Prey for the Soulless

Society is in a complete shambles, leaving behind a bloodthirsty world that practically worships pain and suffering. Sitting at the helm is Marcus Powers, the most powerful individual the world has ever known and the person controlling so many aspects of life with his tremendous financial influence. Hes the impetus behind the popular Games, a highly publicized, fight-to-the-death drama that pits prison inmates against one another for the sake of entertainment. Even so, Powerss influence is not enough; he wants to be president, the keeper of the people, leading the citizens of the United States into new territory. This man, filled with evil and bemused by mans pathetic antics, has a plan, and he dares anyone to challenge his desire to mold a new world in his own image.But a small congregation of pious men and women recognize and understand the prophetic signs of each broken seal reflected by the sorry state of the society. With a Bible clutched in his right hand and an automatic weapon in his left, excommunicated priest Father OBannion and his tiny band of devout parishioners will risk everything to save the world from evil.

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Prey for the SoullessBy K. R. LUGOiUniverse, Inc.Copyright © 2013 K. R. LugoAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-9473-5 CHAPTER 1And do not fear those whokill the body but cannot kill the soul.But rather fear Him who is able to destroyboth soul and body in hell.Matthew 10:28 (NKJV)The clash of steel on steel instantly brought the crowd ofthousands to its feet. Men, women, and children alike shoutedwith bloodlust, while billions of viewers from homes andbars around the world wished they could be there.Savagely clutched in the heat of a battle to the death, standingbloody shoulder to bloody shoulder, the pair of fierce warriorsgracefully moved on nimble feet in a painstakingly slow clockwisepattern. They paced around each other like a couple of viciouswraiths with every bone-weary pivot. Blood dripped from dozensof deep lacerations and punctures—expertly delivered by theopponent—and hit their feet and the ground with sickly splats.Eerie, red-stained impressions left in the wake of their steps markedthe dirt.Armed with Thracian swords and polished shields, the evenlymatched men measured each other with eyes that blazed with a deepunderstanding only two gladiators forced to kill could ever hope tofathom, let alone share without feeling remorse or taking offense.It was nothing personal. Just business as usual. Kill or be killedwas the mantra of every participant. A single error in judgmentmeant certain death. Pity was obsolete and the epitome of weakness.Pain was inconsequential—something to be shut out. Only victorymattered.In the stands—beyond the combatants' concentrated field ofvision—the fans jubilantly pumped into the air posters of theirfavorite fighters, foam fingers, and every conceivable type ofmerchandise they had bought from the arena's vendors as theycheered for the more popular fighter who was battling to stay alivea little longer.Slash Johnson, currently ranked at number ten as a Section Bfighter and a two-to-one favorite over his opponent, leaned forwardand pressed his ugly face within inches of Darrick Woodrick. Hesneered.Darrick moved his own face forward until their noses practicallytouched. He curled his horribly disfigured lip and made a twistedgrin.A dead quiet enveloped the crowd. They had seen the calmbefore the storm countless times.With no more than an inch separating the adversaries, themen shifted on perfectly balanced feet, their dexterity honed fromhundreds of practice hours to improve their homicidal skills. Theycircled one another in a macabre dance of destruction.Slash made the first offensive move.The crowd rose to its feet. All hell was about to break loosebetween the gladiators.Slash snarled like a rabid wolverine and rose up on his toes togain more leverage against Darrick. He angled his razor-sharp bladetoward Darrick's sweat-stained throat.Darrick grinned at the predictable maneuver. "That's a patheticmove," he jeered in a croak. "It might work on a shadow fighter, butnot on me!" Darrick readied his shield. He surreptitiously adjustedhis shoulder and positioned it solidly behind the hilt of his sword.Metal screeched in protest when the edges of their bladesseesawed back and forth, as the men fought for an advantage. Sparksflew.A single miscalculation would cost everything.The action quickly energized the crowd, and voices roared