Fall of the Order

by JC

Genres: Dark Fantasy; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

A cursed immortal battles his demons and the nefarious beings of the living dead once his whereabouts are discovered, igniting a war against all of mankind in this spine-tingling, supernatural thriller.

Born with a gift that is more of a curse than a blessing, Jefferarri is an immortal who battles his internal demons and the external forces around him. At a tender age, the orphaned youth is adopted by his grandparents, with the blessings of the government, for his protection and a better life following his parents’ demise. When nefarious beings of the underworld discover his whereabouts, a war between the world of the mortals and the undead ignites.

To keep these entities from public knowledge, a clandestine government agency known as The Order, which is heavily involved in paranormal and cryptic activities unbeknownst to its civilians, extricates Jefferarri, but he quickly becomes cognizant that his rescue was only a part of a devised scheme to exploit his powers and implement plans with far greater sinister intent than imaginable.

The knowledge of this betrayal unfurls the beast tucked inside of Jefferarri, and the evil that emerges unleashes diabolical mayhem that threatens to annihilate not only The Order—but all of mankind.

Release date: November 26, 2024

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

Prologue

There are things . . . creatures in this universe that you could never comprehend, things that people of the higher powers do not want you to believe. As long as they were considered legendary monster myths and maintained as folklore, those people felt they had done their due diligence. Our governments cover up hundreds of paranormal and cryptic activities every year. The Order, a secret agency, monitored and controlled these activities. It regulated the use of paranormal abilities according to the secretive laws of each land in North America. It also investigated any paranormal, supernatural, or cryptic threats to the safety and security of North America and each country’s citizens. Trust me, it is much deeper than that. People of higher powers used smoke and mirrors to hide scandalous tactics. Some of them would be considered inhumane and an abomination.

In history, there were just as many documented monsters and creatures written off as myths and folklore. In most cases, they were used for religion and entertainment to hide the truth, dating back to the days of the cave people and the dinosaurs. Cave paintings of man versus beasts in Egyptian hieroglyphics depicted wars and worshiped creatures and gods that present-day man dissected and redirected the narrative.

One of the most hidden historical events under the folklore tab was the Vampire-Lycan War, which lasted over two hundred years between 1200 and 1000 BC. It was a sociality unknown to many where the enslaved Lycan Clan, known today as werewolves, rebelled against their oppressors, the vampires, who held them captive for centuries. Since the capture of the first Lycan in 1430 BC, the vampires used Lycans’ strength and endurance to work as slaves and laborers, such as building massive castles and wall structures, ironworks, and more. Lycans sent assassination missions to any entity threatening their exposure and existence. Sometimes, they captured humans and villages for the vampires’ blood thirst.

Two issues plagued the vampires. They could not use the werewolves during a full moon or keep the Lycans’ population down to a minimum. In human form, the Lycans had nowhere near the strength of the vampires, but once in a changed animalistic state, they rivaled the vampires in speed and were at least five times stronger. So, special safeguards had to be implemented to protect the vampires. For example, powerful, accurate weapons on roofs and walls would shoot sharp, silver spears at the slaves. A scratch from one of these spears would result in a painfully slow death with no cure. The vampires made their weapons and armor mostly from silver, a poisonous metal to the Lycans’ bloodstream. Also, the enslaved Lycans were to be locked up in a bunker surrounded by silver bars before dusk every evening.

They performed cruel abortion tactics when the population hit a specific number, and the vampires either backed off or enforced breeding when the numbers dropped to a particular census.

Over time, some vampires violated their laws and used Lycan people as sex slaves. Rape and sodomy became commonplace. The elders believed this would cause uncontrollable offspring, and with the elders in deep hibernation, many in their society did not fear retribution.

After decades of mistreatment, including beatings, rapes, mutilations, lynchings, and other horrendous acts, an uprising of the slaves broke out within the castle grounds. The vampires the elders left in control lost their power over the people and eventually faded out or became corrupted. Unlike the generations before, the new generation of slaves would rather die than continue to live the life they were born into.

