Occult Rule Of Abraham Tonnel

Prologue

Immortals...

To most of the world, they were just a myth, or fictional horror in fairy tales. It seemed impossible to possess abilities of shape shifting, fire, water or even more powerful elements the world had ever seen.

But at this moment, they wished they had been taught better.

It was a creature nine meters tall, a size too intimidating for any usual beast of God. Whenever it snarled, it displayed teeth of a number too impossible to count.

Its eyes glowed with a light familiar to the flames of hell.

Now it roared at the people who threatened to bring it down, angered and disdainful at the same time.

As it raised a clawed and mighty paw to strike, it received a spear deep through its ribs, and instead of blood, a beam of amber light seeped out of the wound.

They called it Diabolus...and it was angry.

Both ears quivered while the glow from its body seemed to intensify. And much to the surprise of every human opponent surrounding it, Diabolus hung its head low and breathed out fire. Flames soared from its nostrils and mouth in a level that confirmed it came from hell.

The supposed defenders were turned to smouldering pieces of flesh in less than a moment and the remaining women and children had already begun to seek atonement for all their sins.

Diabolus' ears quivered again, quite ready to exhale another pound of fire to finish off the mortals.

But then... someone appeared in a flare of amber light.

As it would have surprised most people, this savior of theirs was very much human like them. If there was anything Divine about the man that had suddenly appeared before them, it was his features.

His perfect height complemented broad, built body, strong enough to take out men...but certainly not Diabolus.

His eyes were an icy shade of blue, and just as cold.

And his hair...

The creature roared at the man and glared for a while, but it did not attack him like they felt it should. Instead, its head dipped in a fearful bow like this tiny human was God.

And slowly, Diabolus took backward steps away from the man, releasing sad snarls from the base of its throat.

As it reached a distance it felt was safe, it disappeared into nothingness, leaving behind the puff of smoke and smell of burning brimstone in the air.

The women and children shivered out of their hiding places to gawk at this human who chased the devil off with his eyes. Their speech had expectedly been lost in the realisation of this new realm of existence.

However, the savior turned his face to his side just to have a glance of the people he'd saved. Before they could blink twice, he looked away, twisted his neck... and vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.

But in contrast to the smoky scent Diabolus had left by, he left a glow of fire...of hope to the existence of mortality.

Chapter one

Abraham's steps were slow and practiced while his thoughts fled. It disturbed him how a menacing creature like that had escaped from Hades. He had taken care of it...but he was certain it would return.

Now he walked through the doors of the castle, a mighty and gorgeous structure that surprisingly disgusted him till today.

His eyes roamed about him like his own home was filth, and if he noticed the shivering guards and maids that bowed or curtsied as he stalked past, he didn't show it.

Being the last Prince of his father but most feared, Abraham Tonnel snatched everything he wanted, believed he ruled them, owned them and was in control.

"Where is my father," his voice was a deep whisper that went well to chill the entire room. Coming to a halt, his blue eyes still roamed about.

The servants around pondered upon who would answer most accurately without having to anger him and lose his head.

"Your Highness," a blonde maid forced the words with a stammer.

She paused when his cold gaze landed on her intently, but went on after second thought, "His Majesty is still asleep in his chamber and asks not to be disturbed."

Abraham smiled to himself and resumed his slow, quiet steps towards the master chamber the size of a small field, built specifically for the passing Kings.

It was strange how the youngest Prince of five found himself attracted to that chamber, his father's sceptre and most especially...that throne.

Two guards had their spears crossed before the large door leading to where this hell tempered Prince planned to go to.

As he stood before them, releasing the cold and powerful vibe he always carried along, words didn't need to be said before the guards obediently parted the spears and pushed the doors open.

Abraham stepped into the master chamber and admired it for some time. Maybe his "small field" was much of an understatement.

When he felt the doors pull shut behind him, he went deeper in while he brought his eyes to the King, his old, dying father.

This time, he chose to ignore the crown that he was sure was going to be his soon enough. Now he smirked, something often seen, just before he sat at the bedside.

King Tonnel John was tucked beneath his covers in a limp, half-dead state, something concluded to be the end of his time here on Earth. For some reason, he now looked ten years older.

The man's eyes peeled open weakly when he felt weight compress the part of the bed beside his shoulder.

"Your Majesty," Abraham rasped with a smile plastered on. He even got more pleased when the King's face paled in fright as he saw him. "It is I," the Prince continued, "your son."

The older man forced himself to move away unsuccessfully. Obviously, he was feeling the same dark aura, "Go away! You demon!"

