Black Inferno: The Lament of the Black Legion

The night was pitch black. No stars, no moon—only thick, suffocating smoke spiraled above, heavy with the stench of sulfur. The scorched ground and charred cliffs reflected distant, roaring flames.

Hundreds of lifeless-eyed men, women, and children shuffled across the burning earth, their wrists and ankles bound in heavy iron chains.

The endless clanking of metal and tormented groans formed a symphony of despair.

Dozens of rifle-wielding soldiers stood cold and unmoving, watching the prisoners stumble past.

They trudged across blackened soil toward a massive obsidian gate. Though shut tight, wild tongues of flame licked through the cracks, eager to burst free.

A line of prisoners halted before the towering gate, gazing up in silent terror—some angry, others numb. With a deep, earth-shaking groan, the giant doors creaked open. Instantly, a firestorm exploded outward, blazing with fury.

The platform beneath the prisoners suddenly tilted. They lost their footing, tumbling forward—screaming—into the inferno that swallowed them whole.

The gate slammed shut.

Another row of prisoners was marched into place.

A gust of wind tore through, blowing away much of the smoke. For a moment, the cold moonlight broke through, illuminating a fluttering blue banner above the gate—emblazoned with the insignia of the ruling regime.

It was a symbol of corruption, oppression, and blood-soaked history.

The sight stirred something in the crowd. What had long since turned to despair now simmered with fury. Memories of centuries of brutal tyranny flooded back.

Suddenly, the sky split apart.

A colossal silhouette streaked overhead. Meteors rained from the heavens, setting the earth ablaze. Flames erupted into the sky, consuming everything.

The prisoners could only watch as the apocalyptic firestorm swallowed the world around them—

Sam jolted awake, soaked in sweat, chest heaving with ragged gasps. He sat up in bed, shaken.

This wasn’t the first time. He’d had this nightmare hundreds of times—the same hellish landscape, the same screams, the same fire. It always felt real enough to make his skin crawl.

He glanced at the clock.

4:30 AM.

“D*mn it,” he muttered, dragging the blanket back over himself. Within a minute, he was out cold again.

His full name was Sam Johnson. He’d lived in a Birmingham orphanage for as long as he could remember. Small, skinny, and cursed with a head of flaming red hair, he was the perfect target for bullies. The constant harassment during the day made him chalk up the nightly nightmares to stress.

At six o’clock sharp, the breakfast bell rang.

Sam groaned into his pillow. The last thing he wanted was to leave the safety of the dorm. The second he stepped outside, he’d be a punching bag. But his stomach protested loudly.

After five minutes of internal struggle, he finally rolled out of bed.

“Andy. Breakfast,” Sam whispered, nudging the blond boy in the bed next to his.

Andy was Sam’s best friend—actually, his only friend. They’d been inseparable since they were toddlers. No blood relation, but Sam still treated Andy like a younger brother.

No one in the orphanage knew their real birthdays, but they estimated Sam was about fourteen, Andy eleven. Sam, being older, took on the “big brother” role.

It didn’t help his pride that Andy had always been taller and stronger—and often had to rescue him from beatings.

“Andy, seriously, get up!” Sam insisted. He needed Andy by his side. Other kids were less likely to mess with him when Andy was around.

“Mmmph…” Andy groaned, turning over.

Sam sighed and trudged toward the cafeteria alone.

He kept his head down, hunched over, walking slowly to avoid attention. But his bright red hair betrayed him.

“Hey, trash! Get over here!”

Sam froze.

It was Allen—a fat, brutish orphan always surrounded by his goons. Allen prided himself on inventing new ways to torment Sam. He’d even founded a group called the “Sam Bullying Enthusiasts Club.”

Sam bolted, praying the orphanage director was already in the cafeteria. No one dared throw punches in front of him.

“Get back here!” Allen roared, chasing after him.

Sam darted into the cafeteria—but no luck. No director. Only more hostile eyes.

Allen stormed in moments later, wheezing and red-faced. “You little sh*t! I said stop!”

He yanked Sam by the hair and threw him to the ground.

The room erupted in cheers.