A battle erupted under a full red moon and caught the vampires off guard. Silver spears ripped through fur and flesh before the Lycans overtook the vampires. The claws and teeth of the Lycans ripped chunks from their suppressors’ flesh. Many died from both races, but in the end, only fifty of the 220 werewolves were alive and escaped into the unknown and left behind a tremendously decimated vampire race. When that bloody night ended, the war between the two left carnage all over the world through their respective gangs.

Scared, the vampires known as the rebellion tried to eliminate all three elders by burning them in their hibernation chambers because a judgment would be inevitable. A fight broke out between the rebellion and the loyal vampires, who were dedicated to the old ways. The loyal vampires tried to save all three elders but only managed to rescue one as the rest burned in their hibernation chambers. The rebellion captured and slaughtered the remaining loyal vampires. However, they never gave up the hiding place of the recovering elder.

Over the years, a vampire known as Cristian the Elder hunted down and slayed all the remaining rebelling vampires and any offspring in the shadows. This caused a shift in the war and took the upper hand from the vampires. Cristian hunted down the Lycans as well. In the early 1800s, The Order captured Cristian due to the betrayal of a trusted vampire and placed him in a solid steel coffin to rest eternally until they could figure out what to do with him.

Many of the Lycans escaped to Africa and lived peacefully among the people without revealing their true identity, partly due to their melanated skin and features. But as time passed and the Lycans mingled more and more with humans, intercourse led to some offspring, and acts of violence and misuse of power increased. Increased birth rates between the Lycans and the Africans led to many stillbirths for many generations. Although it was rare for those who survived, the ones who did became known as the hybrids, and their bloodline would become something unimaginable and, in some cases, uncontrollable.

The full moon never affected the hybrids, but they retained powers of their bloodline. Several generations later, one young hybrid morphed into a feral state. In this new state, the transformation became triggered by anger instead of the full moon. . After a certain age, every annoyance, displeasure, or hostility the young boy’s body morphed him closer to the curses of his ancestors, to the point of being much bigger, faster, and stronger than any of his elders before him. The Order took this boy under their care. Two generations later, Jefferarri was born.

Chapter 1

The Men in Black Suits

January 16th, 1984, while searching for a missing father-and-son’s hiking team in West Hopkinton, New Hampshire, the hikers found a crashed airplane half-buried in the deep snow twenty-five miles off-trail. The search party recovered three mutilated bodies that wild animals had eaten . . . or so it seemed. Several hundred pounds of cocaine were tossed about the plane’s cabin, broken from the bands that held them together. Someone smeared and walked fecal matter all over the plane, including overhead. Shredded human skin lay in the chaotic scene that didn’t match any of the three bodies. The unexplained, frigid Arctic air baffled meteorologists and the pilots for the twenty-two-mile radius. That area was 20 degrees colder than its surrounding area. The hikers could hear an unknown wailing in the distance grabbing the rescuers’ attention through the large trees that dressed the white land.

Back at the coroner’s lab, Coroner Jessica Taysom and Investigator Mya Stevenson stood around one corpse, trying to brainstorm any scenario. Guts hung from the bottom of its rib cage. Liquids formed around it on the table as it defrosted from many years of being frozen. Something ripped the arms and heart away. Skin and eyes were also missing.

“The nose appears bitten off. Those are human teeth marks. Well, closer to human than any other animal,” Mya said, pointing around the nose area. She took a few steps down toward what was left of the torso. “Teeth marks here,” she referenced the grooves on the few ribs attached as the rest of the ribs lay in place inside the torso.

Mya grabbed her hanky from her pocket and held it to her mouth and nose.

Jessica looked up and asked, “Do you need a minute?”

Mya had been around many crime scenes during her four-year tenure as a detective constable, yet the stench of the frozen bodies made her want to gag. Until now, the worst she had endured was a pile of burned bodies. She wanted to run out of the room but fought to remain professional.

“Were the legs ripped off?” she asked after lowering the hanky just long enough to ask the question.

“That is correct,” Jessica answered. “And he was possibly alive when it happened.”

“How do you know that?” Mya asked, always impressed by Jessica’s smarts.

“Well, I said ‘possibly,’ but there is not much blood left in what remains of the body. He bled out of the femoral artery. The heart pumped most of the blood out before it was yanked out.”

“What in the world could have done that?” Mya asked, puzzled. “Or was strong enough to do that?”