The Prince did not seem offended by the man's words. Instead, he put his hand over his father's in mock pity, clutching the fingers tight when he tried to pull away, "You know I can rid you of this misery. Just give me all I ask for."

King Tonnel cursed in Latin, a phrase meant to repel negativity, "You can continue your torture for all I care! Kill me if you must! But that throne...never Abraham. Never! "

Abraham smiled and glanced at his right palm. It took a little circle of his hand to turn it into a fire touch that scared the life out of the old man. As though it was a candle wick, a considerable size of scorching flame floated above his palm, an action the King knew only existed in history fiction.

He wanted to ask his son, "What have you become?" But somehow, his words failed him as the reflection of the fire danced in his eyes.

The Prince also seemed to be lost in the beauty of what he could do, " Killing you was my plan a long time ago old man, whether or not you choose to give me the throne. But I'll make you an offer."

He suddenly shut his palm, putting off the flame. Now the grin on his lips was a cold smirk, " I'll speak to my dear old friend; Lucifer, Satan, the devil, call him whatever you want."

A slight pause followed which he used to relish the look on his father's face, " I'm more than certain hell is your destination, a place he rules with every ounce of bone he harbours. I could make him make your stay pleasurable for you...or," the Prince turned back to his palm and formed the fire torch again, taking it as close as possible to the King's face, "an eternity of doom in the place of Hades. Your choice."

The old man was sure he saw an image in that fire. It was either real or imagined. The flames formed a figure he was sure was supposed to be him, and that figure was being scourged. His eyes grew moist while the fear ate him raw.

"Guards! Guards!" He had managed to break out of his trance and now quivered beneath the sheets.

Steadily, Abraham came to his feet and resumed his slow, perfect steps towards the door. He tilted his body as his father's men swarmed in and rushed past either side of him to the man in the bed. He didn't care what happened next, but he sure did grasp his father's last words before he went through the door.

"Go fetch the Royal attorney!"

Abraham Tonnel had smiled in satisfaction when he heard that, knowing fully well his prize was not far from his hands.

***

The blonde maid clutched a gold tray to her chest, harbouring potions and shrubs that were supposed to heal. It was to the King's chamber as always.

After the guards had parted to let her through, she pushed the oak door open and whirled into the room.

The lady placed the round plate upon the bedside table and approached the curtains. With a glowing mood, she parted the draped fabrics to welcome the warm swarm of early morning sun.

But then an uncomfortable feeling befell her, cold and dead. It made her turn around to look at the sick man.

He just lay there, as usual beneath the covers. But this time, it was obvious something was different.

The man's skin had paled to a bright grey color, and his lips slumped open with hands falling to either side, limp and dead.

But something else was dead.

He was...

And at the realisation, her breath caught in her chest.

***

The last rites of a King that important did not seem to hold much of a difference from those of any other person. It was either the story surrounding his death or... well it was surely the story surrounding his death.

The corpse had paled remarkably and released a dark liquid from its nostrils. To them, it was a terrible disease no one planned to get in contact with.

But Abraham was there, watching every bit of protocol till the point the corpse was buried six feet under. There was no better way to confirm he'd completely gotten rid of this man.

However, soon after, he stepped on the stirrup of his horse and mounted it perfectly, a monstrous sized black filly he felt was glorious enough for him.

Besides, the will was going to be read anytime soon. And that was one part he was not going to miss.

Chapter two

Turned out he was late after all. As the last Prince approached through the doors of the courtroom, he realized this was more of a meeting than he thought.

His four older brothers stood in order of age; Jeremy, Raphael, Charles and Martin. Surrounding them were a handful of guards, a bunch of maids and of course the considerable clan that was part of the extended family.

Then finally, standing before them all, Pius Madonna, the Royal attorney with the will in his grip.

Abraham noticed all eyes fall on him when his presence was felt; the usual dark suffocating and uncomfortable darkness. Most faces paled with fear, while others grimaced with hatred for him.

Well, he shrugged. Their problem. " I apologise for my lateness," he rolled his eyes and said just before he stood at the last space after the four other Princes.

Last...the word made him want to puke.

"In respect to the King's last words to me, I choose to announce his will the moment after his funeral," said Madonna.

Abraham was sure the man was disturbed by the fear he could smell from him...quite literally. Was it still his presence or was it something else? The will?

The Prince tried to wonder if his late father had danced to his demands. Or did the old man play him? He rolled his eyes.

That would mean the joke was on him. Seems he needed to pay the devil a visit. But then;

"Jeremy Tonnel...you will receive all lands conquered in war against the neighbouring Kingdoms," the middle aged lawyer went on, "you are expected to build an empire from dust and rule it as Duke."