forspilled blood. They continued to wave their merchandise in theair.Slash smiled and grunted in satisfaction, preparing for a firststrike with the blade. He blinked against the perspiration coursingdown his face. "Can ya feel it, sucker?" He felt the other man'sknees falter and buckle ever so slightly beneath the pressure he wasexerting.Darrick smiled back, adjusting his shield once more. He dug hisfeet into the dirt to get a sturdy foothold. "What's that?" he grunted,squinting against the brightness of the sun."Your friggin' head sliding down a sharp stick," Slash said."Ain't gonna happen," Darrick promised. "Not in this life.""I got a spot all picked out for ya!""I ain't goin' nowhere!"Slash suddenly yanked his sword back and stepped to the sideto throw Darrick off balance. His aim was to make his opponentstumble forward, exposing a clean-kill shot. But Slash realized asecond too late that Darrick had expected his plan. Darrick whippedhis shield around and struck Slash, sending him flying backward.Shit! Slash thought. Screwed the hell up!Darrick towered over Slash, who was scrambling to get off theground. He brought his sword down.With a poetic sweep of the shield, Slash blocked the blade intendedto lop off his head and swung his own sword in a retaliatory arc tosever his would-be killer's leg.Darrick jumped skyward just in time to avoid the slicing blurof shining steel. In retaliation, he delivered a wicked slash acrossSlash's back on his way back down to earth. A thick stream of bloodspilled from the wound.Slash grunted in pain and rolled away from another sweep ofthe murderous blade.Darrick moved in for the final deathblow.The crowd screamed for more and turned their thumbsdownward.Darrick tightened his grip on his sword, pulled the shield a littlehigher on his shoulder, and snickered at Slash.Slash sneered defiantly."There's nowhere for you to go, now," Darrick said, raising thesword overhead. "You can run, but you can't hide."Rather than roll away from the man only seconds from strikinghim dead, Slash did a partial somersault and threw himself at hisstalker, flinging his shield at Darrick as hard as he could. He whippedhis sword around to make it his last act.Darrick's eyes went wide as he clearly realized the stupid mistakehe'd made—he'd underestimated a man's will to live. He took aclumsy step back and moved to shift the angle of the shield to stopthe shimmering weapon from completing its journey. But he failedto get the face of it around fast enough. His shield hit the groundwith a metallic thump. He screamed in pain.The fans whooped.Darrick staggered backward on uneven steps, his head twistingin horrific agony. He raised his left arm and then let out anotherscream when he saw that barely half of it remained. A shower ofred spewed from the elbow joint like burning lava from a ragingvolcano, splashing on his face and everything else within ten feet.Still lying on his back, Slash snickered at the sight. He wastoo weak to move or do anything else. He no longer cared aboutanything. "Can ya feel it now?" he managed to choke out. "We c-ccanb-be bookends."Darrick staggered closer to his fallen opponent; his swordslipping from his hand. "Doesn't matter, asshole," he mumbled. "Istill win." He toppled over, falling onto the bloodstained groundwith a splat."Slash! Slash! Slash!" the crowd chanted, applauding andstamping their feet in celebration.An alarm sounded.A small group of medical personnel carrying a gurney rushedinto the center of the arena a few seconds later and quickly tossedSlash on the canvas and disappeared to wherever they had comefrom. A young intern stuffed Darrick's body into a bag and draggedit off like garbage."Ladies and gentlemen," a voice shouted from a speaker system."How's that for entertainment?"The crowd screamed wildly.The voice chuckled. "We have a special event coming up, but weshall take a thirty-minute break for your convenience, so that youmay visit the snack bar and facilities."Jabbering like excited schoolchildren on a field trip, countlessnumbers of spectators rose from their seats and headed off withhaste.