The Tale Of Alexander Part 4

The Tale Of Alexander Part 4

A Chapter by North Dakota

Miska's strange demeanor has finally birthed something that will never be able to be undone...


The morning dawn rose to reveal an exhausted and bedraggled Alexander kneeling by the damp mound of dirt where his brother had been laid to rest. While the others had reluctantly turned in for the night, Alexander had refused, he had stuck by the grave, hot tears flowing down his cheeks until his eyes had become raw and stinging. The youngest member stared into each grain of dirt, analyzing each spec of the soil whilst he mourned; he had completely lost himself in a catatonic state of thought. Alexander had ran every single memory, every single word, every single interaction he’d ever had with Juve over and over again in his mind, with the constant feeling of regret and anger rising dangerously in his gut. The boy wasn’t aware if he’d rather throw up or beat his new “brother” to death. The young man mainly regretted the fact that he had not spoken or worked with Juve more; the gloom of the grave loomed over Alexander as a constant reminder of his wasted time. His blond hair that usually hung to just below the nape of his neck was matted down with the stale morning rain that had long disappeared to reveal the clear blue skies. It was quite ironic, while the new dawn had broken, Alexander was still living within that rainy night of bloodshed and horror.

The church doors practically bursted open to reveal Hassan, who merrily strolled onto the morning dew-adorned lawn.

“Ah, what a beautiful view…” He calmly commented on the scenery. The man made a slow, deliberate stretching motion, causing several cracking and popping sounds to resonate from his bones. The black-clad assassin surveyed the treeline, quickly spotting the boy kneeling by the grave. Feeling a sense of comradery, Hassan ambled towards the grave.

From behind him, Alexander would have been able to hear the rustle of grass-crushing footsteps if his mind had not been absent.

“Hello, Oleander.” Hassan’s malaprop was completely lost to Alexander, who was still absent from this world. The assassin squatted down beside the boy, nearly falling backwards from the sudden motion.

“Whoa!” Hassan quietly uttered as he straightened himself with a small laugh. Alexander, who had still not noticed his new comrade’s presence, kept a stoic expression glued onto his face.

“You know, it wasn’t me who killed him.” Hassan spoke of Juve. “It was one of my comrades, whom one of your brothers killed. You know, it’s a bit hypocritical to be so angry at me for simply reciprocating the action.” Alexander remained silent. “I cared about them as well, they were good men, but for the same reason your friend has lost his life, they lost theirs...because they were weak. Too unobservant, not sharp enough, not skillful enough to protect themselves in this pinpoint world. If your brother had been more deft, perhaps I would be the one in the ground instead of him. What was his name anyway?” Hassan leaned towards the hastily carved headstone of the grave. With one hand, he attempted to wipe the condensation that had accumulated over the headstone, but Alexander swiftly caught his hand before it touched the stone.

“Don’t ever touch it. You, with your strange, murderous hands shall never touch the innocent grave of my brother! You may make your arguments and debates all day to prove that you are a saint, but you will never be anything more than a black sheep in this flock.” The boy’s grip on Hassan’s hand tightened even further, causing him slight discomfort. “You have no idea of whom you speak.” His vice tightened even further, causing the assassin considerable pain. “You were not raised by those men. You never struggled in the streets with them, fighting for your life, praying for the next meal!” The boy threatened to break every bone in the man’s hand. “You were not brothers!” With this exclamation, he released the assassin then knocked him to the ground. Alexander raised a fist in blind fury with tears threatening to spill from his eyes once again.

“Give him back!” Alexander’s salty tears welled then flowed. “Give him back to me!” The anger had drained, once again leaving him in pure sorrow. “Give me back my family.” The young man choked through his sobs. “Give me back my brother.” Alexander returned to the grave, resting his arms then his entire body on the mound. Subdued wails and moans rung out from the prostrate Alexander, who refused to leave the grave.

Hassan stood from the ground, brushing himself off with a smirk.

“That. That is the exact reason you have lost him. Your emotions, they will be your downfall, boy. That anger will fill you in battle, but anger has no place in true combat. Shouting and tossing your weight around like a brute will kill you in time, as I have proved with your other comrade. If you want to survive, you had better bury these emotions of yours along with him.” The assassin attempted to approach the headstone, but Alexander quickly spun and stood defensively over the grave, extending his arms in a protective manner. Hassan shook his head irritatedly.

