<< Go Back

The Awakened

By Richard Spillman

Order Now!

Chapter One

A.D. 79, Susa, Parthian Empire

TWELVE DAYS AGO, I LEFT ROME on a mission to purge a great evil from the world.
I arrived at Susa or, as the Hebrews call it, Shushan, the capital of the Parthian Empire in the east. I had come to rid the earth of Nero, the accursed Roman emperor who had faked his death fifteen years earlier.
Since dusk, I had been standing outside the light-brown sandstone domus of Atilius, Nero’s new name, in rain so thick it could almost drown a man. I was waiting for the right moment to strike. I welcomed the rain. It would obscure my approach and cover any sound I might make in the villa.
I found shelter beneath the towering statue of Mithra, the Parthian god called the Protector of Truth. As a close friend of Jesus I found the winged figure, grotesque. I dug my fingers into its rough stone, unaffected by the water soaking through my light tunic.
No diviner, sorcerer, or false god will protect Nero. Tonight, I am the hand of justice.
Occasionally, the sky flashed with light, followed by a crack of thunder. The lightning left a metallic taste in the air that seemed to give me strength for what I longed to do on this night.
I watched the windows, waiting patiently for the last candle to be extinguished, the signal to slip into the villa under the cover of darkness.
It wasn’t long before a solitary candle flickered in one window. A shadow moved in front of it, and the light went out. The domus was now completely dark. I waited to give him time to settle down, then made my way along the wide, muddy street coated with layers of soft brown clay to an iron gate.
He had no guards. He did not need them. No Natural could harm him and no guard could stop an Awakened.
The grinding sound of metal against stone echoed into the night as I opened the gate. The rain had let up some, but it still pounded against the red-tiled roof. Rainwater flowed across the roof and poured over the edge like a small waterfall, plunging down into the trough in the open atrium. The deep groan of a camel echoed in the distance.
I crept up the stairs, following the thick scent of rose-water perfume, a favorite of Nero’s, which mapped the way. Within seconds, I stood at his door. The small amulet hanging above the doorframe wasn’t going to protect him from me. A faint line of light glowed underneath.
He must have sensed me and lit a candle.
I shivered, knowing that in my hands lay justice. I whispered a prayer, opened the door, and stepped in—right into Nero, who was standing inches from the doorway.
He shoved me back. “Who are you?” he demanded with an authority born of rage.
Silent, I studied him for a moment, soaking in the thrill of what was to come. A cold, wet wind blew through the doorway, rippling his royal scarlet-and-gold robe. His eyes were deep, dark wells of venom. I listened to the pounding rain. I smelled death in the room. I felt the presence of evil.
This is the beast.
I was cloaked in the shadow cast by a small candle flickering behind him. If he could have seen my eyes, he would have known what I was and why I was there.
He lunged forward and plunged a dagger into my gut with a confident smirk. It stung. He pulled the blade out and thrust it in again and again. I stood there, enduring the pain. His smirk morphed into hesitant terror.
He must have noticed no blood flowed, that my wounds healed as quickly as they were made, because he stopped, stepped backward and to the side, exposing my face in the dance of the candlelight. Lightning flashed, followed by a resounding clap of thunder.
He froze. His lips trembled. His eyes widened. He knew what I was. He let out a guttural wail. “Who are you?”
“I … am ... Lazarus!” I stepped forward, grabbed his arm, and bit him. As soon as my saliva penetrated his skin, he dissolved into a pile of red-brown dust.

Order Now!

<< Go Back