Prologue

PROLOGUE

  Pergamum, Ottoman

REBIRTH OF EVIL Empire.

Mid 1600’s AD

     A tall, lanky figure of a man hovered over the ancient script, studying the inscriptions with fascination. His azure eyes burned with astonishment. He was well aware that he had made the greatest discovery of Forbidden Archeology of all time.

     Holding his breath, the Frenchman brought out several other ancient scripts and oracles, placing them in order on the wooden desk. His eyes grew distant, deep in contemplation. Pushing back his long hair that was now slick with sweat from the desert heat, he opened a small, palm sized amulet. With shaky fingers, he snatched up his quill pen, dipping it in the black ink. Tirelessly, his pen scratched on the yellowed parchment, calculating the star points, the locations of the secret underground ritual chambers, the reigns of Rome, Greece, Persia, and Babylon, Daniel's feast of weeks, the location of the Temple Mount . . . yes, yes, YES! He was right! The vision was right! The man pumped his arm in victory.

   Now, he had one last piece left to his discovery. His quest to find this real, raw power that existed so many, many years ago, in the days of Nimrod, was coming to an end. More sweat broke out on his brow as an odd exhilaration flooded his chest. Long had he waited for this day. For years, he had waited. Since he had received the vision, he waited. Since he graduated at the Universitas Studii Salamanticensis in Spain, he waited. Since he traveled to South America, he waited. Now this was it. No longer would he have to wait, his discovery was at hand. A discovery of an ancient ‘evil’ that once possessed the earth of old. A wicked smile played on the man's lips. In France, he was raised as a Roman Catholic, to be a priest. But as a boy he never accepted his parent’s religion. Well, it wasn't like that that was a problem, the religion itself was fake, it held no power, no zeal whatsoever. Nothing to make his bones chill. Or cause his hands to tremble. Nothing to make his heart thump out of his chest. Christianity was dead and dull. No power. No life.

   But this, this was alive. It possessed raw power, real life! Something he new to be real ever since he began his quest.  From all of his discoveries and experiences, he knew that this was no myth. But this ancient 'religion' was lost over the years, locked out from this world.  In his vision, it started to become lost ever since this other dead, inferior religion called Christianity came out. And yes, he, Philip of France, was chosen to—

    “Father.”

     The man swung around, snapping out of his mustering, to see his fifteen year old son, Moses.  Moses wasn't tall a kid, but he wasn't short either.  Neither was he husky or lanky. His hardened skin was a dark olive color, his hair was slightly more brown than black, and intense blue eyes set above an aquiline nose. His handsome, yet slightly awkward face from his teenage years was caked with dust, as was his tan, leather armor, and archer equipment from riding across the desert. Why, what would the boy's mother say seeing him so filthy? The man frowned, Moses took too much after his Jewish mother in his looks and acts, why, he practically could be one of the local natives with that olive skin and dark hair. The only leaning side to his French father was the sapphire blue eyes.

  "Hello Moses, did Henry evacuate the shaft?” He asked putting away the scripts and artifacts away into a wooden chest.

   Moses nodded, "Yes father, all is ready. Abraham and Edmund have returned from the caravan, they await for you in the mountains."

   “Good, good, good . . .” the man began to pack several items and equipment into a carpet bag.

   “Father?”

   “Hmm?”               

   “I found something in our diggings. Something I thought might interest you," Moses brought out a smooth slab of rock from his leather pouch, "There are writings on it. I can't read it, but I identified it as Egyptian."

Moses' father didn't seem impressed yet, "It bears that symbol, the circled star, the one on all the objects of your Discovery."

  Now the man stopped, his eyes widened, and then snatched the stone from his son's grasp. He studied the inscriptions intently. It was a prophecy.

SIX WEEKS LATER

     The French archeologist, Philip and his amateur son, Moses descended the flight of carved steps, deep within the underground labyrinth. Their path was lit only by oil lanterns and torches, which were hooked on the moist, cavern walls. Their hasty steps echoed through the limestone archades, adding to the constant sound of water dripping off the walls, and the shrieks of a bat or two. Their black shadows slowly moved across the horrific drawings of the sons of the gods and carvings of ancient, violent wars with strange disks flying across the sky were painted on the walls around them . . . with blood.  The two turned left and still descended deeper into the dark chambers. They came to a cedar door, a gargoyle's face carved onto it. Moses pushed the door open for his father, who entered into a magnificent gallery. There, five other men and their sons, all about Moses' age, awaited their hosts.  Moses’ father stared at the men, all loyal to the Cause. Powerful men, governors, generals, princes, and advisors to kings and such; one was even related to the King of England himself. Each individually chosen by their Master for the Task. Of course they didn't exactly know it yet, but they would soon find out. For now, they had to fulfill their Master's commands.

