The first seal, p.1
The First Seal, page 1
part #1 of The Apocalypse Prophecies Series
The First Seal
Book 1 of
The
Apocalypse Prophecies
Sean Deville
First publication in Great Britain
Copyright (C) Sean Deville 2020
Visit the author’s website at www.seandeville.com
Acknowledgement is made for permission to quote copyrighted materials
Printed in Great Britain
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher. Please read the disclaimer page for full terms and conditions.
This book is intended for entertainment purposes only, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental
Readers advisory
This novel is based on the biblical book of Revelation.
It is an apocalyptic work of horror fiction. As such it seeks to attain a realistic account of the times we are in. This means it contains graphic descriptions of violence as well as what some may consider to be profane language.
There will be death, there will be slaughter… there will be blood and gore.
Whilst the work contains religious themes, it does not proclaim to be an accurate representation of the various religious texts.
It’s make-believe, for something that I hope never occurs.
Revelation 6:1-2
And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.
And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.
List of Characters
Civilians
Damien/Legion
Ari Stone
Giles Horn
Detective Inspector Hargreaves
Emily Ralph
Vicky Ralph
Lucy Richards
Natalie Richards
Demons
Baal
Kane
Inquisitors
Lilith
Lucien
Father
Librarian
Cardinal Esposito
The Defense
Intelligence
Agency
NSN 75690-01-21207964
A confidential report on the Middle East
To: General Peter Robinson, Head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff
From: General Steven Sandhurst, DIA Director
As I am sure you are aware, the present situation in the Middle East is grave. Not since the Yom Kippur War have we seen such a potential threat to the Jewish state of Israel.
There are more pressing issues though. Whilst we strongly suspect that Iran was responsible for the complete recent destruction of the Saudi Arabian oil infrastructure, their use of third-party mercenaries has put plausible deniability between them and the financial devastation that is now threatening to bring down the house of Saud. The present unrest in the Saudi capital and other cities threatens our ally in the region. If Saudi Arabia falls, the balance of power will tip rapidly in favour of Iran.
The United States cannot allow this to happen.
Our analyses show that, without direct US military intervention, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and Qatar will all fall to internal uprisings brought on by the destabilising influence of Iran. It is our opinion that merely relying on sanctions on Iran is no longer enough, and along with the NSA, we have received compelling chatter that Israel itself is at risk of insurrection. Whilst Israel can defend itself more than adequately against any combined conventional military assault from its neighbours, it is highly vulnerable to a concerted and coordinated internal attack on its infrastructure.
We strongly believe that, should Israel be hit by a devastating terrorist attack, it may well resort to the use of nuclear weapons in response. There is no doubt that this will bring both Russia and China into the equation which would risk a global thermonuclear exchange.
I would urge the Joint Chiefs of Staff to once again try and persuade the Commander in Chief to authorise our military to intervene more strongly in the Middle East. This is not a time for isolationism and we feel that it is now imperative that we act swiftly to deplete the military capability of Iran. The head needs to be cut off the snake and it is now time for us to strike decisively against the Iranian threat. If we don’t act now, we risk losing influence in the entire region which would have a devastating effect on world energy supplies, and the world’s financial markets.
Although they are loathe to admit it, Israel needs our help, and I would advise that the DOD considers deploying further assets to the area.
Regards
Steven Sandhurst, DIA Director
1.
August 7th
Boston, USA
He never thought the apocalypse would look so beautiful.
Although daylight, the sky was black with the soot from a thousand ravenous fires. Professor Ari Stone stood close to the cliff edge, looking down at the shattered city below him. If the Metropolis had once been recognisable, the conflagration and the devastation hid its identity now, leaving nothing but anguish and ruin. He knew what this was; had read and written about it for nearly thirty years. And yet he was surprised that what he had considered glorified fiction had come to pass.
“Do you see?” a powerful voice said from out of the ether. He didn’t know the source of the voice, but was sure it was not in his imagination. “Do you see the truth that was prophesised?”
“Yes,” was all Stone could manage, although his voice sounded alien. The air stung his eyes and the smell of the people burning infested his nasal passages, clogging them, corroding and irritating the delicate flesh.
“When will you believe?” the voice demanded.
“This isn’t real,” Stone insisted. “This is just a dream.”
The voice mocked him in reply. “You think you know what is real? If that’s the case, then you really haven’t been paying attention.”
Stone felt himself turn, the motion not of his own creation, the body filled with aches that were not familiar to him. Before him lay a mighty golden throne, with a man seated high up. The face of the man was vague, constantly changing, never revealing his true identity. To the right of the man floated a set of iron scales, upon which rested a glowing, if tattered, scroll. Despite the way it hovered, one side of the scales sank beneath its presence. On the throne, the man sighed, shaking his mighty head in resignation. He spoke, but Stone was unable to hear what was being said.
