Prologue: The Awakening of Haydn

“Steady now!” Shouted the Foreman as the large crane lifted the coffin slowly into the air, “Steady!” He shouted again, “Or you’ll lose all of your necks.” He took a deep breath, sucking the smoke of the Cuban cigarette. He wore an expensive Business Suit, and ash would land on the coat. But he did not mind, he was have no more use for the suit soon anyway.

The slow churning of gears and the roaring of the engine drowned out the foreman’s voice, but the workers knew exactly what he had said. The sun was setting, and the sickle moon could be seen at the other side. There were no stars that day, and clouds were scarce. It was as though the sky itself was trying to avoid their operation.  Night was coming, but they still had lots of work to do.

The workers grunted and shifted away, watching the coffin move up the large crater. They had dug the crater only yesterday, but already it stank of death and decay. The earth was curiously black, and it was completely inhospitable. The Foreman looked down to see a curious ant crawl into the crater. It was moving quickly as first, but it then started to slow, and suddenly halted, curled up and died. The land was truly deadly.

The Foreman spat onto the ground. He feared no death, he experienced it once already.

The Sun had completely set, and the moon now only seen as a thin sickle.  Far away, the mountains of sand were shifting, and the wind started to blow. But everything avoided the Death Spot. Even the wind was turn away, and the sand would shift around it. Nothing wanted to go close to it.

The workers worked hard. The crane they had brought along could only lift the coffin out. The case was frighteningly heavy, and it took 10 strong of them to lift it out of the black dirt the coffin had embedded itself in.  They laid it on the dirt, and the dirt around it became even darker, were it even possible.

The coffin looked unremarkable at first, except that it was wrapped in heavy and large chains. But as the Workers looked over it, they began to notice numerous symbols and stains of liquids. The coffin itself was larger than average, though not by a lot.

The Foreman walked towards the coffin and sniffed. There was no smell coming from the coffin, but his eyes could see great death inside it. He blinked, his pupil-less eyes staring at the box. “Do you all know what this is?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

But the workers heard him; they had keen ears whenever the Foreman spoke. They remained silent, for they knew that he would tell them even if they knew anyway. “No, sir.” Replied one of the workers, his taut skin threatening to split.

The Foreman continued to stare at the coffin with his white eyes. He did not answer, until suddenly his watch gave seven beeps, indicating 7 in the evening.
“Well, boys,” He said, cigarette between his teeth. “You’re about to find out.”

The Foreman took a step back, and his workers followed suit. There was no sound, no movement, not even the insects of the deserts made a noise. Everything was completely silent, as though in anticipation of a great terrible event.

Suddenly, there was a deformed screech. It resounded around the entire desert, and then it echoed. The Workers were alarmed, but none dared move nor speak. The Foreman did not stir, but continued to stare at the coffin, his stretched lips moving, but no sound came out.

There was another screech, and this time, it was followed by a loud commotion. The coffin jerked up by itself, its chains clanging and banging as whatever was inside struggled. The coffin door began to groan as it was forced to open, and a claw poked out.

What happened next was almost instantaneous. The chains suddenly snapped, and the coffin door exploded outwards into a million pieces. There was a third call from the monster that was trapped inside the coffin, but now it was a large demonic roar. The roar itself drowned everything in reality, and made the world black. The sickle moon suddenly shied away, and the sky immediately showed signs of red.

The monster stepped out of its prison. It took a long sniff of its surrounding with its snout. It bent down its body so its head touched the dead earth, spreading its arms to steady itself. A large canvas-like material hung from its shoulder to wrist, and grew slowly grew rigid and strong. Its long legs were thin and gangly, spread wide apart to maximize stability. It stood on its claws, claws so large that many believed it couldn’t have sprung from its paw-like feet. The monster flicked its large bat-like ears, turning it this way and that, listening for anything.

The Foreman took a step forward, and the monster stirred. It straightened itself and turned its head to the right, as though to see if the strange intruder would look differently at another angle. It was not provoked by this intruder; it did not smell of life.

“Boys,” Said the Foreman as he gave a cold smirk. “Meet Haydn, Mother BloodHunter, mother of Vladimir Dracula, and great hunter of all things, living and nearly dead.” He then switched to another language, speaking rapidly and harshly. “Ak Vor Gridasha! Haydn, Nastur fiv Fuari, yadoash Ak!”

Haydn looked at the Foreman, and then gave a loud screech in reply before it spread its wings and kicked off from the ground. A flap of its wings gave a strong gust of wind then blew away sand, workers and the coffin that took 10 strong of them into the air. Haydn flew into the sky with incredible and terrible speed, giving another loud roar.

The Foreman was unaffected, and was grimly pleased. He turned and faced east, watching Haydn as she flew towards the horizon. “Gibia.” He said, throwing the cigarette onto the ground.