Black Sun Academy: Vampire Hunter Book 3
Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Taking in his surroundings, Cal stared at the world in awe. It be simply amazing, how much the world has changed since last I roamed thy earth; he thought to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. Flashes of a ‘life’ from centuries ago, flitted across his memory. Most of his youth consisted of others looking at him in fear because he had been born on the twelfth night between Christmas and the new year.

For many years before his time on earth and many centuries past his birth date of 1621, people believed in superstitions, omens, evil spirits, bad luck, etc. One such superstition was of the Callicantzaros. Children born between Christmas time up through the 6th day of January (‘the evening when the Three Wise men are supposed to have arrived in Bethlehem to present their gifts to the baby Jesus’), were considered to be very unlucky. Most people described these children ’as feast-blasted and believed to be destined to become vampires after death’.

He would shrug their comments aside, ignore their whispered remarks of his ‘evil’ ways because he wasn’t a bad guy. He was always willing to help out and lend a hand to any who needed assistance in his small little village in the middle of nowhere Scotland. When civil war broke out amongst the kingdoms of England, Ireland and Scotland in 1642 he joined up with the ‘Cavaliers’ in armed conflicts between Parliamentarians and the Royalists.

Unfortunately, though, he found himself one frigid night, shortly after his 21st year on earth, laying in mud, staring toward the moonless sky as he bled out from a stab wound because he and his fellow regiment had been ambushed on their march towards neutral ground. He thought it amusing even causing him to chuckle that he was dying for the good of others when no others could see the good in him. Little did he know that as the cold damp earth soaked into his bones, causing his entire body to go numb, that he would be waking up hours later, a ‘new man’!

His eyes snapped open, void of all hazel coloring that they had been hours before, leaving them in an iced blue frosted tinge. How is this possible?He tried to look around, only to see he was still pinned to the ground by the silver sword that had pierced his chest having caused his death in the first place. Grinding his teeth together and clenching his jaw tight, he wrapped his hands around the blade and tugged upward as best he could. And even though he felt the blade slice through his flesh as gripped the blade between his hands, he continued to wiggle the sword from his body. Once he was released from the metal, he tossed it aside and shifted to a sitting position. “Holy HELL!” He stared at the palm of his hands in disbelief. No blood fell from them. NOT ONE SINGLE DROP!

Jumping up from the ground, Cal scanned the field beyond looking for any other survivors to no avail. Sighing, he took another glance at his hands to see that the gashes had completely disappeared. He then chanced a look at his chest only to see that wound had gone, healed well! What the bloody hell is going on? Have I been cursed?The thoughts that consumed him just then were very ungodly thoughts. Hath my God forsaken thee? “What has become of me?” He threw his head back and yelled at the starless sky.

He had never felt more alive than after his death! Once Cal had returned from the dead, he had acquired new abilities and came into powers that had laid dormant during the course of his life. At first, Cal hid from people, and the world. After a year of being afraid to be seen, hiding from humanity, having only the darkness as his only solace, he slowly realized that the humans should be the ones hiding from him. The fear should be theirs! And then, he made it so. Cal went on a rampage, leaving a trail of destruction and death along his way.

He had taken on the name Zaros in homage of the creature humans thought he had been in life; and made damned sure his village was the first place to incur his wrath! After demolishing his insignificant town, Zaros then trekked through all of Europe, leaving chaos and destruction wherever he went. His hand was the cause of death for any who crossed his path. He no longer felt emotions, for his heart had turned to ice and he delved into the roll, relishing in the aftermath of evil that had been foretold before his passing.

Shaking his head, Cal roused himself from the memories of centuries past. A sudden hunger struck him, and he found himself standing on the outskirts of a town watching intently, the movements and mannerisms of the humans around him. Cal stuck his nose to the sky and sniffed, trying to distinguish all the different scents’ assaulting his senses. The aromas around him, though appealing, were not what he yearned for. Finding himself in an alleyway, he came across a homeless person.

Before he knew what, he was doing, Cal had jumped onto the dingy, smelly human, sinking his razor-sharp, fanged teeth into the side of the homeless guy’s neck. As the unknown person twitched, taking in the last breaths of his life, Cal leaned back, squatting on his heals, sighing contently.

Removing himself from the alleyway, he came to walk along the sidewalk. He stopped as he came to stand underneath a streetlamp. Looking at his hands, he stood in amazement as he took in his appearance. The grey translucent tone of his flesh, seemed to have more color than before he fed. Looking to the night sky, a maniacal, menacing laugh fell from his mouth as he clutched both hands into fists out in front of him.

Feeling the energy from blood he now had coursing through him, warming his ice-cold body ever so slightly, Cal continued through the town, contemplating what his next move would be. He still wanted to steal the witch’s power, for he would be the most powerful being of all if he could absorb her essence; truly never having to worry about death again.