Read The Third Key (GUARDING THE LIGHT) Online
Authors: V.K. Ramsey
The Third Key (GUARDING THE LIGHT)
The Third Key
GUARDING THE LIGHT SERIES
Book 1.
© Copyright 2012 – V. K. Ramsey
Look for author’s posts and upcoming release announcements at:
Web:
www.vkramsey.com
Twitter:
www.twitter.com/VKRamsey
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/vkramseyauthor
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all those who follow, protect and cherish principles of Light. You and your deeds are very important. I owe you so much. Geoff, special thanks go to you. Without your support I would never dare to publish my stories.
V.K. Ramsey
11
th
of February 2011
Govardhan
, Mathura, India
Table of Contest:
Part 1
:
It’s a New (Ordinary?) Day
Part 2:
Kailash
:
(Please Don’t Try This at Home)
Part 6: St. Peter's-on-the-Wall
Preface
“You can’t blame the blade, you can’t consider it accountable – it’s all about the attentions of the person behind it.”
1.
Jason observed his students performing the
hardest part of their training.
In the last few months, they had worked hard at mastering the skills of a close range fi
ght against multiple attackers.
Now the time had come to put their training to the test. These few selected students in his Warrior Academy worked hard to apply all that he had taught them.
Michael, Jan and the others knew they were more than privileged; the methods and fighting skills given to them were entirely different from anything they had seen. By now, their hearts had entirely identified with the teachings about Light that Jason presented with his every step, and subtly, their moral and sp
iritual values had followed suit
. But despite all the training time they had spent together, the Warriors really did not know who Jason was, and how soon he would need them – for the fight of his life.
Many times they felt as if they had entered into a comic book world – scenes such as breaking stone blocks, a baseball bat or a 3-inch metal rod by the simple touch of Jason’s palm now became a part of their reality. Jason was not only the ‘living example’ of martial art perfection, but he was willing to train them! All of them had tested several martial arts schools and styles, but had gotten frustrated at the limiting rules and concepts that failed in real situations. Jason’s teaching didn’t hold a trace of the ‘choreography’ that they had found elsewhere. Kill or be killed – disarm or be harmed. The Warrior Academy students were gradually fine-tuned into nearly flawless warriors who could instantly kill or disarm multiple opponents – if they had identified with forces of Darkness, they would have become skilled assassins. That was achieved by hard training on the part of both student and teacher – Jason had barred every potential student who seemed to show any demonic traits.
Four students, wearing full sets of neoprene protective gear and using real weapons, were attacking Michael with full power. That way, they could practice the real extent of their skills. Protective shock-absorbent layers, specially made for this purpose, successfully deflected all the punches, kicks and
Dim
Mak
*
blows. There were no rules, no cage and no tatami– only reality.
With two minutes left of the ten-minute attack sequence, Jason cou
ld see Michael’s energy waning.
The ‘attackers’ were also shaken from the blows and throws received. Jason could see a few moves ahead. He saw Michael taking a bad position that quickly turned into a serious injury, and knew this had to be the last moment of practice.
“Enough!” The power of Jason’s voice stopped them immediately.
Michael had just applied a solid wristlock and was ‘finishing’ the attacker on the ground. All eyes were raised, looking at him through the protective masks, their faces dripping with sweat. Jason took over and showed them the danger of being on
an ‘open
side’ … as a demonstration, he took Michael’s position and took out all of the ‘attackers’ within seconds.
As they headed off toward the showers, Jason looked around the Warrior Academy. He and Gunnar had found this building, labored over every piece of equipment, whittled down their list to suitable students, and trained men to engage with evil. No training would be wasted, but he wondered sometimes – how would they use it for more than training some day?
2.
Quabil
opened his eyes with difficulty. Nothing around him looked familiar. The pain of his broken arms and ribs was stunning - despite his trained mind,
Quabil
struggled to remain conscious. The last thing he remembered was total defeat and the bitter taste of sand in his mouth.
