The Law of Beasts BOOK 1 ACT 3 SARCONIA

Once upon a time….

The multi-trillionaire, Vultorian, came upon shifter ghouls made of crystals in a church closed for the evening after his plans were dismantled by Alicia, with Khovahsh protecting her from behind the velvet curtain. He always knew that Khovahsh had a soft spot for the vagabond Queen that bore Armona, Queen Mother's body and her face. A generic, generated Queen that really thought she earned the respect Armona once had.

The only thing real about Alicia was her Soul wearing Armona's body like a bride gushed over her over-the-top wedding dress. By now the lion-gorilla strain was supposed to be unleashed through zombies in Denver and quickly spread through fourteen states before the powers that be could warn the public. Fourteen states of infected vampires were supposed to put the world on notice that a new regime was about to rule the world.

Only those that took the cure via Don Sharps’s pill during a secret meeting on a Helipad atop a building with fifty stories would have been spared. As he burned with rage, all he could think about was destroying Khovahsh.

VULTORIAN:

I quietly attended Khovahsh’s church, seated in the very back, the day Khovahsh bought it when the church was under foreclosure many moons ago. Well, before I encountered Kowumba Jah, before that race car event that ended with Alicia battling Le'Krock'Kah, a demi-shifting reptile that possessed Kowumba'sbody for decades, even before he became one of the world's godtier scientists.

I was an undercover assassin going by my alias, Zhivargo. I knew now that my host body was born Zhivargo, but later changed his name when I came into possession of him. I have possessed him since birth. Moving in and out of him at my leisure, and only when I hid Vultorian from the world at large. Well, until my wings gave me away. They had minds of their own.

After busying myself with something in secret, I closed my eyes and opened them in my alternate life as Zhivargo, thinking about Greg and my past, a past that was just as bloody as my supernatural life.

CONTINUED FROM BOOK 1 - ACT 2: VULTORIAN

VULTORIAN IN DISGUISE:

On the news it was reported that I was running late to my own black-tie event, because of a problem with my limo. I hadn't arrived yet, according to the Paparazzi, I was already on my grounds. I made previous plans for my escape, and everything was going smoothly. I hired three stunt men. They were the spitting image of me. Each of them wore the same suit that I wore, and thick shades...shiny black gator loafers.

Breaking my train of thought, Greg found his way to the stage and staggered to walk up the stairs. There were seven stairs...representing each year I put into his firm, even before I started officially working for him, even before I started college. I had to live, breathe and become the Firm. I had to let them degrade me and treat me like a puppet.

Doctoring cases and kidnapping witnesses to keep up my conviction rate for imaging purposes. I didn't ask for it, but controlling my destiny, giving myself the life my father never did, validated me. It felt good to cheat, the way life cheated me when my first love burned to death in her car while pregnant with my child. I was still locked deep within my inner rage about that. It happened on my graduation day from college.

I eyed Gregory...He held on...inhaling at a fast rate. Air was useless when you didn't appreciate it. In the face of death, perspective changed.

"You no longer have to worry about your Firm. I never planned on resigning or going pro bono. Do you think I was going to let you black mail me all those years, treating me like shit, just to come be your slave at this dismal Firm?"

"I...I...loved you...like a fucking...son! What have you done you ignorant bastard?"

"Nice choice of words for someone that won't live to see the sunrise, don't you think?"

"I was like a father to you!" A series of coughs shut him up. I guessed they didn't want to hear the bullshit, either. His eyes turned to a purplish color. Watching his soul slowly disintegrate into nothingness gave me joy. And I took pride in it.

"Like a father? Speak up! You're not going to be here for long."

"How could you poison..."

"Come on, Greg, the Party Pooper! You're not the only one dying. I killed the judge, the doctor and the others, too! A nigger will never become a partner in your firm. Those were your words, and the sentiment from all of the undercover racists that helped build the Firm. All of you saltine crackers smiled in my face, sat at my dinner table, ate my food, drank my alcohol, accepted my money yet viewed me as a nigger the entire time. Well...looks like this nigger will be the sole owner!"

"Rot in..."

"Rot? The way you rigged my woman's brakes and she burned to death with my child, when I was in college? You think I don't know about that? You wanted my soul, and you got it when it died with my wife to be, and our unborn child was sacrificed. And you want sympathy? Now you rot in hell!"

"Die, nigger!"

"There he is! Your authentic self! Fathers don't call their children hateful things like nigger. That'll be the last time you call me one."

I punched him, pulled out both Desert Eagles, and aimed at his head. "When you perish, I will be the proud owner of your Firm. I promise to take your business into heights you never dreamed of, Gregory! Consider this your payment!"

The bullets tore through his body and internal organs without a care in the world. The smell of free-flowing blood and flesh intermingled with the smoke from the barrels of my Desert Eagles gave me crazed eyes. It didn't hurt to peck away at his organs, since they were exposed. His lungs, brain and his heart tasted quite scrumptious. I was no Hannibal Lector, but I'd silence his lambs if he crossed me as well. Success, right now, didn't fulfill me.