“Kick his *ss!”

Allen straddled Sam’s chest, crushing the air from his lungs. With a sick grin, he slammed his fist into Sam’s nose.

Stars exploded behind Sam’s eyes.

Tears blurred his vision.

But Allen wasn’t done. Punch after punch rained down. Sam curled up, arms shielding his face.

Others joined in—punching, kicking, laughing. Sam could only curl tighter, enduring the storm.

Eventually, maybe bored or just tired, the crowd dispersed. Sam lay there, bruised and trembling, staring blankly at the ceiling.

He used to fight back. But he’d learned—resisting only made things worse.

So now he just… shut down. He’d trained himself to ignore the pain, suppress the anger. Otherwise, he feared he’d go mad.

He stood up, dusted himself off, and calmly walked to the counter for breakfast like nothing had happened.

Two slices of toast.

He sat at a table near the TV.

The morning news played with a dramatic headline: “Vampire Sighting? City Gripped by Panic!”

Onscreen, a woman with a bloody neck wound was being loaded onto a stretcher.

Sam rolled his eyes. These news shows would air anything for ratings. It was probably staged.

After breakfast, he left the orphanage—not for a walk, but to avoid more punches.

The street was lined with bare trees. Dead leaves blanketed the sidewalk, swirling in the cold wind.

He hugged his thin jacket close, dragging his feet forward. Life in the orphanage felt like endless torment. And there was no escape.

Sometimes people adopted kids—but never him. Too small. Too sad-looking. Too red-haired.

He stopped by a garbage dump.

A scruffy black dog perked up and ran to him.

“Hey, Coffee,” Sam smiled.

Coffee had been their stray since he and Andy found him starving in this very dump. They’d sneak food out to feed him, and over time, Coffee became theirs.

Sam knelt and rubbed the dog’s head.

“You and Andy are the only ones who don’t hurt me,” he whispered.

Suddenly, Coffee tensed, then darted into a pile of trash. Moments later, he returned, tail wagging, something clamped in his jaws.

“What’ve you got?” Sam took the object—it was a translucent metal sphere, just larger than a baseball, with a green light spinning frantically inside. It was surprisingly heavy.

“This thing’s awesome,” Sam grinned. “Can I keep it?”

“Woof!”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Sam stood, eager to show Andy.

The moment he reentered the orphanage, Allen spotted him.

“What the hell are you smiling about?”

“None of your business!” Sam snapped—without thinking.

“Oh, tough guy now, huh?” Allen shoved him hard.

Sam stumbled back, heart pounding. But this time, something in him snapped.

“Screw you!” he shouted, and threw a punch.

It hit Allen’s belly—pointless.

Allen’s retaliatory punch sent Sam crashing to the floor.

Again, the beating began.

“Time to flush your head down the toilet!” Allen roared, lifting Sam up.

“Yeah! Do it!”

“Like in the movies!”

“You’ll be a hero!”

Cheered on, Allen and his goons dragged Sam toward the bathroom.

A minute later, Sam burst out of the building, soaked, humiliated, and broken.

He couldn’t tell if it was tears or toilet water on his face.

The morning sun warmed the sidewalk, but Sam barely noticed. The world felt cold.

He wandered, swallowed by crowds and loneliness.

He’d tried running away before—but always came back, hungry and scared.

And each time, he got punished for it.

With a bitter sigh, he pulled the sphere from his pocket and idly spun it in his fingers.

Then—

A strong hand clamped onto his shoulder.

“Hey, kid. Wait up.”

The voice was deep, foreign.

Sam turned.

A tall man stood before him, blond hair, sharp suit, pale skin—almost ghostly white. His face, however, was full of energy, like someone who’d just struck gold.

“I just want to see what you’re holding,” the man said gently.

Sam clutched the sphere tighter. “It’s mine! Why should I give it to you?”

The man’s tone hardened. “You don’t know how important that thing is. Hand it over.”

Sam backed away, heart racing. “No!”

“Stop right there!” the man snapped, eyes now bloodshot, fangs slowly extending.

Sam gasped. “You’re a… vampire!”

