Chapter 299 - Army of the Undead part 11

My army grew by leaps and bounds until I began to have trouble keeping our numbers and remembering the names of our newest recruits. We made them into blood gods, those who wanted it, and some became fine, powerful vampires. Most were not so powerful, but they were no less important to our cause, for it was sheer numbers we needed if we ever hoped to challenge the God King. We trained them as Zenzele had trained us, and then we sent them out to recruit more.

Through our new associates, we made ourselves and our war known to the tribes of the Gobi. We couched our proposal in terms the mortals would find most enticing: that we were gods, and that should they fight for our side, they would have eternal life, either here in the world of living men, or after in the Ghost World. We promised them godhood, and they only had to give their lives to us, swear to us their undying allegiance. Lies. Ugly, wicked lies. But isn't that how all religions work? Give us your loyalty, give us your soul, and we will exalt you to godhood, give you eternal life, and powers beyond imagining. Oh, yes, we vampires were mankind's first real gods, and our war with Uroboros was the first Holy War that men would spill their blood for.

The chieftains of the Gobi, those who did not take the blood, swore to aid us in our war with the God King, should his forces ever come so far east. They called Zenzele and I the Mother and the Father. They bowed down to us. Let their veins in sacrifice to us, and I allowed it, for our troops needed the nourishment, and it was the only way we could convince them to fight for their world, to fight the God King.

It was just as Zenzele had said. We had to become gods. We had to trick mankind into saving itself.

At last the time came to journey west. With our numbers, we need no longer run from the hunters the God King sent for us. After one final conclave between my army of the undead and the mortal tribes of the Gobi, we set off from the big desert, marching toward the Ural Mountains, which we had decided to make our new headquarters. Several groups of mortal warriors trailed after us, accompanied by their women and children. Those men had refused the living blood but still wanted to fight with us, and we allowed that, too, but for their safety we kept them at a distance.

Zenzele sensed that another band of warriors had been dispatched from Uroboros to engage us, and we marched forward to meet them, determined at long last to fight back.

"Their number is greater than Khronos has ever sent before," Zenzele said, "but we outnumber them almost two to one. We should have no trouble defeating them."

And she was right. We laid an ambush for them in a dense forest in Eastern Russia, concealing our true numbers from them until it was too late, until they had fallen into our trap and there was no hope for them. At my cry, my army descended on the Uroborans, and though our enemy was well trained, it was over for them in moments.

Walking amidst the broken bodies of my enemies, I said to Zenzele, "How many of our own did we lose?"

Zenzele smiled. "Only one."

"Just one?" I asked, surprised.

"We have trained them well," she said.

"And so it begins," I murmured, nudging the head of a fallen enemy with my toe. The man had died with an expression of great surprise on his face, mouth agape, eyes bulging like a fish. Already the flesh of his head was decomposing as the living blood devoured him from within. I watched his skin shrivel to the bone, his eyes sink into darkness. A sound come from his skull that reminded me of the sound of sand sliding down the side of a dune. A low hissing sound.

"Khronos will send twice as many when these men do not return to Uroboros," Zenzele said.

"So we recruit more," I replied. "And quickly."

How easy it was to kill once it had begun. How easy it was to put aside my moral code.

We seduced the tribes of Eastern Russia as we had the people of the Gobi, doubling our forces, and then doubling that. We forged an alliance with several bands of blood drinkers, too, some who were expatriates of Uroboros, blood drinkers like me who had rejected the God King and the parasitic society he had created at Fen'Dagher.

One of these was an immensely powerful Eternal who called himself Drago. He was a tall, muscular man with long raven black hair and icy gray eyes. He had once been a clan master, until Khronos became desirous of his mate and sought to take her for himself. When Drago and his woman objected to their master's overtures, Khronos sent his personal guard for them, intending to quarter the Eternal and force the woman to his side. The woman, Hannan, was destroyed in the melee. Drago barely escaped, and swore vengeance on his former king.

It all transpired many hundreds of years before Zenzele arrived at the city of the blood gods, so she did not know this Drago, but he was willing enough to Share with us. After that, our bond was forged by blood.

Drago was impressed by the army I had gathered, and eager to join our cause. "At long last, I will have vengeance on that leech," he crowed, his eerie eyes sparking. "I will see him laid low, and avenge my beloved Hannan!" There were half a dozen blood drinkers in his coven. A couple of them departed, wanting no part of our dispute with the God King, but the others, loyal to their leader, joined with him.

"Now we are four Eternals," Zenzele said. "That is a good thing. That increases the odds in our favor just a little more."