Visus Verus Volume 1 Read online

  Visus Versus

  A Viventium Novel - Volume One

  D O Thomas

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Any names, characters, incidents and locations portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. No affiliation is implied or intended to any organisation or recognisable body mentioned within.

  Copyright © DHP Publishing 2019

  D.O. Thomas asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive and non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen or hard copy.

  No part of the text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, known or otherwise yet invented, without the express permission of DHP Publishing Ltd.

  Cover design by Claire Wood at:

  www.spurwingcreative.co.uk

  Part I

  Open your eyes

  Prologue

  It was a brisk December’s night. The ice-cold air frosted the windows of stationary cars and petrified the widowed branches of the council-planted trees. The west London streets were an unnerving shade, with the night’s moon vacantly peering from behind the sky’s blockade of smog. A tan-skinned man of an intentionally inconspicuous character, dressed in a large overcoat and a shirt with a draping grey hood concealing his face, hurried down the dimly lit street. He wasn’t sure why he was there. He couldn’t remember. In his hand was a modified iPhone, it had an antenna and was at least an inch thick. Inscribed on its back were the words, “Property of Noir”. The phone’s screen was lit with a calendar alert:

  1/12/17: blue moon (full) Argyle road 22:35

  “I'm late. Shit, I'm late,” swore Noir in anxious frustration.

  His phone had been ringing on and off for a while and each time, a picture of a man was displayed with the name Lawrez above it. The picture was comical; the man clearly hadn’t wanted it taken as his face displayed utter annoyance. He had short brown hair and an average face set upon a large bulky neck.

  The picture depicted the man in nothing but a towel, stretching his massive body builder frame as he was reaching out in frustration. Every time Lawrez called, Noir ignored it and a message was left in his voicemail box. It didn't matter, there was something much more important he had to bear witness to: a blue moon. It had been years since the last one and that was just a new blue moon sitting lightless in the sky. Just then a loud and guttural scream startled Noir from further down the street.

  Chapter One

  Argyle Road was a street like any other; houses packed tightly together, most seemingly absent of life. The sky’s spittle fell silently through the cold winter’s air, dampening the pavement.

  A man lay lifeless beneath a barren tree. Fear still lingered in the steam of his last breath. His eyes were wide open, as black and desolate as the night’s sky. A bloodied tear trickled down his sunken cheek.

  The silence was broken by the hurried footsteps of a figure, as an azure beam broke through the shrouded sky.

  “Oh hell! It's happening. Where is he?”

  The beam shot directly into the body, raising it from the ground. Its jaw stretched open. Blood began pouring from every orifice, flowing like a horrific crimson fountain. As the footsteps drew closer, the deceased fountain ran dry. By the time Noir reached the levitating body, every drop of blood that had once flowed through its veins was now a glutinous plash beneath his feet.

  “Oh my,” whispered Noir, while pulling back his hood.

  Noir didn't express astonishment like most people. He felt it deep in his mind and it annoyed him like a child annoys an elder. Luckily for Noir, there wasn't much that surprised him.

  He was an information broker; if something was a surprise to him it meant he wasn't doing his job properly.

  Noir knelt down to inspect the pool of claret that was now soaking into his socks. “Just blood, but so much.”

  The body began to moan a deep and husky death rattle. “This guy’s dead. I don't get it. This can't happen.” Noir stood back and began to swipe through the applications on his peculiar iPhone. “Nope, definitely not possible.”

  As the moan became a deafening roar, the body inhaled deeply, further stretching its jowls to elongate its jaw. Noir was worried. Noir didn't usually get worried but at this point he was close to panic. Every shadow in the vicinity drew towards the body, including Noir’s own. The moan deepened once again. Noir held his hands over his ears. “This ain't right,” he shouted as the shadows combined to flow up the body's blood-drenched legs, growing darker and gaining an almost solid form. As the body sucked them up, it regained its complexion. The corpse, no longer pale, closed its elongated jaw and landed on its feet.

  Noir searched his brain for an answer to what he was witnessing but could only find fear, which was another emotion Noir hated. He could usually tame his fear but right now it was running unabated within his mind. He felt an unfamiliar shiver up his spine and the unusual tingle of his hair standing on end. Noir was frozen. Shocked.

  The body’s cheeks filled out. It now stood revitalized, fully revived, heart racing and mind rebooting. It took a stumbling step back, then a steady step forward as its eyelids raised, revealing two pitch-black orbs. The body faced Noir.

  “Who are you?” it asked.

  The body’s voice clearly reverberated with fear. The worry that caused Noir’s heart to pound heavily in his chest lessened as he watched the body display the kind of vulnerability only found in the face of a lost child. Something sparked in Noir’s mind; he remembered most of why he had set the alert on his phone. Noir was exactly where he needed to be. He smiled.

  “My name? They call me Noir.”

  “Noir,” whispered the body to itself.

  “And yours?” asked Noir.

  The body had a look within its mind. “I'm not sure,” it thought as it stared into the pool of blood beneath it. “My name?” it said.

