Page 50 of The Vampire King's Gift

Balthazar knew what this was. “Armageddon.”

“What? But I thought Armageddon was the dusting of that Vampire that went to hurt Julian,” Christian whispered back.

Neither of them, evidently, wanted to break this eerie silence.

“No, I was able to do that before. I had a vision. Anyways, that wasn’t it. Though it’s cool,” Balthazar agreed.

“So what is this?” Christian asked.

“Is this… isthisArmageddon?” Balthazar confirmed with Daemon.

The Vampire King was standing just two feet from him, and though he had spoken in half a whisper, Balthazar’s voice carried just like he had feared. In this silence, it was as if he had shouted from the rooftops.

“Yes,” Daemon answered simply.

Then the Vampire King’s arms rose from his sides, and something—a sheen of red silk, though it couldn’t have actually been silk—seemed to rise from each of the enemy Vampires. They let out this horrible wail like their very souls were being taken. That “red silk” drifted towards Daemon. He absorbed each and every one of them. His eyes were constantly glowing this hot ember red at the end. Finally, there were no more silks to absorb. His arms lowered. Silence fell again.

Balthazar’s eyes swept over the crowd, they were different. They were very different. He couldn’t quite place what was off about them. But they were lesser than they had been. They werereduced.

“What does Armageddon do, Daemon?” Christian asked, breaking that silence.

“We should not ask the king such things, Christian,” Arcius murmured, his gaze fixed on Daemon as if he simply couldn’t look away. He was in awe clearly.

“Oh, forget that! I want to know too! Daemon, spill! What dastardly thing does Armageddon do?” Balthazar cried. “What’s wrong with them? Something is clearly very wrong with them.”

“Smell them,” Daemon answered with a faint, almost sad smile on his face.

“Smell…” Balthazar repeated but then the scent of the nearest enemy Vampire reached his nose, and he understood. They didn’t smell like Vampires anymore. He let out an uncertain sound. “Human?”

“Yes,” Daemon answered. “They are all humans again. Mortal. Frail.Prey.”

“Oh, by the Faith, no wonder it is called Armageddon. For a Vampire to be turned mortal again… the horror of it,” Fiona murmured.

She looked at the faces of those former Vampires. They were no longer rigid. In fact, they were all curling in on themselves, making themselves as small as possible, hunching down, bringing their arms up over their heads to block blows that were not coming… at the moment. There were soft sounds of distress, low moans, and urgent wails as the reality struck them.

Balthazar let out a sharp, almost shrill laugh. “That reallyisArmageddon!” He grinned a rather wolfish grin. “What are we going to do with them?”

“That is the question,” Daemon agreed.

“We should let the others through the Gate,” Arcius said. “Everyone needs to see this.”

“Make it so,” Daemon told him.

“As you will it, my king.”

After bowing low, the Confessor strode through the monsters, who simply looked about them, content to wait for Daemons’ orders. It was a strange sight indeed to see Arcius threading his way past Night Hags, wendigo-like creatures, werewolves, and the countless other monsters of the Ever Dark who moved slightly out of his path. The Ever Dark had always been a dangerous place for Vampires even. But now, would they have to fear these creatures that served Daemon?

“Can you imagine the sheer panic when people realize what you can do, King Daemon?” Balthazar grinned.

From the slight smile on Daemon’s lips—though why wasn’t it larger? And why did he seem so muted?—it was clear that the Vampire King had been very aware of the effect this would have on all Vampire-kind.

Balthazar went over to one of the cowering former Vampires. It was a man dressed in the black leather robes of a Confessor. He grasped him by the neck, and simply lifted him into the air like a kitten. The former Vampire let out a gasp, and pathetically kicked his feet and scrabbled at Balthazar’s wrist. Balthazar twisted him this way and that for Christian to see how helpless he was.

“Yes, I can see that he is a frail human now, Balthazar. I remember being one myself not all that long ago,” Christian replied dryly.

Christian, too, felt thoughtful. He wasn’t experiencing the joy of victory that Balthazar expected he should. Maybe because it was so very sad. His thoughts were shielded from Balthazar’s, and Balthazar did not want to pry to get them out.

Maybe it’s the fact that we didn’t have to fight them at all. Though Christian is hardly bloodthirsty. But still…

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