* * *The stench of death lingered in the atmosphere like a dense,penetrating fog, and filled the lungs of the three first-time combatantswith each breath. Untried and untested, they were commonly referredto as shadow fighters As the newest additions to The Games, theyexchanged pained expressions and continued to gag. They wereheld captive inside the mobile cage made of metal bars, along withan older fighter.In spite of the fear coursing through the three young convicts'veins, all they could do was stare in an incongruent mixture ofsilent awe and confusion at the fourth man—the infamous Ramses,the Harbinger of Death—who held his head bowed as he restedon bended knee in silent prayer. Such a bizarre act of piety madeno sense to any of the trio. In a bloodthirsty world that practicallyworshipped pain and suffering above all else, Ramses was itsordained God. His reputation for inflicting unspeakable brutalityon other human beings was without match."Ladies and gentlemen," the voice announced. "Two-minutewarning. Please return to your seats."Suddenly, Ramses raised his enormous head and looked at hisfellow prisoners with gentle eyes. A single tear trickled down hisscarred cheek, falling upon a freakishly muscled shoulder that wascovered with jagged evidence of countless battles. He could sensethe younger men's terror of the unknown, as the dying screams ofthose slain by his own hand plagued his mind. Filled with shamefor all that he had done, finding it difficult to look into the eyes ofthose who were not so unlike his fallen victims, he cast his gazedownward and groaned.* * *Petrified, the three prisoners inched away from the intimidatinghulk of a man."Hello, brothers," Ramses greeted them with unexpectedwarmth. Zippered skin writhed to form a grotesque version of aHalloween mask when he lifted the corners of his mouth to offer afriendly smile. He held out a hand the size of a catcher's mitt markedby deep slashes healed long ago. "I don't mean to bother you at sucha terrible time, but would you please join me in prayer? I think groupprayers bring us closer to His glory."Stunned by such a request, the three men slowly blinked theireyes in quiet disbelief. It was the last thing any of them expected.But they knew it was far wiser to agree than to risk offending a manwho could easily snap their necks with a single twist.Although wary, the man sitting closest to the human monsterreached out and watched the callused glove swallow up his hand.The other two men looked on in silence."We'd be glad to pray with you, Ramses," the man said,struggling to keep his voice from cracking. He slid his hand freewhen Ramses loosened his grip. The shadow fighter stared at hisown hand strangely as he opened and closed his fingers, genuinelysurprised to find that it was not permanently disabled. He thenlooked at the other two men and nodded."Please, don't call me by that name," the veteran fighter saidsoftly, shaking his head. "My name is not Ramses. It never was.That is the name of a godless creature, a beast that has committedatrocities against his fellow man, insulted God. It is a name thatwas given to me by evildoers who walked the path of our Lord'sadversary." He rested a palm against his massive chest. "I am JasonWhite."The shadow fighter cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Jason," he said,his tone slightly subdued. "I meant no offense." He smiled weakly."My name is Billy." He turned his head and pointed at the other twomen, who were still staring in awed silence. "This is Aaron, and thisis Tommy.""Hello, my brothers." Jason said, nodding. He then held out hishand to them and shook their hands in formal greeting. "Would thetwo of you be willing to join me in prayer, to ask for delivery fromthe evil and sin of this world?"They let out an audible sigh of relief.White then bowed his head and closed his eyes. "In the nameof your Son, Jesus Christ, please wrap your loving arms around mynew friends, your children, and forgive us our trespasses. Pleaseaccept us into your loving embrace this day, and forgive me forallowing myself to be lured into committing wicked acts againstmy brothers and sisters by the `adversary' Marcus Powers. Like somany of the blind in the world, I did not see him as the destroyeruntil you blessed me with the purity of vision to see." Jason tooka deep breath, shuddering. "I know the evil one is here today tovanquish me. I can feel his darkness everywhere. My faith in youis absolute. What are riches worth, if one is to lose his soul? Pleasebless my brothers, Billy, Aaron, and Tommy, and in your unlimitedwisdom, mercy, and love, grant them eyes to see and ears to hearthe ultimate deceiver of ..."