  “You don't know, do you?” laughed Noir, with a somewhat delighted grin. “I assume you don’t even know what you are?”

  The body stared into the lightless eyes of its reflection in the pool of blood. What am I? It looked up towards Noir, “Do you know?”

  “Technically...” Shaking his head with a muted snigger, Noir stopped himself; he wasn't about to divulge information freely. “Tell me. What's the last thing you remember?”

  The body stood with a face as blank as its eyes. It travelled far and wide within its mind. It doubled back, retraced its steps until it was tired, then it looked deep into Noir’s eyes. “Nothing,” it said.

  “Not a single memory of who you were, but you know things, right?” asked Noir.

  The body didn't just have basic knowledge like how to read and write, the importance of money or what celebrity had recently had a sex tape leaked. It knew things, many things. It recognised Noir, but also knew better than to allow Noir to know this. The thing the body didn't know was how it came to exist.

  “I know where I am. I know where I've been. I know a lot of things but what I don't know is who or what I am,” it said.

  Noir couldn't just hear the fury-driven frustration in its voice. He could feel it emanating from deep within the body, like the boom from a subwoofer. Noir knew he had to keep it calm. He had no idea what it was capable of.

  “Silence,” said Noir.

  The body's face transformed into a vicious snarl, reminding Noir of a savage hound, “Silence?”

  “Yeah, or would you prefer Tom?”

  The body’s anger retracted, understanding the miscommunication.

  “Silence
isn't a very normal name, is it?” asked the body in reply.

  “No, it isn't but you're not exactly a normal person now, are you?” said Noir with a cunning grin.

  The body liked this; it had forgotten the simple fact that it was a person. “Silence... hmm, not a bad name, not a great name but it will do... I guess.”

  Silence smiled and patted his reflection away in the pool of blood with his foot, “Does it really matter what I am?”

  “I've got an offer for you, mate.”

  Silence raised his head, blankly looking through Noir, then he thought for a moment while Noir prodded the screen of his phone. Reaching perhaps the midpoint of his mind, Silence realised he had to put a lot of thought into his decisions, given that his first few would be just that: the first few decisions of his life. He thought to himself that not many people truly got to choose what they did in life, most having a set of choices strategically placed before them, creating the illusion of personal achievement and setting them upon a path which was inevitably predetermined; fate. Silence decided with that very thought that fate wasn't something he would leave things to. He stepped out of the crimson puddle and closer to Noir.

  “An offer?” he queried.

  Noir slipped his phone back into the weighted pocket of his overcoat. “A job offer. That is, if you're interested?”

  Silence was interested, he needed a job, but did he really want to work for the infamous Noir? He had heard a story prior to his current existence.

  This story crept from a dark place in his mind, a place he was afraid to bring light to. But the man before him was scruffy, unkempt and slightly stout. How could this man be the black beast who bathed in the blood of French revolutionaries? The dates were all wrong, because he would have to be at least three hundred years old.

  “Need more time to think?” asked the impatient Noir.

  Silence had just been standing there with the same blank expression. He shooed the story back to its dark place and listened to the rational thoughts that replaced it. “What kind of job?” he asked.

  Noir smiled with a devilish glint in his eye. “I'm in need of a personal assistant. It won't be an easy job but it will be rewarding.”

  Silence grew tired of thinking. “Could I have a trial run to see if it suits me?” he asked.

  Noir turned and began to walk away. “You can, and it starts immediately. Do follow! We have a bus to catch.” Noir was peculiar in description. If you saw him, you would say he was well into his thirties, but his dress sense suggested he was near the end of his teen years. Hearing his voice, he was definitely a well-spoken young man, but his use of words put his age anywhere between eighteen and ninety years of age. He enjoyed walking and loved public places, he preferred catching a bus to riding in a cab. He liked to listen. Someone told him once that the world had a way of talking.

  The azure light of the moon faded as Silence and Noir made their way through the dimly lit streets. The two reached a busy bus stop. With Silence still drenched in blood, he instantly gained the attention of the small crowd. One old lady approached Silence with a pack of tissues held in her frail wrinkled hand.

  “Oh dear, look at you. Would you like a tissue?” asked the worried pensioner.

  Silence took a few sheets from out the packet. “Thank you, ma'am,” he replied.

  “You should really clean yourself up after a nose bleed, my love. A handsome boy like you shouldn't look so rough,” laughed the old lady.

  Seeing that Silence was no one to be worried about, the crowd forgot about his bloodied appearance and continued their ignorant babble. Noir didn't worry about appearance. He didn't need to. Londoners had a way of seeing things and instantly accepting them as the norm. It was for this reason that so many supernatural beings called London home.

  The bus came to a sharp halt a few steps before the stop. The crowd climbed on, pressing their Oyster cards on the reader before pushing past their fellow passengers. Noir handed Silence a freedom pass as they followed the crowd. “Don't let the driver see the picture,” whispered Noir.

  Noir was resourceful. He didn't like paying for things that he could get for free. He wasn't poor, nor was he frugal. Noir just had his ways.