“Go ahead. Defend a corpse. You’ll be one in your own time. Who will you kill with your own death? Who will you bring with you, just as he will?” Hassan inquired as he returned to church. After he had been left alone, Alexander returned to his kneeling position to mourn. The assassin’s words continued to bounce around within the boy’s mind, refusing to leave him alone with his own thoughts.

After several hours into the morning, Andrei and Virgil lumbered from within the church, instinctively kneeling beside their mourning brother.

“You’ve been here all night, haven’t you?” Andrei questioned, to which Alexander nodded. “I see.” Andrei’s gaze lingered towards the head stone. “To be honest...I was hoping it was all a dream.” Andrei spoke in a far away tone of disbelief. “I prayed that when I awoke, I would see the peaceful face of my friend, but no, I was greeted by the twisted mug of a sleeping murderer.” Andrei spit bitterly. The three sat in silence for a time that was too long for Alexander to estimate.

“I thought about killing him last night.” Virgil broke the silence, causing the two to turn towards him. “I stood over him, brick in my hand, ready to bash his skull in. I wanted him to suffer, he didn’t deserve an easy death.” The oldest of The Blessed confessed. “I was going to murder him, but Miska stopped me.”

“Miska?” Alexander choked out, his voice cracking.

“Yes, he glared at me from the shadows, pinning me in place. I fear he has not been sleeping, we all know what a lack of rest can do to a man’s mind.”

“Yes, apparently it causes you to casually invite the murderer of your family into your home.” Andrei facitously retorted.

“That is not what I mean. I...I fear something is talking to him at night.” Virgil reluctantly said.

“What? Somebody else is in the church?” Andrei interrogated with a sense of alarm.

“No, not a man, but something else. Something...not right.”

“I have heard it too!” Alexander interjected. “I have seen him alone in his room, speaking to the shadows over candle light.”
“You as well?” Andrei questioned, scratching the stubble on his chin.

“I have been listening in for several weeks now, and from what I have gathered…” Virgil trailed off, leaving the two in anxious silence. After a few brief moments, Andrei became angry.

“Well! What is it!?” The brute shouted.

“From what I have gathered...I fear he has been speaking to a demon of some sort.” Virgil quietly spoke.

“A demon? I follow in our philosophies, but a demon?” Andrei questioned. “How could he do so?”

“I have no idea.” Virgil replied. “But, it has been speaking to him, and I fear it’s driving him mad. On the wind, I can hear him singing the innocent tune of a child. I hear it...when he kills.”

“Good lord…” Andrei shook his head as he commented on the appalling statement. “This has all gone to Hell. We’ve lost one of our own, and we fear to lose another to something we don’t even understand!” Andrei exclaimed, then laid back onto the grass. “It used to be so simple, didn’t it? Our mission was so clear, our leader so pure. We lived a life that I wouldn’t have given up for salvation itself.” Andrei chuckled. “Even when raising a screaming brat, I loved every minute of it.” Andrei tossed a loving glance towards Alexander. “Come here.” The brute kneeled, then embraced both of them.

“We will make it through this.” Virgil stated as if it were the simplest fact in the world. “It may not seem possible, but we will be able to move on.”

“We’re all together in this, even when our path seems clouded, we will find the light to guide us. We always have, we always will. This storm will pass, and from this overcast, we will not only pull ourselves from it, but we will pull our leader from his own personal storm.” Andrei spoke, then broke from the hug. The two stood, then extended two helping hands towards the youngest.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Virgil suggested to the boy, who took the hands in his.

The day continued on in its usual, slow-paced fashion with each man, Hassan excluded, manually laboring. Andrei’s brow soaked with beads of sweat as he brought down another heavy chop of his axe onto the log. Virgil’s knees and back were sore from bending over to tend to the garden all day; his joints would pop every time he stood or adjusted himself. Alexander and Horatio both made themselves busy by planting grain in a nearby field, hoping to have a bigger crop this year. As the men labored, a sight that they would have never expected appeared before them. Miska, clad in a black cloak that barely hid his face, trotted from the church and towards his hitched horse.

“Miska?” Virgil questioned. “What are you doing?”

“Nevermind that! Continue, I shall be back before you know it.” Miska emotionlessly stated as he mounted his midnight black steed, then rode down the beaten path towards the dilapidated town.

“What could he be doing?” Alexander asked Horatio, who simply shrugged in return.

