Malachi could not believe what was happening. His followers, the army he had sired, gunned down and burned to near death before his eyes. How? This was not Shaniah’s doing. He knew that. It was humans who had created weapons that killed and maimed his people. Impossible.
He remembered centuries before, when the Old Ones had decided that mankind had grown beyond the ability of the Archaics to treat them simply as prey. He had argued against it then and he had opposed it again when the Council chose Shaniah to be their leader. We are Archaics! He had reasoned. Humans should tremble before us! But the Council had been too weak. They had always been too timid. Afraid of tiny beings no better than insects.
When the decision to avoid human contact was made, the Archaics fractured. Most went along to the high mountains of Eastern Romania. But a few scattered, never to be heard from again. There were times he wondered about those who had chosen freedom; had they survived? Had they lived and prospered in the human world? Did they still feast on the Huma Sangra?
Malachi had decided to wait. He went along with the others to the high mountains. But one day he would become an Eternal. Then he would take control of his people. And he would show them that humans were not to be feared. Humans were nothing more than food.
Once he left, after Shaniah’s ascension to leadership, he had quickly learned on his journey to this place about the advances of humankind and their remarkable ingenuity. He had seen human weapons up close. Had felt them cut his skin and pierce his flesh. And he had found them to be no match for a true Archaic. A mosquito bite. Even those humans who had learned control of the elementals did not instill fear in him. He was unbeatable.
To Malachi, humans were nothing more than walking meals. He remembered that, a few years ago, he had been on the plains of Wyoming and his band had killed a group of soldiers. One of the soldiers had shot him several times. He felt the bullets stinging his skin but hardly slowing him down. The soldier had no idea how close he was to death. How Malachi would feast on his blood. But the sun came up and he did not have time to kill and drain the man.
Archaics owned the night. Another reason they could decimate the human race when he raised his army. Humans feared the night. Darkness was a great disadvantage to them. They could not see, did not feel or hear the presence of an Archaic stalking them until the fangs sank into their necks. And they died, as they should.
He had come to America to get away from the very Archaics like Shaniah and the Old Ones who could have stopped him if he had stayed in the old country. Every step of the way he had planned carefully, turning followers when they were needed, but carefully planning and growing.
He was close to unleashing his full fury on the human race, but now he saw before him these puny creatures that stood toe to toe with his Archaics unafraid, with weapons he could not imagine. The cries and screams of agony of his people brought him back to the present.
He was angry and confused, and for a moment not sure of what he should do. Should he retreat? Let his soldiers die here and start afresh somewhere else? All he needed to do was live three more days and he would be an Eternal. Nothing, no weapon, no spell, no elemental could kill him after that.
“I tried to tell you this would happen.”
The voice from behind him actually startled him, but he showed now sign of it as he turned to face her.
“Hello, Shaniah,” he said. “It is good to see you again.”