PurpleKing

1805 - Lagos, West Africa.

Her throes of labor echo through the village in the early morning. She is all alone, without a husband, without family. Her cries kept her kinmen awake, her voice an unnatural eerie wail that made dogs and cattle panic and break their binds as if they were being attacked by a predator. The tribesmen gave chase, but what they found instead of their animals was far more sinister.

 A party of white men, fresh off the boat from America armed with guns, full of greed and hatred. There was nothing the men could do, and so they and soon their village was overrun. Each hut raized, each and every man, woman, child chained and taken. Blood was spilled, those who tried to fight were murdered on the spot. Those who fought were beaten into submission, no one was spared...

 They pillaged, destroyed, and raped. taking what they wanted without care, or empathy to the people they saw as mere tools. Less than even an animal. 


They heard those wails, and for a moment felt a fear as they've never felt. However they had their job, and money made them blind. It didn't take long before they found the cause, a young woman, barely in her 20s holding a tiny newborn. This is what they had been looking for, but as they approached the woman with their guns and their chains it soon became obvious she wouldn't be as easy as the others. Their eyes met with deep liquid amethyst ones, vicious fangs inches long. She wasn't human. With supernatural strength the woman fought, clawed, ripped, and tore at those slavers, killing many but even then she was weak, the child bearing had left her weak and helpless with their overwhelming mass of flintlock rifles and heavy chains. They beat the creature down, bodies of their fellows draped over the dirt floor like an abstract painting of gruesome murder. But even then the woman clutched her child close to her breast, the newborn wailing tears of blood just like it's mother.

 She died there, filled with lead balls, bones broken, too weak to even stop as a burly man tore the child away from the mother. Her eyes seemingly melting back into a honey-colored brown before her body began deconstructing into pale ash. 


The man lifted the child, and grinned. "It's a boy, sweet mother, aren't you proud..." with their prize held greedily in their hands they butchered the rest of the men and women, and began their long journey back to their home, to rest of where this story lies...

Table of The Salt of the Prey

Table of contents

Volume 1