“Miska hasn’t shown himself in broad daylight in many years...what could he be doing?” Horatio curiously inquired. Alexander, who had a much less optimistic tune about this, placed his hands on his head as a gut-wrenching feeling came over him.

“Something awful is going to happen, I know it. Miska’s intentions are not pure ones, of that I can assure you!” Alexander spoke with a panicked look in his eye.

“Oh no…” Virgil muttered to himself in a grim tone. “ singing.”

The day had passed by into the dark night with a gruelingly slow pace, and Miska had still not returned. The five, including Hassan, sat idly about on the pews, anxiously awaiting the return of their homicidal brother. Abruptly, the doors to the church were opened, and every eye in the room was redirected towards it. Miska trudged in, dragging the form of an unconscious young girl behind him.

“Miska! What is this!?” Andrei exclaimed.

“It’s time. He has finally gained the strength to open the gate. We will meet our master tonight…” Miska spoke with a wide-eyed, absent look that amalgamated with the twisted grin on his face.

“Who is this girl?” Horatio questioned, attempting to get a look at her face as she was drug by her hair past him.

“She is the sacrifice. We will use her blood.” Miska calmly said.

“Her blood? F-For what?!” Alexander fearfully inquired. Miska simply ignored the boy as he drug the girl past him. The leader lifted the lady onto the altar of the church, then ripped her clothing off. Miska retrieved his steel dagger, then jabbed it into the girl’s stomach, causing her eyes to shoot open for a moment before rolling to the back of her head in agony. She died fairly quickly as Miska twisted the dagger within her organs. He was not attempting to cause pain, he was simply using her for something much bigger than mundane murder.

With his bare hand, the leader reached into the girl’s stomach and grabbed her intestines, pulling them from her body in a disgusting twisting motion. Alexander gagged and choked on his lunch as the horrifying display was acted out in front of him.

“Miska! What atrocities are you committing!?” Andrei shouted.

“Shut up! You will do as I say! We have not come this far to have the arrival ruined by your idiocy. Just simply do as I say!” Miska exclaimed, then retrieved the remaining length of her guts. With the girl’s intestines, Miska began to draw a pentagram in the center of the floor in the girl’s blood.

“The blood of the virgin…” Miska tossed the gore aside. “Next...Dutiful souls to guide him into this world…” Miska repeated the next part of the ritual to himself as he stood in the middle of the star. “Each of you, stand on a point of the star!” Most of the men did as they were told, except for Virgil and Alexander. “Make haste! I will not wait!” Miska excitedly urged them.

“What is going on here, Miska?” Virgil questioned. “What sort of malevolent plot is this?” Miska turned to him and laughed a laugh that chilled Virgil to the bone.

“What is this, you ask? Why, Virgil, this is our destiny. He’s been waiting for twenty six years! He is growing impatient!” The crazed look in Miska’s eye bored a hole straight through the two members of The Blessed, forcing them to cooperate in fear of his irrational actions. With incredible reluctance, the two stood on the remaining points of the bloody pentagram. After all had been gathered in the correct positions, Miska stood in the center of the five points.

“’s finally time!” Miska spoke like an eager child. “We shall finally meet in this mortal realm, my lord.” Miska spoke to himself with his eyes closed. “Now, for the final preparation of the ritual.” The leader drew the bloody dagger that he had used to slit open the girl’s stomach. He sluggishly lowered the blade to his left arm, then briskly cut open his wrist, sending a large spray of blood onto himself and the floor around him.

“Sir!” Horatio exclaimed. “What are you doing?!” The flamboyant man shouted with concern.

“The final preparation...The blood of his servants...Do as I have done!” Miska urged the remaining five. Each man looked to the other with expressions of confusion and disinclination.

“Miska, you are giving into something that is not to be toyed with by mortal man!” Virgil argued against his leader, whose eyes had begun to glow the same shade of crimson as his blood. Along with this luminescent optical transformation, a feeling of fearful anarchy began to rise within each man.

“We cannot do this, brother!” Andrei yelled, bringing Miska’s stone cold, crimson eyes towards him. “I-I do not like where this is going!” Andrei’s small stutter was all the leader needed to verbally assault him.

“You do not like this? What do you like then, Andrei? Being a contradiction? Because I have never met a brute that was as cowardly as you. No wonder your father used you in the fields, it was not that you were too weak to fight back, you were simply too cowardly, too fearful!” These recollections brought anxiety to the large man, who gulped, then attempted to bury those shadows of the past.

