Hubert L. Mullins
War is ravaging Mystyria. As his unholy capital of Bloodgate is torn apart by traitors and feuding gods, Mydian must abandon his Underworld and reclaim it. Hidden within a mortal body, he seeks out his enemies’ spies while preparing for a monstrous army of undead bound for his city. With the aid of a fellow god, he devises a plan to conceal the sun—to create a safe haven for his ravenous vampires. Only one person stands in his way . . .
Far to the north, Dyne struggles to flee from Mydian and his servants. Now a traitor and facing the same persecution as Kersey, she’s been forced to stay hidden in hopes of avoiding a torturous afterlife. With the keys to his domain in her possession, she grows empowered to stand against him.
But Mydian is not the only one who chases her. Another soul, an innocent face from the past has returned to punish her for bad things long forgotten. All souls will unite to bring an end to the third and most deadly conflict in Mystyrian history.
In Dyne’s final adventure across the realms, will she find the peace and comfort she’s sought for over three-hundred years?
From vampire, to victim, to legend . . . the War of the Vampire will decide . . .
Hubert is a
native of Welch, WV. He is the son of artist Hubert H. Mullins. War of the Vampire is his third and
final novel of the ‘Covenant’
trilogy. Hubert is currently at work on a prequel titled, ‘Birth of the Vampire’ which chronicles the life of famed vampire Kersey Avonwood.
Mydian drew Darfyntir and held it high above his
head. A noisy flood of cheers, oohs, and aahs quickly filled the barren land and seemed to echo against the
black walls behind. The battlements
surrounding Bloodgate sprang with curious onlookers—those who had never seen an
assembly like this in their lives. Every
one of them had heard enough stories and seen enough pictures to recognize the
mythical blade in his hand. Even though
he still kept his identity hidden, the bearer of such an historical weapon held
nearly as much importance.
It also helped that three, equally mythical creatures
were by his side. Valen, Ceddy, and
Silas were familiar characters that were identifiable by just their appearance
and stance. There was enough persuasion
on Mydian’s side right now to convince the entire half of North Corscus to go
to war with him.
“The Gothmirks come, my legion,” the dark lord said,
pointing Darfyntir toward the north.
“They threaten to storm into our holy city, break its walls, bash its
buildings, and burn its way of life.”
The throng of vampires created a collective hiss that
sounded like a million angry cobras drawing in to strike. Living men and women, with a little more
vocal range, cried out their disdain in what he said.
“They are nothing
to us,” he screamed over the deafening roar of an anxious army. “Their bodies are dead and they only have the
strength given to them by a weak, insignificant god.”
The cries grew more positive, united, and resolute.
“Are we going to give them the chance to slip past us?”
Another large, determined cry.
“Then let us take the fight to them! Let us wipe these
wretched undead vermin from the map once and for all! Let’s carry our War to
the bridge!”
The
final words of Mydian’s speech were lost to the ear-piercing rally of
support. Men and women started banging
the ground with the flat of their weapons, the pommels of their spears, and the
heels of their boots until the ground shuttered like a violent quake. Mydian smiled in quiet satisfaction. Without the abundant lanterns and torches,
the scale of such a large army would have been impossible to tell beneath the
trees’ shade.