“I have no clue, but here . . . You wanna see something even stranger? Follow me.”

“Oh God, really?” Mya replied as she followed Jessica, bypassing one of the other tables to the last one across the room. The fetid smell from this one was three times stronger than the other. The first body differed from this one in that the second one was fully clothed, but the clothes did not fit its extremely tall stature.

“You see anything strange?” Jessica asked.

Mya examined the body. This body had all his limbs, but something snatched the heart through the shirt. It didn’t take long for something to catch her attention. She moved her face closer to his half-deformed face. Then her eyes pinged the details.

“What in the hell?” she looked up at Jessica. “Are those real?”

Four one-inch canines protruded between half-inch jagged incisors and premolars. The skin had eroded around the mouth, exposing the darkened gums and most of the back teeth. The eyes were slightly sunken, and the jaw looked somewhat elongated. Pealed eyelids revealed cloudy eyes as if he had gone blind.

“Look here.” Jessica turned her attention to his hands.

The fingers were a little longer than the average human’s, and the fingertips seemed to fuse with the long, bloodstained fingernails.

“This is some vampire shit,” Mya said aloud.

Before she could utter another word, Jessica pointed to the black boots. Mya walked down to the end of the table. Tiny claws peeked through the front of the leather boots.

“Some type of mutation shit,” Jessica replied. “I made a phone call out to—”

The double doors busted open, interrupting Jessica. Two men, one white and the other Black, dressed in all-black suit attire and wearing dark shades, waltzed through the door, followed by three other men. The three men that followed wore black berets and black coveralls with black boots. They holstered a sidearm on their legs. No doubt, they meant business. The two men looked in their late sixties, but their facial structure told the story of two men in great shape.

“Coroner Taysom . . . ah, and Investigator Stevenson?” the white man named Agent Matt Jones asked. “I’m glad you are here too. Now, we can be in and out of your hair in a jiffy and get these bodies off your hands.”

Agent Eugene Ware, the other man, slightly taller, handed Jessica papers that she immediately opened. “These subjects are now the Federal government’s property,” Matt continued.



Moments later, Matt and Eugene sat down with Jessica and Mya inside one of the five black SUVs parked in front of the Coroner’s Office. The chilly gusts of wind did not bother the other men guarding the truck as four different men in white Tyvek suits carried the bodies in body bags to a tall black van. Eugene sat in the front passenger seat, and Matt sat across from him in the driver’s seat. Jessica sat behind Eugene, and Mya was next to her.

“I am going to cut to the chase,” Matt said. “What you and your people witnessed never happened.”

“Never happened?” Mya barked. “What the fuck was that lying in there on my table? What’s going on?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she whipped her head and eyes from one man to another.

Eugene adjusted the rearview mirror to see the ladies in the back. His intense eyes locked with Mya’s. She rolled her eyes and focused back on Matt.

“Is that a threat?” Jessica replied, speaking from the gut with a bit of an attitude.

“Yes,” Eugene said calmly as his eyes shifted to her.

“You and your people will not speak to anyone about what you’ve seen. Someone from our department will instruct you on what to say to the public.” Matt continued, “This is not a request.”

“This is such bull—”

Matt cut Mya off. “If you disobey these instructions, there will be serious consequences.” He turned in his seat to face the women to show his face and the seriousness behind his demand. “Are we clear?”

The two ladies exchanged brief glances. Realizing the seriousness of his words, they had no choice but to comply.

“Okay,” Jessica said. “Okay.” She rubbed her face in distress, followed by a deep breath.

Matt and Eugene both turned their attention to Mya, silently waiting for her reply. She looked at them as their eyes bullied her, sighed deeply, and then nodded.

Chapter 2

The Gugwe

Fifty-four-year-old Clifton Hellams, the Korean War Veteran and now a stock investor and accountant, had served his country in more ways than one, with more medals than you could count on two hands and two feet. His biracial lineage came from the Blackfoot Indians on his father’s side, and African from his mother’s descendants, who were from Ghana.

Clifton’s ranch was silent except for the heavy bumping noises that shifted across the roof. His squinted eyes followed the sound that echoed through his large living room at 3:06 in the morning.

