearance has vanished. Instead, a muscle-bound man stands there, the facial features concealed by the shadows it chose to hide in. The robe now fits perfectly, however, this disguise is no longer needed, for it is dead no more. It reaches up with one hand and tears the cloth from its body. The creature stands there, feeling the air on its bare skin. A sensation it has not experienced for centuries, and not significantly missed either.
But this it did miss. The burning which has finally ignited inside of it. The power fully restored. It opens its palm upwards, watching with glowing, navy eyes as a small, blue flame sparks in its hand. A maniacal grin grows, as the guttural growling is replaced with a harsh, psychotic laugh. It echoes around the chamber, passing down the corridors, up the many stairwells, to the door of the crypt itself and escaping into the cold night sky...
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