Lewis Finlayson

written aged 13
Belmont Academy, Ayr

Redemption

PART 1

In the land of Gaia, it is the time of the Crusades; holy wars against the heretics. But while the noble lords are away, unholy monsters roam the land.

Tyron Gayle is one of these knights, but has returned home after his crusade captured the rebel's stronghold. Now he plans to marry his long-term fiancée Lukricia. In Gayle Castle the wedding preparations have begun...

Tyron strapped on the last of his ceremonial armour, polished to a high sheen, engraved with his coat of arms and strong enough to withstand a hit from a claymore. He picked up his sword, Redeemer of the Fallen, and held it before his armourer, who nodded in agreement. He sheathed it and strapped it round his waist.

The armourer placed the cloak around his shoulders, a relic from his time as a wanderer, before he became a knight.

"How do I look?" Tyron asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Fine," replied his armourer.

Tyron left the armoury and strode into the great hall, where the ceremony would begin in a few moments time.

Suddenly, a figure robed in white came in to the "Oohs" and "Aah" gasps of the audience. Tyron smiled as the moment drew near. The two figures stood in front of the minister, who himself stood in front of a gothic window with a hooded angel emblazoned on it.

The ceremony was about to begin, when suddenly the torches were snuffed out. The only light was from the window.

Twelve figures, with pale faces, long teeth and evil in their eyes appeared, standing in a ring around the to-be-weds.

"We have come for her," a deep solemn voice said. Tyron knew the sound of that voice - the strongest of all.

"Ezekyle!" he spat, knowing that his enemy was near.

"Yes mortal," the lead figure replied, removing his hood. "This one will provide us with many new pleasures and will be a worthy addition to our slaves," the decadent vampire said, moving towards Lukricia, grabbing her with his hideous claws, raking her flesh. Then with her screams echoing around the room, Ezekyle and his consorts disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.

Tyron sank to his knees, silently weeping as the assembled guests stampeded out of the hall. Later that night he prepared to go after her, but the servants argued against it.

"Lord, you know the Church has forbidden attacking the creatures while the Crusades still go on. You'll be declared Excommunicate Traitorous and your lands, title and castle will be stripped from you."

"I must," whispered Tyron Gayle, "for she is my Adam's Rib," as he walked into the darkness, dressed again as a wanderer, with his sword in one hand and Lukricia's amulet in the other.

***

He knew they were watching, as he went further into the forest, with shadows moving around him, but they belonged to nothing. Tyron stopped and lit a fire, as he knew a fire repelled them.

As he peered into the gloom he thought he saw a pair of green gleaming eyes, filled with hate. Forgetting the safety of the fire, he strode further into the mist, and reached a clearing. There, shrouded in the shadows stood a vampire, waiting to challenge him. Tyron knew this instinctively, and so he drew his sword and charged the unholy beast. Lightning crashed down around them. The satanic daemon disappeared and reappeared behind the hero, aiming to strike a fatal blow to the neck. Tyron turned swiftly and ripped the black heart out of the beast with his gleaming sword, which was now covered in blood. The creature screamed a disorientating sound that pierced the fabric of reality and died.

Wiping his sword on the carcass, he walked on and soon reached the stronghold of Clan Grishnak, Ezekyle's family. With hate and desire for holy vengeance, he opened the door and walked in.

After going through a maze of corridors, Tyron reached a dark room. There, arranged in an eight-pointed star, were the defiled corpses of young virgins. Among them lay Lukricia, but she was still alive. There was blood around her neck and thighs, and her chastity belt was ripped apart. Her innocent beauty was gone, her face a pitiful travesty of what it was. Lukricia, like the others, was chained to a post - ready for some dark ritual.

Quickly Ezekyle, the unscrupulous immortal, walked forward. He swayed with a sinuous grace, granted to him by his dark god. "Have you come for that one?" Ezekyle asked as he pointed to Lukricia. "Yes," replied Tyron. "I'm afraid not," said Ezekyle, "but your blood will finish the ritual and will be a good addition."