* * *Fifteen years earlier, an unknown shadow fighter by the name ofJason White stepped into the center of the arena. It was his nineteenthbirthday. Consumed in fear, he listened as a voice introduced him asthe challenger to a man whose skill in hand-to-hand combat was bothfeared and revered by anyone fortunate enough to have witnessedhis poetic use of fists, feet, and weaponry. Tens of thousands hadrisen in support of their well-known champion, yelling protests atthe unfamiliar young person standing opposite the more seasonedman. Boos and hisses at the newcomer echoed like a reverberatingcancer. Jason White's physical presence appeared impressive, butthe number-one-ranked contender from Section A had alreadydispatched eighty men and showed a proclivity to decimate anyoneplaced in front of him—quickly.The guard escorted Jason to a spot near the center of the arenaand offered a polite tilt of the head to the predicted victor, who washolding a sword. It was then that Jason did something no othershadow fighter had ever done in the history of The Games.Ignoring the officials watching from all corners of the immensestructure, and to the absolute delight of the crowd, Jason raised thelarge cutlass in his hand, bowed his head, and offered a poignantsalute to all those watching from around the world.Thousands in the stands fell silent in a bizarre calm, awed bythe man who seemed to have no fear. They stared at him, and soon,whispers began to circulate.An elderly woman was the first to applaud in appreciation ofJason's moxie. Others soon joined her.Only seconds after the modern-day gladiators brutally clashed,Jason quickly proved that he was no ordinary man. He drewfirst blood and forced the favored fighter down to the groundeffortlessly.The crowd's response was immediate. The shadow fighter hadjust shocked the world into a tailspin. The people stomped their feetin perfect rhythm and shouted for Jason to lop of the pretender'shead.Finally, Jason reached down, grabbed the groaning man by thehair, and beheaded him with efficiency.* * *Fourteen and a half years after his first victory, following his fivehundredth championship match, Jason was known throughout theworld as the Harbinger of Death. On one afternoon, he stood in thecenter of the arena, covered in the blood of another adversary, andwatched the famous Marcus Powers walk down the southern aisletoward the wall that separated the stands from the field of battle tocongratulate him for so many conquests. Two other figures trailedafter him with awkward gaits. The hairs on the back of Jason's neckprickled. As the men came near to him, he took a step away fromMarcus, who was smiling and waving a hand at him. Jason bit downon the inside of his cheek as he watched the three faces staring athim. They shimmered as like a heat wave and then suddenly changedinto something so hideously obscene that bile rose from his stomach.The impact of the images was so strong that Jason renounced histitle under his breath and prayed for God's intervention as he turnedaway from the three snarling faces.* * *"Time!" a prison guard shouted, interrupting the four men. He thenstruck the metal bars with a heavy pipe that served as a nightstick.The three newcomers jumped in fear, and looked up.Jason ignored the rudeness and continued to pray.Enraged at the champion's refusal to submit at the feet ofauthority, the guard retrieved a ring of keys from a utility belt thatencircled his flabby midsection and walked over to the door.Several other guards approached with guns drawn. Theysurrounded the mobile cage. All guns pointed at Jason's head."No one better fuckin' move!" the lead guard, Jack Johansson,warned. "If any of you tries one damn thing, we'll shoot you whereyou sit. Do you understand what I'm sayin' to you, maggots?"With a new level of fear rising, the three newcomers nodded.The guard gave them a vicious smile. "Now that's good littledead men." He turned his attention on Jason. "I didn't get youranswer, Ramses.""Do whatever you want," Jason replied softly. "I am saved, soyour hateful words fall on deaf ears.""Is that right, killer?" Johansson said, his tone dripping withvenom."It is," Jason replied.While leering at the prisoners, Johansson unlocked the gate,stepped back, and swung the heavy metal door open. It squeakedon rusted hinges. He then lifted the pipe overhead and glared at thehuge man. "So now you want to pray to a God who can't and won'thelp you, huh?" he asked heatedly. "You're pathetic! All of you andyour worthless hides." He threw a set of handcuffs into the cage. "It'sshowtime for you, Ramses, so put those on. You know the routine,tough guy." (Continues...)Excerpted from Prey for the Soulless by K. R. LUGO. Copyright © 2013 K. R. Lugo. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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