  He didn't mind paying £20 for a juicy steak but he thought £1.40 to travel ten minutes down the road in an uncomfortable bus was absurd.

  The two took a seat at the back of the bus. Noir put his feet up on the seat opposite him, while Silence sat stiffly and played with a wristband that was under his sleeve. Noir took note of the wristband, recognising it as a VIP access to a nightclub, a very infamous nightclub.

  “Do you know where that wristband you have there came from?” asked Noir.

  “A club in Ealing. I think it's called 109,” answered Silence. The answer shot from that dark place, sending a shiver down his spine.

  “You must know what kind of people visit that club, then,” said Noir.

  Silence entered his mind again, looking around to see if he did know but all he could find was uncertainty. He saw visions of strange behaviour, women with droplets of blood trickling down their necks, pale men clearing their chins with red-stained handkerchiefs, groups of men and women with discoloured skin and odd growths. He retraced the steps of his body’s prior occupant and met with a large man whose complexion was as dark as the corners of his mind. Silence felt uneasy in this place, he felt as if he didn't belong.

  “I'm not sure I want to know, really,” replied Silence.

  “I'm not sure you have a choice,” laughed Noir.

  Chapter Two

  Lawrez waited, leaning against the black metal beam of a large bandstand in the centre of a dark and motionless park. This time Lawrez was dressed, faded blue jeans and a white shirt that looked as though it might tear from the bulking pressure of his unnatural size. The small giant had given up calling Noir. There was no point, if Noir didn’t have time for you, there would be no reaching him. Frustration grew inside Lawrez, his heart racing at what would usually be considered an alarming rate, but this was normal for the man, it being the night of a full moon. There was an anger he couldn’t control, but none of his people could control it that night and that’s why he had to speak to Noir. On the night of a full moon he would take a pill. Small, white and extremely expensive. The pill helped him and his people to control the effects of the full moon, but tonight it did virtually nothing. The pill was a necessity, it maintained order and quelled the demons that lived within the people Lawrez called his pack. Lawrez took a receipt from his pocket and looked it over. At the foot of the bill was the name Huxley. As the head of the alchemist’s guild, Huxley’s was a name you could trust; some alchemists would get it wrong, a few accidental deaths here and there, but Huxley was a perfectionist. With his name at the foot of a bill there was no arguing quality.

  It didn’t make any sense. Why did he feel this way? Every year the wolves paid their taxes and every year the pills would be delivered. The full moon had never affected him this way. Sweat moistened his brow and his blood pumped hot, hotter than it ever had. A fury flooded his senses. Lawrez left the bandstand and stood upon the grassy earth. His mind encumbered with confusion, he stood staring into the black void where the moon should have rested. Why do I feel this way? Why would the pills suddenly stop working? Why, why, why? His mind twisted as the shrouding clouds shifted, revealing the light of the blue moon. The vision burned brilliantly in the luminescence of the small giant’s eyes. Every emotion he had ever felt rushed to the surface. Every muscle in his body tightened. His shirt strained from the force of his bulking body. He tried to hold it back, but that was it. The force was too much. The blue moon compelled him. The break in the clouds was only for a second, the azure light of the moon only touched his retinas for a mere second, but it was enough to destroy his inhibitions. He let out a howl, deep, masculine and louder than any canine creature could achieve.

  Fearsome and ferocious, in the moment he became a beast unabated by humanity, his eyes glowed a blue t
hat made the moon’s light pale in comparison. If he had seen more than just a passing glance of the cyanic moon, he would have completely lost control.

  He would have transformed and without conscious awareness of his actions, he’d have gone on a murderous rampage, killing anything he came across, hunting anything that laid a scent of fear. He was so thankful for the control he had managed to retain. Lawrez understood now, it was the blue moon that lessened the pill’s effectiveness.

  Those little white pills had saved him from himself. He imagined what would have happened if he hadn’t taken the Lycanaid. The blue moon would without a doubt have made him and his people roam the streets of London transformed in the full glory of the werewolf form.

  “Really, Lawrez? Howling at your age?” a voice said as a gauntlet rested on Lawrez’s shoulder.

  Lawrez didn’t flinch, instead he bowed his head in shame, “Leo, I couldn’t control myself.”

  The gauntlet belonged to Leo, one of the twelve zodiac incarnations. Well-built, tan-skinned and bald-headed, Leo was the definition of conspicuous. He wore razor-clawed platinum gauntlets, a brown leather coat with a lion’s mane collar left open over his tattooed chest, a pair of platinum greaves marked with black tribal markings, and platinum boots with steel soles. It used to be a full suit of platinum armour, but Leo loved the feel of the stale British air on his chiselled torso.

  Leo pinched Lawrez, drawing blood instantly on his platinum claw. Then proceeding to drip the freshly drawn claret into an oddly shaped vial, he said,

  “That's two infractions this month, Lawrez. One more and you’ll have to do a year's enforcing.”

  All societies adhere to laws, even supernatural societies. Most sects have their own rules, but these were laws that were set long before the Earth had life. Laws set in the stars; laws of order to maintain balance, and the zodiacs were the law keepers.