***

Ezekyle flew at the Gaian Knight, but Tyron blocked. The two traded blows for a while, testing each other, trying to find a weakness. Tyron used every technique in his repertoire of blows, but to no avail.

Strangely, the vampire stepped back and signalled to his underlings. Tyron didn't know what was going to happen, but raised his sword. The fight continued, but the demi-vampires started to torture Lukricia. Tyron tried to block out her screams, but was failing. When the next scream came he stumbled and Ezekyle unleashed a violent psychic attack, forcing Tyron back. With an effort borne of desperation, he threw his sword at Ezekyle and killed him. The underlings fled and Tyron fell down, exhausted.

Suddenly Lukricia rose, her clothes were gone, her skin was darkened, and she rose on black pinions. Tyron saw her teeth, and her changed beauty - from an innocent, beautiful girl to a seductive, sensual woman - alluring, but repellent.

She noticed the knight and opened her mouth. The long teeth were sharp.

Tyron Gayle resigned himself to death.

***

PART 2

He woke up. He touched every part of his body, to make sure he was alive. He was whole. Yes!

But then Tyron's hand came to his neck. There were craters on the plain, two gaping holes, but he wasn't a vampire. In his head Tyron rejoiced, but in his heart he knew that it was only a matter of time, as Lukricia became a vampire after only two days.

Tryon racked his mind for a cure, but he couldn't think of one. He found a horse and rode for the nearest town, two days as the vampire bat flies.

The horse limped into town and the townsfolk were amazed to see a massive knight, half dead and as pale as a ghost. The town's chaplain rushed out, heaved Tyron off the horse, and took him to the church. However, Tyron couldn't get in, as the dark forces in his body prevented him from going in.

"Chaplain," croaked Tyron.

"Yes," replied the minister.

"I've been bitten by a vampire and in a short while I will be one. I don't think there is a cure... "

"Ah! But there is!" said the holy man, the fire of faith in his eyes.

"What?" questioned Tyron.

"Bones of a saint, ground to a powder and mixed with dragon blood!" the minister exclaimed.

"Do you have such things in your possession?" enquired the knight in desperation.

"Yes, but it works only at midnight."

Tyron knew it was going to be close, but said nothing.

***

It was nearly midnight, and Tyron was as nervous as he was excited. This could cure him!

The Chaplain drew a pentagram around the knight. After that he sat the chalice with the hoped for cure in the centre. Soon after the clock struck midnight, and Tyron reached forward, his hand shaking.

With a cry of horror, the priest sprang back. Tyron looked at his arm. Instead of being a normal, human arm, it was large and muscled far beyond the limits of the human body and looked like the skin of a corpse. The talons on the end of the fingers were large and sharp enough to gut a horse.

With an explosion of blood, Tyron transformed. He was as tall as an elephant, with a scaly face like a piranha and a huge pair of skeletal wings protruding from his back. The bestial Tyron knocked the chalice into the air, the panacea spilling through the night.

The embodiment of chaos loomed over the priest, preparing to exsanguinate him, when something like rain hit him. The daemon looked up, his mouth agape.

The healing rain sprayed the beast burning a cross into his chest and falling into his wide gasping mouth. The monster stood stunned for a moment, shrugged his shoulders and made for the Chaplain.

It roared and extended a mutated claw, slowly coming towards the holy man.

Then it stopped.

***

The beast looked at its arm in puzzlement, instead of being strong and hugely muscled, it was human. Suddenly the beast dropped to its knees writhing in pain. Slowly, with blood curdling screams the beast transformed back into Tyron.

The knight stood up and stretched his arms. He felt stronger, faster and deep within he knew he could kill any vampire and earn himself redemption for loving a vampire.

The quest to find more dragon's blood and relics of a saint lay before him, but he knew in his very soul that Lukricia could only be saved by great sacrifice.