“We do not speak of my father!” Andrei exclaimed, hoping to sway the tide of the argument. Miska merely cracked a sickening smile whilst uttering a dark cackle.

“Wouldn’t you like to be free of those feelings? To be free of your mortal fears? To be under the protection of one who none on this earth are equivalent?” Miska’s debate began to persuade Andrei.

“What do you mean?” Andre inquired.

“I mean that if you simply follow me in my quest, you will be rewarded with a true dark savior. The one who has guided us on our religious mission. The soul who has yearned to protect you all along, but simply was not strong enough to make the journey. Will you deny him? Will you betray the one who has only showed love for you since the beginning?” Andrei’s gaze was cast to the ground in a shameful motion.

“No...I...I will not deny him.” Andrei spoke like a beaten child repenting for his actions.

“Then show him your apologies by drawing your axe!” Miska ordered vigorously.

From behind the leader, a dripping sound lightly echoed. Miska turned to see Hassan with his right sleeve rolled up, and a bloody dagger in his left hand.

“I am more than excited to see what mystical being you plan to summon, Miska!” Hassan said. The assassin’s blood began to form unaturally around the pentagram, filling ⅕ of the outline of the circle around the star.

The assassin’s blood was maneuvered without his consent; they were not alone in this ritual, something else was guiding it, something that was just beneath the surface, ready to burst from its shackles in the spiritual realm. Miska’s blood was directed in the same exact way, only it was used to form the star within the pentagram.

“That is the way, Hassan! True loyalty from the newcomer!” Miska was quite pleased by Hassan’s actions. With an incredible reluctance, Andrei slit his wrist with the axe, causing the blood to pour onto the floor and form another fifth of the circle.

“Horatio, it is your turn! Go quickly, before the blood dries and our master grows weary!” Horatio, after a quick survey of the room, did just as his brothers had done, spilling his blood as well.

The entire circle was now formed, save two side-by-side segments; these segments belonged to Virgil and Alexander. Virgil stood, blade lowered, but sleeve rolled to his bicep. Directly beside him, Alexander held his blade shakily above his wrist, indecision causing him to hesitate.

“Virgil, why must you hold us up? You know just as well that our mission is a righteous one, so why would you halt that? Is it that you have abandoned your faith? Is it that you plan to walk the path of Jesus Christ?” Miska condescending tone slightly angered the elder one.

“Christ has no room for people like us in his heart, we have turned our backs on Heaven; Hell is the only paradise where we may reside. Brother, if you turn your back on our master now, where will you go? Not a Heaven nor a Hell will you deserve, so where shall your soul find eternal rest?” Miska’s words were the truth that Virgil had hoped to never hear. As shallow and manipulative as they were, his words spoke the truth. Heaven was a locked gate to The Blessed, this was the only salvation they would find. In a moment of blind determination, Virgil slit his wrist, fulfilling his brother’s wishes.

Each piece had been laid into place, all except one, the youngest member, the most reluctant of the group, the one with the chance for redemption...Alexander. His blade laid in shaking hands as it hovered over his wrist.

“Why does your blade waver, Alexander? Is it that your excitement is too much for you to bear? Then allow me to help you with that decision!” Miska roughly gripped Alexander’s arm then pulled it back, forcing him to give his blood to the ritual.

With Alexander’s blood, the circle was finally filled,, and the ritual was complete. Around the six, somewhat of a barrier was placed on the pentagram, trapping each man inside.

“Miska, what is going on!?” Alexander shouted to the man who seemed to be lost in a trance. Miska’s eyes had rolled into the back of his head, his body had locked up to the point where not even Andrei could have moved him, and his hair had begun to float as if it were in water.

“…” A voice that did not belong to the leader spoke through him; it was the same voice Miska had heard every night for so many years, it was the voice that had saved him in his youth and guided him in his adolescence, it was the voice that would be his destruction and his was Nosferatu.