Duke?!

The question crossed round the entire courtroom as a soft, angry murmur. Well except Abraham. He had a small smile on. His eldest brother, the calmest and most composed, harboured a dark frown. Who else was meant to be King except he!

Madonna's next words calmed the murmur as everyone fought to listen, "Raphael Tonnel...you'll receive all of your father's gold deposits in Spain. You're expected to start a trade in favour of the clan's economy."

The Prince he spoke to bowed in submission, but the frown of confusion he held concerning what his elder brother received hadn't faded.

Abraham was drumming his thighs in excitement, patiently waiting for his turn. Not as patient as you would think though.

"Charles Tonnel...you will receive the family's business. You are expected to exceed the limits of profit with it and of course...build an extension."

Almost there...

" Martin Tonnel...you'll receive all major estates in Italy. You are expected to merge and rule them as Marquess, make more as far as success is concerned. "

Abraham glanced up with a smile at the man, realising just then the fear he only previously smelt was now seeping unto his face like makeup.

" Abraham Tonnel, " the man stuttered, " You will receive the throne as new King..."

More murmur, most gasps.

"...You are expected to rule it as you see fit. "

The Prince grinned and watched his brothers, especially Jeremy, wishing to see how that self control of his could help him now.

All brothers glared at him, as much as it was all they could do. Well it seemed Martin had something to say, "This is madness! Of all sons my father had, he decided to settle for the youngest...and the demonic one!" This particular son remained his purest temptation.

Abraham turned to him with narrow eyes, fighting the urge to bare his fangs at him.

Martin had flinched slightly then.

At that, the last Prince thought better, shot the four others his last dose of disdainful glares before he spun on one heel and walked away. Even before they were dismissed.

***

Razia found herself doing it again!

Deep in the Kingdom of Valish, her father's mansion mounted in the middle of an arid portion. The choice of location was supposed to stop her from doing what she normally did...but nothing had changed.

In slow, graceful steps, Razia Singh stalked upon the walkway, draped in her long, blue cloak that swept at her heels. She was in that trance again. And as though she was being controlled, she found herself just walking to where her inner demon wanted her to be.

Just as in every other time it happened, a white glow replaced her eyes, the same color running down the length of her curl of hair, as though she was in her seventies.

But then she was as young as every other maiden of her age and wished to be as normal as they were too.

That didn't change the fact she was different though.

The people around shouted out her name to stop her, a sound that kept drowning in the invisible field that possessed her. Nobody dared to touch her, because of course they still had plans to live.

Now she stopped walking and turned her face to both sides of her, seemingly searching for something, her teeth gritting in anger and frustration.

Slowly, her family lined behind her, although a reasonable distance away for safety.

"Do not worry," her father whispered in assurance to the others around him, "She won't find water here in the desert."

Razia kept on searching, fingers curved in rage and white eyes intensifying. Just to prove them wrong, she squatted and set her palms to touch the dry sand, forcing all her strength into her fingers and hissing into the void.

The clan behind her suddenly felt the Earth rumble beneath their feet, and it wasn't stopping.

Now steadily, she rose and faced them. Along with her movement, underground water emerged through several pores on the surface and shot upwards, forming snake like tentacles that danced about her.

A satisfied smirk formed on her lips; wicked and intent.

At that point, the dancing water froze. Both in motion and in form, taking a new form of pricky, ice tentacles.

"Take cover!" A man shouted after he had begun running back through the gates of their estate.

Razia wasn't doing anything obvious, just speaking to the water while it obeyed. As fast as light, the ice parted into uncountable sharp spikes, hanging in air and waiting for her next order.

Which came soon after.

Just like the numerous arrows of war, the icy spikes surged forward towards the people with that speed you would not escape from unless you harboured grace.

Luckily, her family all found shelter...except.

Singh Raj, India's largest wine dealer, also her father, vowed to be by her side while she went through her usual demonic trance. He only realized how foolish the decision was when her attacks came forward. And no matter how stupid the thought might have been then, he turned to run.

Nothing less than two handfuls of them pierced into his back, and time stopped.

...

He let blood drip freely down his jaw from his mouth, tears blinding him while he stared at the rest of his family. Looking at them, they were too dazed to react.

Razia snapped out of the possession suddenly, gasping in shock and misunderstanding. The white color of her hair and eyes slowly faded back to normal. And it was then she took the time to realise the grievance of what she'd done.

Singh Raj was lying limp upon the floor with ice deep inside of him. Things she was sure came from her.

Farther away, every other soul gawked at her, afraid and disappointed.

But she...she looked at the body one more time and swallowed.