“Give it to me,” the vampire hissed, voice suddenly hypnotic and velvety.

Sam trembled, arm extended—then stopped.

No. Not like this.

Maybe… this is my one shot to escape.

He pulled his hand back. “Not unless… You take me with you.”

The vampire froze. “What?”

“I said, take me with you! I don’t care if I have to be a vampire, a zombie, your minion—whatever. Just don’t send me back to that hellhole!”

The man studied him in silence. Finally, he said, “You should go home. Don’t let one emotional moment ruin your life.”

Sam scowled. “Then you’re not getting the orb.”

“You think I can’t just take it by force?”

“You could. But I’ll scream. And everyone will think you’re some pervert. Someone will help me.”

“What if I kill you and them?” the vampire growled.

“You’re not that kind of person,” Sam smirked. “You told me to go home, didn’t you?”

The vampire laughed, loud and hearty. “You clever little brat. You win. But you’d never dare come with me.”

Sam grinned. “Why not? What could be scarier than a vampire?”

“…An alien,” the man said.

Sam’s smile vanished. “Wait—you’re not just a vampire?”

“Who says I can’t be both?” he said with a wicked grin.

His name was Canis Dorrin.

He and Sam now walked up a forested trail.

“This is an antiproton battery,” Canis said, examining the orb. “It powers our jump engines. Without it, our ship’s grounded.”

Sam stared. “Then why the hell did you lose it?”

Canis blushed. “Not important. But thanks to you, we’re back in business. As thanks, I’ll take you on a fun, educational space adventure… then drop you back off.”

“Hey!” Sam protested. “You promised to take me away!”

“That was just to get the battery back,” Canis shrugged.

“I’ll do anything! Clean floors, wash clothes—don’t send me back!”

“Sigh. Taking care of you would be a hassle—oh, we’re here.”

Before them stood a massive hunk of metal.

“That’s your ship?” Sam said skeptically.

“She’s called the Lightning Star. Used to be a top-of-the-line recon vessel,” Canis said proudly.

He shouted into the ship: “Gano! Gano!”

A green-skinned man with a horn on his forehead climbed down, covered in grease.

Canis spoke in some alien tongue. Gano listened, then lit up with joy.

“This is Gano, our engineer. Shake his hand.”

Sam hesitated—then shook.

His skin felt… normal.

“Does he shoot laser beams from his horn?” Sam asked.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Canis handed the battery over, then knelt. “You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

“Won’t your family worry?”

“I’m an orphan.”

Canis raised an eyebrow, staring at Sam’s fiery hair.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He took a deep breath. “There’s something you should know. We’re not just aliens…”

“You’re vampire aliens.”

“Let me finish!”

“We’re not civilians. Not traders. Not diplomats. We’re…”

“Space pirates!”

“…Yes.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool!”

“No! It’s dangerous! The Intergalactic Navy is—”

“Dangerous? So what? I already risked my life to come with you.”

Canis sighed.

He could say no.

He should say no.

But something about this fiery-haired kid reminded him of an old friend.

“Alright,” he said with a grin. “You’ve got guts, kid. Let’s go.”

Sam followed him up the ship’s ramp.

And that’s how his legendary journey began.

Sam’s idea of a spaceship had been entirely shaped by TV and media. He imagined clean, brightly lit interiors filled with futuristic gadgets, engineers hunched over glowing monitors,and a quiet, serious atmosphere.

So the moment he stepped onto the Lightning Star, he was stunned speechless.

The hallway was dim, lit only by a flickering bulb that looked like it might go out any second. Tangled cables dangled from the ceiling, dirty mops and rags were strewn around, and the air was thick with the stench of sweat and alcohol. Groups of pirates crouched on the floor, gambling. A one-eyed, blue-skinned alien guzzled liquor and swayed drunkenly—until a sparking wire startled him. He swore loudly, ducked, and angrily smashed his bottle.

“What do you think of my ship?” Kainas asked casually, arms crossed.

“It’s awesome!” Sam replied excitedly. Now this felt like a pirate ship.

Kainas burst out laughing. “You’ve got good taste. Le