Suddenly, a powerful feeling overcame each man, a feeling of draining, as if their very soul and life force were being sucked from them. Alexander could hardly breathe, the strain on his body was so great that he struggled to stay conscious. His blinking had became very slow, and sleepy, as if he were about to either pass out or die. In between his blinks, he saw the star in the center break apart, with a hand bursting through it. It was a dark, black, leathery fleshed hand with claws on every fingertip. After the hand had burst through, the rest of its body came through the portal. Abruptly, the barrier was dropped, and each man collapsed to the floor, panting and exhausted. Alexander took a large inhale, letting the new breath bring him back to full consciousness. Before him stood the creature that had crawled from the portal. His entire body was covered in the same black, leathery skin as his arm; just the sight of him made Alexander crawl away in disgust and fear.

“…” He uttered in a voice that could drive men to madness and women to tears. The demon finally stood to his full height. Alexander estimated that he was around eight feet tall, with disgustingly large muscles bulging beneath the surface of his skin. On his head sat a mop of jet black hair that hung down to the center of his back. After surveying this demon, Alexander finally struggled to his feet.

“M-Miska, what is this?” Virgil inquired.

“Silence your tongue! You will address him with respect!” Miska admonished his brother, then approached the black creature. “My master…” Miska choked up with tears of joy. “You are here with me...after all this time…” Miska kneeled down to the demon, a large smile crossing his face as he looked into the face of his lord.

“Miska…” The voice seemed to be carried on the wind, echoing throughout the building until each syllable was burned into every man’s memory. The creature’s eye lids snapped open to reveal a pair of crimson eyes that shone with an even brighter hellfire than Miska’s. “You have been a loyal servant.” He placed a claw on Misaki's shoulder. “Your reward will come soon.” Alexander then noticed, for the first time, that the creature had a gaping mouth with enormous, pearl white fangs; his teeth were like that of a wolf or a mountain lion!

“This is magnificent!” Hassan shouted with utter glee. “Never, as a mortal, would I have ever expected this! It is spectacular!” Hassan began to applaud as if he had witnessed some sort of theater production.

“Miska...who is this mortal?” The demon questioned, turning his gaze to Hassan then back to Miska.

“This is Hassan of the Dracul bloodline. He has very recently joined our ranks.”

“It is an honor to meet you, demon.” Hassan greeted the creature, stimulating an incredible rage within Miska.

“You will not speak of him that way!” Miska turned, without standing, to berate his comrade.

“Miska...where is Juve?” The leader, forgetting his rage, turned back towards his master.

“He...He was too weak, not enough brain or brawn to survive any longer than he did. He is within Hell, with your master.” The demon nodded in somewhat of a sympathetic way.

“And who is this supposed to be, then?” The creature once again pointed to Hassan.

“He is Juve’s...replacement. This man was part of the regime that terminated Juve, therefore, I feel he earned his right to stand among us.” The creature seemed to be taken aback by this.

“Miska...He was your brother in arms...and you simply replaced him? With his own murderer no less?” The demon seemed to be disappointed in the actions of his fledgeling.

“But, it was all in your name, sire! I simply needed more skilled warriors to--”

“Who are you?” Andrei cut his leader off, infuriating him. The creature turned towards the brute, standing at least a foot over him.

“My name is Nosferatu. And I will be your guide in the shroud of this accursed world.” Nosferatu addressed Andrei, who simply nodded.

After a good while of discussion and introduction, Nosferatu sat on the front pew of the church, struggling to keep his head up.

“Master, do you need something?” Miska asked, rushing to the demon’s side.

“My servant...I hunger…” He spoke in slow, strained utterances. “I hunger...for blood…Yet...I am not strong enough to move…”

“Sire, do not fret! We shall carry out your desires. From this point on, we are your sword and shield! Your tools to shape this raw world into something extraordinary! Your weapons for punishing the sinful souls of this realm! We...are yours to command!” Miska kneeled, with the other five in step with him.

“Yes...Yes, good. You will gain a power...greater than any mortal could attain alone...all you have to pledge me.” Nosferatu spoke, his voice barely registering in their minds.

“We shall!” Miska assured him. “As we kneel in front of you, we are your loyal servants! We must simply be given the order, and you will consider it as already done!” Nosferatu turned to the men, and uttered one simple sentence that would damn them all for eternity.

“I order kill.”

© 2016 North Dakota

Author's Note

North Dakota
As always, thank you for reading, and feel free to comment!

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Added on May 9, 2016
Last Updated on June 28, 2016


North Dakota
North Dakota


I'm an amateur author who enjoys writing more than anything. I hope to improve my writing style and etiquette through the criticism of others. So, any review or criticism would be greatly appreciated,.. more..