“C’mon, you son of a bitch!” Clifton screamed at the ceiling.

“How long before they get here?” his wife, Margaret, asked.

The location of the fenced-in Hellams ranch was on flat terrain just a few miles east in the mountain region of the rolling hills in Tylerville, North Carolina.

Margaret retired as a schoolteacher and was an excellent cook. Shortly after Margaret’s retirement, they moved to North Carolina and built the ranch on ten acres of land where Clifton raised and sold horses, many of which won derbies. He also raised other animals like goats, chickens, and cows, just to name a few. He built a nice-size man-made catfish pond on the east end of the property, opposite the horse stable, which rested on the west side. A gated driveway split the property almost down the middle. Security lights from the house and stable illuminated most of the property at night.

“I don’t know,” Clifton said, fidgeting with his rifle. The phone lines were down, so that they could make no calls. “We should be safe as long as we stay inside,” he said, looking down at his rifle. Just in case, he thought.

Suddenly, a hard thud came from the wraparound porch of the two-story home. The thump elicited a fierce, red glow from Clifton’s eyes as he made his way towards the right-side window, his limp evident. He saw nothing, but the motion lights were on. It had rained earlier, so a light fog filled the outside. He knew what was out there stalking him. An enemy from the past. The very thing that ended his life as a cryptid hunter and gave him his limp. Now, after all these years, it came back to finish the job.

Chaos erupted from the horse stable, and the sounds traveled into the home. Clifton turned his attention over to the stable on the left, about fifty yards across the field. He hobbled toward the door as quickly as his limp leg would allow.

“Clif?” Margaret called out to him.

“Get Jefferarri and head to the basement!”

“Clif!”

“Now, Margaret . . . Now!” Clifton barked at his wife. There was a noticeable roughness to his voice now. “I’ll be all right. This has gotta end. Just do as I say!” Without saying another word, the stubborn old man rushed out toward the stable, leaving his wife on the stairway. The door locked behind him.

She rushed up the stairs as fast as her old bones let her and ran into Little Jefferarri’s room. The thirteen-year-old watched from his window as his grandpa hopped across to the stable, anger spreading across his face. He hyperventilated rapidly. With his keen ears, he could hear sirens closing in from a distance.

“Jefferarri!” Margaret said, rushing to him.

Their grandson, Jefferarri, was their pride and joy, and he loved them mutually. His name was a combination of his father’s name and his father’s love for Ferraris. His mother and father dropped him off one weekend, never to be seen again, as the story goes. A few days later, their abandoned car popped up on a road in Montana. Blood found on the outside of the passenger side turned out to be his mother’s. He hadn’t been the same since. He wasn’t as playful and joyful as before, though Margaret could still tease a smile or two and some laughs out of him.

In his reflection from the window, she saw the curse in his eyes passed down through the generations beyond his great-grandfather down to him. She could see the shine in his eyes like when lights hit a cat’s eyes in the dark. The faint red eye shine looked back at her.

“Jefferarri?” she called to him as she crept around the foot of the bed ever so carefully toward him. “Jefferarri, come with me, baby. Grandpaw wants us to go down to the basement.”

A low growl vibrated from his throat. He didn’t take his eyes off the window as he saw his elder approach the stable in brown pajamas and a tee shirt with no shoes on, his weapon aimed at the door.

Clifton rushed his way in front of the closed stable door. His eyes narrowed at the surrounding silence. The barn emitted no sounds. Police sirens became louder and echoed from a distance. Did he kill my horses? Clifton thought as he reached for the door with his shotgun ready. A cool, eerie breeze cruised in from the west, making his pajama shirt wave behind him.

The sound of splintering wood filled the air as a horse burst through the door, sending Clifton flying backward. His weapon slid a few yards across the grass. Burly, a large Gugwe, jumped out, following the horse. He pounced on Clifton, knocking the breath out of him. The pupils in his eyes were darker than the night. The smell of iron escaped the barn.

A Gugwe, also called the “Eater of Faces” was a Type-3 Bigfoot creature with a canine-like snout. Its features were combinations of a bear and an ape. Depending on the clan, the face may vary, but all had oversized heads and broad shoulders. They loved the mountains but would go anywhere for food. Although it rarely happened, they ate humans only when no other options existed. Their skin was callous and bulletproof at a close range, except for the temple area of the head. They were a hundred times more aggressive than any other Bigfoot-type creature.

