Reincarnated

Prologue

Vladimir could barely breath.His back hunched, he crouched in obeisance, trying to stop his broad shoulders from quivering, even as he tried, in vain, to stem the fear that seemed to proliferate within his body, threatening to engulf him. Before he could even steady himself, the other man, if he could be called that; the one in front of whom vladimir prostrated, spoke ,”So, the brethren got to them.” It wasn’t a question, wasn’t even a statement asking for confirmation; on the contrary, it was as if the speaker was simply musing out loud. Seated on an armchair, he had a deep voice, one full of unspoken authority; the kind of voice that was as cold as it was calm. The speaker seemed bored, sleepy even, yet,as he spoke, Vladimir shuddered, eyes widening slightly.

To an onlooker, the scene would’ve appeared inconspicuous, albeit a bit strange. Of course, that would’ve been before he noticed the wild, crazed look in Vladimir’s eyes, the kind of look that a cornered dog has, even as it realizes that it has no way out. Then, maybe, if the observer was a bit more perceptive, he would’ve noticed the strange way in which shadows seemed to behave around the person seated.Shrouding him in darkness; even though he was but a short distance away from the crackling fireplace, shadows seemed to morph around him, even bend towards him, as if trying to get closer, seeking sustenance, not dissimilar to how sunflowers rotate about on their axis to face the Sun. Of course, no onlooker would’ve gotten that close and escaped with his life; or, in the least, his sanity.

Vladimir looked down at his hands. His grimy, dirt stained hands; hands that had murdered hundreds,perhaps thousands, of innocents, either on a whim or for the attainment of power; hands that, currently, shook violently even as he attempted to coax, with every sinew and fibre of his body,the tiniest bit of rigidity into them. He stared at them, wondering whether all his victims had experienced this pure, unadulterated, spasmodic fear too, fear that seemed to crowd out every other thought from his brain(Not that he had many; Vladimir was known and feared for his brawn, not his intellect) seemed to reduce his thought process, strip it down to its bare constituents; until a quivering mass of primal instincts was all that remained.”But then”, the smallfragment of his sanity that remained reasoned ,”All they had to fear was death.” Whereas the fate which was, no doubt, awaiting Vladimir was much worse than death.In fact, death itself seemed infinitely preferable, if not downright pleasurable in comparison.

Blinded to his surroundings by his fear, Vladimir failed to notice that the armchair in front of him, so recently occupied, was suddenly vacant. Additionally, he failed to notice as the air around him, the atmosphere itself, grew heavy, leaden; as if full of foreboding. Not that it would’ve made much of a difference. His fate had already been decided the moment he had reported his failure. Silence, deafening in nature, and ominous in disposition, prevailed. “Hello”, came a breath whisper from behind him as if someone was behind him, stooping, and whispering into his ear. Vladimir started suddenly, scrambling to his feet and trying to turn around as he tried to locate the source of the voice. There was nothing but darkness behind him. He looked around, wildly, trembling and unable to stop himself from quietly sobbing, as he searched for an escape route. He froze, in fear and disbelief, as he heard a chuckle, emanating from right behind him as if the lips, from which these sounds originated, if they did exist in the first place, were but millimetres from his nape. Paralyzed, he tried to scream, shout, call for assistance, but a croak was all that came out; his vocal cords ceased to function, as the last vestiges of proper motor control vanished.Then, strangely, as the atmosphere had been so static just a moment ago, the fire in the fireplace flickered and went out. Vladimir was left alone in the room, whimpering. But not for long.