“Then I saw the lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing before the centre of the throne. He went and took the scroll from the right hand of him who sat on the throne,” the voice proclaimed. Stone knew the words, had read and written them enough times.
It was then that Stone realised he was holding the scroll, the paper of which disintegrated at his touch, only to reform its solidity. It felt unusually heavy, as if wrapped around lead. He tried to throw it down to the earth, but it seemed joined to him, tingling against the hot skin of his palm. Seven wax seals held the scroll closed, each one marked by symbols that were incomprehensible to his human eyes. Stone had no control here. He felt more like a passenger in somebody else’s body.
“Poor, pathetic little lamb. You have yet to realise the devastation that will soon befall your kind. The scroll will open,” the voice said. “The seals will break, and you will be there to bear witness to the final wrath against the arrogance of your species. You will deny your part in it, but you will be instrumental in dooming an entire planet.”
“I refuse,” Stone insisted, only to be met by horrific laughter. “I refuse to bear witness. Choose somebody else.”
“The fool thinks he has a choice. You have already been chosen by a power you could never understand. You cannot defy what is written.”
From the sky, the sound of great trumpets blared, almost deafening in their intensity, and pain tore through his mind. Stone didn’t need to put his hand to his ears to know they were bleeding, but he did anyway, a feeble attempt to try and block out the noise. Beneath his feet the ground shook, the cliff edge breaking away, crumbling as the reverberations destroyed the cohesion of the land. At the sound of the trumpets, the man on the throne vanished into dust. The throne shattered into millions of shards that cascaded to the floor all around Stone’s feet.
“Why are you doing this?” Stone pleaded. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Because your kind have all fallen from his grace…and because I can.” Was this what the voice was, some spiteful child playing with his toys? “I have given you every opportunity, and despite that you tumble towards your own annihilation. You were given free will and yet you abused the gifts that you were blessed with.” The dust around Stone’s feet began to swirl in miniature tornadoes. “Better for me to relieve you of the burden of your suffering. Now is as good a time as any, even though I know it dooms us all.”
“No. You don’t get to have that right.”
The ground at his feet began to churn, the earth erupting outwards as decayed hands thrust themselves upward, clawing into the air. Some of them grabbed Stone, pulling on his feet and calves as whatever was down there tried to pull itself free. It was too late for Stone to run, the hands extending into arms as a multitude of corpses made themselves known.
“I have every right. And I will cause them to eat the flesh of their sons and the flesh of their daughters,” the voice continued. Before he was dragged fully down to the ground, Stone was there to witnes s the sky opening up and the great fire descending. It was as if the clouds themselves had caught fire.
“No,” Stone begged. “You don’t have to do this. We can change. Just give us a chance.”
“Oh, but I do have to do this,” replied the voice.. “And you will be there to witness it all. Humans will never change. You will pay your penance and I will have my fun.”
Decaying flesh grabbed his arms, nails breaking the skin as they easily shredded the feeble fabric he wore. The scroll was ripped from his grasp and flung into the air, where it burst into flames. The fire did not consume it though. If anything, the parchment seemed to feed on the fire rather than the other way around.
“I will laugh as the first seal breaks. I do this for I am vengeance. I am spite. I am everything you little crawling monkeys crave to be,” the voice cried out. As he was pulled beneath the surface, Stone gagged on the dry dirt that waterfalled into his mouth, stifling the final scream that so desperately wanted to be heard. “I don’t think I have ever witnessed anything that has disappointed me so. You are barely worthy of my torment, but what choice do I have? We all have our part to play.”
That was how the nightmare always struck him. At first it had been a rare event, but over the past few months it had become more frequent, hitting two or three times a week. Stone’s doctor had told him it was due to overwork and the morbid subject that he spent his time on. That made sense, he supposed. He had been pushing things of late, travelling to promote his latest book, and pushing the ideas out onto paper faster than perhaps he should have. There was a desperation in his actions, too few people willing to read his latest work. His appeal was fading, the younger generations having no interest in what he wrote.
Then there was the medication that had been prescribed, and the stuff he had acquired by more illicit means. Amitriptyline for the depression that constantly threatened to consume him. Adderall to help him write, to help get the carnival that played in his head onto the computer screen.
Sitting up in bed, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, the world still blurry around him. No doubt the prolonged travel was contributing to this, putting strains on a body that was well past its best years. But the speaking tour usually made him almost as much money as his books, and he couldn’t reject how much he enjoyed educating the minds that came to hear him speak.
He could deny it all he wanted, but recognition, and the pay cheque that came with it, was a powerful motivator for why he carried on writing about these morbid subjects.