“What is this place? Am I dead or living?” He realized the absurdity of this question – of course he was alive! “Who saved me? Am I saved?” Hundreds of similar thoughts flashed through his mind; the lack of answers kept him awake.
Blinking hard, he stopped questioning and looked around. His naked body, covered in bruises, was chained to a metal table. Every time he moved, he discovered another injury. Green light beams pointed at his body from several places, pulsing in perfect rhythm with his heartbeats.
Quabil
soon realized that his pain was slowly ebbing, and he understood that he was being healed by technology never seen by humans, though healing was taking the place of pain much slower than he wanted. To distract himself,
Quabil
called to mind the most enjoyable moments of his life.
He enjoyed a stream of violent scenes. Torturing cats, birds and dogs became as boring in his early years as bullying schoolmates. He clearly remembered his expanding expertise in the hobby of physical abuse, and his followers who eagerly helped him. He took shelter in remembering all the pain, sorrow and fear in the eyes of the victims that he and his followers caused. As a son of the powerful
Shahzad
dynasty, he managed to avoid the law even for the cruelest deeds. In Somalia, people were normally sentenced to death for actions similar to
Quabil’s
normal weekend entertainment with his crew. Remembering those ‘good days’ kept him alive. The sounds of begging for mercy, from all the girls they gang raped without mercy,
was
like a sweet balm for his soul. It helped ease the lingering pain of his defeat – he had never met a Guardian before who had destroyed him so completely.
His real soul food, what he really fed on, was that particular moment of helplessness and fear before the death of his victims. That made him feel in absolute control and dominance, and he hunted that black nectar all his life. The demonic nature of his was strong even for his sociopath friends, and they mostly went along with him for fear of wh
at he would come up with next.
Quabil
went on to explore the magical black arts, its demonic rituals and practices, until he became a skilled practitioner.
Recalling the darkness of his life, and how he was finally taken to the lower dimensions by demonic forces, his memories unwound to the moment when he proved to be the best candidate within the Demonic Alliance. Training with them strengthened his powerful ability to enjoy death and pain, and his appetite grew while performing the most horrific acts. He was introduced to the Inner Darkness, powers that made any Black Wizard on planet Earth tremble in awe and reverence. Despite the bodily pain still present, now he felt extremely good, as if he were engaging in his most beloved pastimes. But there was another reason for his excitement:
“Though I was defeated, I am saved by my all-powerful masters of this Universe. This is surely a place for healing. If my Masters saved me, they have good reason for it. That tells me only one thing: soon I will be more powerful then ever before.”
His eyes half-lidded,
Quabil
stared at the ceiling and imagined what he could do after a full recovery. The green lights pulsed on in the dead
.
It’s a New (Ordinary?) Day
I.
A f
amiliar melody brought him back from
the
pleasant but somewhat unusual dream. Perhaps that was
the only “warning” he would get,
but he never could
have
imagine
d
the upcoming events of this
day.
At 6:00 a.m., one of his favorite alert melodies ('Hallelujah')
played from his iPhone.
Opening his eyes slowly, he
looked out the window. The s
oft light of the early morning sun was reflected all over the grass, trees and courtyard. Everything
he could see
from
his
bed
, even
the heavy punching bag
, looked as if
it were
covered with thousands of shiny
pearls
. Fresh air
carryi
ng
the
smell of autumn filled
the room.
“
This will be
a day to remember
".
He
couldn’t know how much truth was in that
.
A m
orning meditation
session generated
an
energy boost and sharpened his mind as
always
.
A general feeling of goodwill flowed through his body – he was
ready for
the
morning
Tabata
cardio
*
session
. He quickly
changed
in
to
running
clothes.
Slapping
his palm over
his
left
arm
,
he remembered
: "I was lucky, it's not broken.
I have to be
careful
and keep
that
in mind;
I am
vulnerable
again."