Burly’s nails were as black as tar, combined with a foul stench of cow manure and wet animals. He stood over nine feet tall and wore old animal pelts with markings on them. They hunted in small packs, so coming alone meant this was personal.

“I told you . . . I would get . . . you,” spat the Gugwe, trying to speak to be understood, fighting through a stutter. It was a promise he had made almost three decades ago to himself.

The sound of a window crashing and a low, guttural growl from a distance caught the Gugwe’s attention. It snapped its head in that direction as it saw little red eyes dancing through the darkness and fog. The flashing police lights cast an eerie glow on the distant trees near the property.

“Jefferarriiiiii!” Margaret yelled out of the broken window upstairs.

As Burly roared, his muscles bulged, and his sour saliva sprayed everywhere.

Clifton pulled a hunting knife from his side and stabbed Burly in the side of his neck, with only half the blade penetrating his thick skin and again in the jaw, aiming for the temple. Burly swiped its claws across Clifton’s chest in a defensive reaction before jumping up. The super deep cut exposed Clifton’s heart beating as he released a horrific cry.

“It must…be painful to you that…the curse of your lineage skipped you,” the Gugwe poked. “Your immortal strength…deserted you with…age and…time. I…the great leader of the my clan…will end your suffering. We…will now have peace.”

Jefferarri quickly caught Burly by surprise, clamping down around his neck as Burly turned to finish the job. He miscalculated Jefferarri’s speed and moaned in pain as he tossed Jefferarri through the stable wall. A piece of its hairy flesh flew out of Jefferarri’s mouth. Burly gave another blasting roar at Jefferarri and scratched at its bloody neck with its claws.

Clifton spat blood from his mouth, forcing it down the side of his face, past his ears to the grass.

The thirteen-year-old jumped out of the hole in the stable wall and stood toe-to-toe, looking up at the towering Gugwe displaying a David-and-Goliath scene.

“I will end . . . your bloodline,” Burly said, turning his head to Clifton.

It stepped toward Jefferarri, but suddenly, a gunshot sent Burly off its feet. Margaret pumped another shot into the monster as it wailed. Most of the buckshot bounced off, but some dug into his skin.

Suddenly, with a piercing screech, four police cars arrived on the scene as Burly attempted to make his escape, and Jefferarri’s attempts to take him down were once again unsuccessful. He tossed Jefferarri to the ground as flesh and blood flew from the youth.

“Freeze! What the fuck?” one cop yelped, his wide eyes and his trembling gun trained on the action before him.

Six cops opened fire on the Gugwe as it struggled to hop the fence. Bullets pierced holes and chipped the wood on the fence. One cop pursued Burly, shooting and hitting him in the back, only for the bullets to ricochet into the night.

Burly fell over to the other side of the fence and then connected eyes with the cop.

“Fuckkkk!” one cop barked. “What the fuck is that?”

Burly turned to the cops and let out another massive roar that forced them to cover their ears. Then Burly faded deep past the tree line with an awkward laugh. More laughter erupted from the trees, indicating many more of them. The cops freaked out and ran back to the comfort of their cars to put distance between them and the Gugwes. The horse ran frantically around the inside of the fence.

Sobbing, Margaret grabbed Jefferarri’s hand to bring him back to the house, but Jefferarri was not budging. Sweat poured down the child’s flushed face as he stood in a wide stance, baring his teeth that had become slightly jagged. His squinted eyes stared into his grandfather’s eyes with no emotions. He watched Clifton stare into the dark sky as his breaths slowed and became shallower with time. With each breath, the eerie glow in their eyes grew fainter. A tear rolled out of the corner of Clifton’s eye as his breathing and gurgling stopped. Jefferarri’s jaw clenched, and his body trembled. Then he let out a wail of anguish and pain before he blacked out.

Chapter 3

Little Jefferarri X Gugwe

The sun crawled over the North Carolina trees. Five vehicles rushed from the Hellams ranch crime scene. Dust followed four government Ford Tauruses, with a single black Ford . . .