Tonight was the last of this leg of his US tour. It was a full house, all tickets bought and accounted for. This was a smaller, more intimate venue than the others he had graced with his presence, but that was fine. Talking to huge crowds never felt right to him, despite their profitability. The hundred present tonight should open up some healthy discussion. As conceited as it might be, Stone thought of himself more as a purveyor of ideas rather than a writer. Often, he could better express concepts in words than he ever could on paper, because the written word couldn’t respond to direct challenge.
So long as he was paid for it. Hey, a guy had to eat.
Stone knew his subject matter, which was definitely fortunate considering the fevered responses his writings sometimes promoted. Controversy sold books, at least according to his agent. And what could be more controversial than dissecting the strongly held religious beliefs of billions of people?
Stone was about to discover that he should have stayed at home. Thing is, even that wouldn’t have spared him what was coming.
2.
London, UK
Blood and pain.
That was all Lilith ever seemed to dream about these days. These weren’t nightmares; instead they were often accurate memories of the retribution she had wrought on those who threatened the stability she guarded. Those lives were forfeit by the very nature of their corruption, and she was happy to bring God’s vengeance crashing down on those who threatened the safety of the world.
She brought that vengeance now, and she was enjoying every second of it.
Two sets of footsteps echoed down the stone canal path, hers and the man she was chasing. He was young, fit and athletic, but he had no hope against her training and stamina. Despite the black aura that surrounded him, visible only to some like Lilith, the pursued man knew he was no match for the chasing assassin. That was why he ran, fear driving him into a primal need to survive.
The general public might not know of the religious warriors lurking amongst them, but a select few of those who followed the path of the Little Whore did. Lilith was feared by them as much as she was despised.
The canal was too wide to jump, and swimming would not be a means to escape her vengeance, so all this man could do was run along the litter-strewn path and hope for some sort of salvation. Already he was tiring. Lilith could hear that his breathing was ragged, the injured and bleeding arm clutched against his chest, shock undoubtedly looming over him like a shroud. No matter how hard he pushed himself, Lilith was clearly gaining. This vile specimen of God’s universe had minutes at most. Better that he cherish them whilst he still could, because Lilith was going to savour every second of what was to come.
Killing one of the possessed was both a necessity and a mercy. It was also a damned fine way to spend an afternoon.
Three minutes ago, things had been different. The man and his two accomplices had chosen this spot because it was apparently deserted, the ideal place to dispose of the child that hopefully lay alive, bound in the back of their car. The abandoned brick structure next to where they had parked was a suitable venue for the end they wanted to bring to their prisoner. These three, these demons, had not expected Lilith to be waiting for them and had been woefully inept in defending themselves against her devastating attack.
Lilith had taken the three as they exited their vehicle, surprise and speed an effective weapon. She could have offed them from a distance using her sniper rifle skills, but she preferred the old-fashioned ways. Before they knew what had hit them, Lilith’s first throwing knife had taken the largest of them in the neck, severing arteries, veins and muscle. A killing blow worthy of her years of training. It didn't matter how strong you were when blood was pumping from such a grievous wound.
The second knife had landed before the woman it struck had been able to pull the gun out of its holster. The satanic-infused woman had briefly stood there, shock etched on her face, the blade embedded in her left eye, the precision of the throw incomprehensible to the now running man. He too had tried to pull forth a weapon, but the final knife thrown had sliced through his wrist, making the hand useless, and the gun dropped to the dirt. Flight had been the only option left to him. He wasn’t powerful enough to stand toe-to-toe with Lilith, and he knew it.
Lilith wouldn't have it any other way. It was good to feel the air coursing into her lungs. She was the alpha predator here, and what use was the hunt without the excitement of a chase?
Now Lilith watched as the demon she pursued stumbled, his body hurtling to the ground with a pained cry. In seconds she was upon him, a knee firm in his back. Her enemy tried to writhe free, but she gripped an ear to keep him under control, the pressure she exerted below what was required to rip the organ from his head. There were so many ways she could hurt this creature that she was almost delirious with the opportunities presented to her.
It was such a shame the unwilling host body would have to die too.
“You were warned to stay away,” Lilith stated. Despite her exertion, her breathing was controlled. “And yet your kind persist. If you had remained hidden in the shadows, I might have been willing to ignore you.” That was a lie, of course. Once Lilith got the scent of them, she never relented.
“Bitch,” the demon managed, although it was a pitiful insult.
“You could have lived for at least a few more days, maybe weeks. If only you had behaved. Imagine the human delights you could have tasted.” That was why they came, to defile the perceived purity of this place. They didn’t realise that humanity was doing a pretty good job of that without them.
