Book 1: The Rebirth of the Aztecs
Chapter 4 Part 1: Bela And The Trillionaire
The sweltering jungle heat that plagued the Solomon Islands was only just stifled by the sinking of the sun beyond the horizon. Despite the oppressive humidity, robed figures filtered in and out of the trees. Chanting could be heard through the jungle as torches erupted deep within green foliage making the shadows dance in the twilight.
From the chorus of hoods marched a small contingent of scarlet colored robes with black sigils reminiscent of Mesopotamian paganism. This set of four cultists filed out from the trees and the echoing screams filtering out from the wilderness slowly being engulfed by thick mist. The hooded men followed a cobblestone path carved right through the mud caked forest floor.
Didn’t matter how rich you were. The tropics during the rainy season was muddy, and you were going to shuck through the gunk with the plebs. The incessant whining from the “guests” upon the “abandoned” island of Tetepare was enough for the current host of the week long escapades and ceremonies to make half of them the sacrifices instead of the endless buffet of lost humanity his cousin had procured for the whole affair.
Edward Cohen hissed as the memories of his cousin's broken, and twitching body being tossed to the sharks beneath the hull of The Ryujin. Cohen had thought his kind were creative in the kill, but these upstart Catalanian Republic refugees wrote their bloody symphonies as only those with a passion could claim. Usually this would make them ideal candidates to join the ranks of Templars, Illuminati, shadow government, alien overlords, and all the other names slapped upon the gathering of various elites on the island. Most of these names were pointless concepts made to confound the masses though some of those titles were distinct, and their sects unfriendly towards others. Stll, all served the same overlord in the end even if they were a few steps removed.
Had Benjamin Cohen been a voracious uncontrollable thug? Yes. That was what made his acquisitions so delightful. He understood the mind of a glutton and the particular tastes of his clientele because he had one foot in both worlds. Not refined by any means, but if he had been like these upper crust bloodied pomeranians in robes he would’ve been useless as a human trafficker.
Most thugs were vicious, and a few were even into classes of magic like Voodoo and such, but none of them understood finer tastes. Even less understood the entities they worshiped, or the devilish details of the occult. Details mattered down to the blood history of the sacrifice to the virginity of body and spirit. The thugs understood the physical. Few understood the spiritual and mental side of the equation.
Benjamin had been an artist. Both in his schemes for acquiring their sacrifices, human and otherwise, as well as picking appropriate subjects for the ceremonies. Did those louts with generations of money behind them who had managed to flee with their bloodlines to the Oceanic provinces before the lynchings and witch burnings began after World War Three understand this? No. Half of even the higher priests these days couldn’t comprehend where their lobster for this morning’s breakfast came from let alone the weeks worth of human cattle that had been herded on to their island get away for feasts.
A thumping shook the earth to Cohen’s right deep into the shadows of the jungle. The noise and power behind the footsteps made the fellow robed cultists shudder back from the vine covered trees. Cohen however snorted, and pulled back his hood revealing slightly disheveled black hair, and handsome features. There was only a slight protruding in his nose to mark his familial bond to the late Benjamin Cohen.
“Did I call for you? Get back to your cave, and don’t eat any of the guests! Not yet anyways,” Growled Cohen up at a massive shadowy shape. A howl filled the tropical air as the pounding of oversized feet and thrashed trees marked the retreat of the forest guardian. Always testing. They should know by now that even when he was upset nobody got the better of Edward Cohen. Not even them.
“So dramatic,” said a nonchalant voice smooth as butter, and as unnerving as snake venom.
Cohen turned to the left side of the path knowing already who he would find in the approaching night. Two figures materialized into the light of the path. One was a fabulously gorgeous woman with pitch black hair, and ramrod straight posture, and the other was a tall man with piercing gray eyes and auburn painstakingly pristine hair. Yes, even Cohen as a trillionaire knew who he was looking at, and he sneered at the sight.
The black suit with white tie was this latest interloper to Cohen’s brooding time’s calling card. The look should be gaudy. An attempt of a wannabe to appear mysterious in a world of cabals and conspiracy. Not with Bela Kiss the Immortal, if that was even his real name. The man who didn’t age, and whose past was a complete mystery except for a brief life of a serial killing vampire caught in the throes of the first world war. How had this vampire, a creature associated with servitude in occult circles, become a powerhouse in the hidden powers behind the world? Cohen had no clue. This being of high strangeness never even bothered to wear the ceremonial robes that even the grand priests and elder witches wore during festivals.
“Go find an old maid to drain of blood Kiss, there are plenty of them.” Cohen answered coolly. A part of him wished he hadn’t sent the guardian back to his post. Kiss was no normal vampire, and he had no known master which made him unpredictable.
“I’m not so cold hearted Cohen. Would you have me enjoy the fruits of your late cousin’s efforts on the eve of his untimely demise? Surely not dear Edward,” Cohen felt a shiver run down his spine as Kiss grinned wide, showing fangs and dagger teeth more at home in a crocodile mouth than a vampire’s. Edward Cohen had summoned ancient demons and dark gods without a whisk of fear. Had dominated monsters and spiritual entities to his will that immortals feared, yet Kiss still put the terror of the unknown and unnatural into the trillionaire’s soul. Cohen knew, but now he had confirmed for himself that Kiss was not your standard vampire. Not for the first time Edward wondered who, and more importantly what, was Bela Kiss.
“You would’ve eaten my cousin alive over the cages in full view of his mother and family without remorse. Don’t patronize me, Kiss.” Cohen managed to keep his blatter intact and hold eye contact even as those dead gray eyes lit up like fog lights in the night. A cold flame that was as dead as the corpse it consumed burned inside that dead stare. Still, that wasn’t what disturbed Edward the most.
The pure mirth filled laugh that followed the soul wrenching stare was what unnerved the high ranking cultist. Cohen knew the laugh was genuine, and he’d heard it far too many times around the corpses of enemies and friends alike. This thing found humans funny, if not this whole fallen world to be hilarious. The trillionaire feared and hated that flippant dismal of everything he strove for. Nothing else in this corrupt universe made him small like the laugh of this monster in the suite before him.
“Eddy, you do know me, and so much better than all these other miscreants, desperate power grabbers, and spoiled children too. Even so, I know you all the more,” Kiss said, and waved for Cohen to follow him down a side trail hidden by foliage. The Cohen knew the path, and was not surprised his island fortress’s secrets were known to the immortal. For all Edward knew this vampire had hunted neanderthals in these very jungles during the ice age.
“Come along Eddy boy. I can offer you what all those yen, gold bars, and favors with the god of this earth can’t give you this day,” The vampire purred with a knowing unnerving shark grin.
“I know you want vengeance for your cousin, and to send a message to all those upstarts who would strike at your possessions and power. The councils and various fools have all declared it beneath their notice even as they impose on their underlings to mind their manners around the Catalians. After all, with the collapse of the old Empire, punic missions are less prevalent these days. And yes it’s going to cost you. Oh will it cost you Cohen, but we both know you aren’t going to say no.” Edward was tempted to spit in the vampire’s face. He hated having his mind read back to him like that, but he couldn’t deny the creature’s words. Vengeance was on his mind. Edward didn’t care so much for Benji, even if he liked him better than most of his cousins, but no one touched his empire and had any family, nation, friends, or life left when Edwar Cohen was done with them.
The trillionaire waved off the rest of his entourage, and marched after the pair of entities into the jungle. This could be a trap, but there were easier ways for a creature like Kiss to snuff out the life of a rival or target. So to the mysterious, and probably deadly meeting Edward went.
The Story Will Continue Every Monday
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