   “Welcome, my esteemed Brothers,” Philip’s voice purred, as he drilled the guests with a confident stare, “My Master thanks each of you personally for attending.”

    Governor Johannes of Germany, spoke, “Philip, forgive me if I seem rather disrespectful seeing how much this means to you, but what could be so imperative, that you would insist that I come all the way from Germany?” Two other men nodded in agreement.

     Philip’s face held a slight amusement, “Gentlemen, I am well aware that each of you are important men with weightier things to do, than to be gathered in some abandoned, ancient, underground labyrinth by a mere archeologist, such as my myself for . . .” he smiled again, letting the sentence drift off. He changed his approach, “But you see, gentlemen, you ought to be actually very honored to be here at such a significant point in history. A point where the world, as we know it, will begin to change. And each of you will be part of this reformation of the globe. Today, gentlemen, you, and your sons are fulfilling ancient prophecy, just by being here. Did you know that?" They stared back at Philip, waiting for him to continue. "From all over the world, prophets, priests, sorceresses, warlocks, the ancient cultures, Nimrod, the gods foretold of us. Foretold of you, gentlemen, of this day, and the future to come.  Many are called to implement the Grand Plan, fabricated by Heylel Ben Shachar, but you, noblemen, and your descendents are chosen.  This interests you yet?"

   A Japanese man with shabby black hair sighed, “And how do we know if you're not bluffing, Monsieur?”

    Philip blinked slowly, as if he didn’t expect such a ridiculous question.  Of course, he wasn’t bluffing!  What did this man think he was?

    Philip folded his hands behind his back, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. He never liked it when people questioned his judgment. Nonchalantly, he walked around the ten, no eleven persons, including his son, circling them.  Like a wolf. He chuckled softly as if something was funny, “Well, Funato, you’ll just have to decide that for yourself won’t you?” He stopped circling them once he reached a hand carved, stone alter. He stood in front of the altar, his hands behind his back. Studying the men intently with probing eyes, “I have a proposition for each of you,” he hissed, “But first, let me explain myself. This prophecy I’ve told you about, I haven’t told you what it is. Would you like to find out, gentlemen? Hmm?”

   All of them glanced at each other, and then finally nodded.

   Philip smiled thinly, “Thought so. The prophecy, or I should say, a message from my Master, is an enlightenment of the reality. The reality of a better world that we can make it to be, if we a make a decision this very night to take the next step into this enlightenment. If you so chose to come into covenant with him, he will grant you power, reward you with great riches.  The power to control, determine the future of this planet,” he shook his fist with passion, “You will become as God, possessing raw power, in your soul.  Power you never could formulate in your wildest dreams.  It is power that controls the world. Power over the masses, power over the kingdoms, the economic systems, the kings, and emperors, over their subjects for all generations.  Your sons, and their sons, and their grandsons, going down to the date of early 2000’s A.D, we shall bring forth and control the One World,” he wiped the cold sweat from his brow, as they all stared at him in astonishment. It was too good to be true. He continued, speaking in low, soothing tones, “All this . . . you can be a part of this world reformation. And it’ll be you holding the reigns, you influencing the people of the world, if you commence the Crown of the Druid Council, if . . .” he brought out a dagger from his sheath. Instantly Moses walked up to him, holding up a silver goblet, with pentagram sealed on it. “If you take a vow of secrecy to the ways of Heylel Ben Shachar, and swear your very soul to Satan, the one who’ll grant you and your descendants, the authority to exceed above all others,” he sliced his palm and let the red blood run into the goblet.

   “Pah! What a vilification! I will not be a part of such nonsense,” a man shouted, he grabbed his son’s arm, “Come, Alexander, let us return to Italy.” The two began to head for the door.

   A coy grin spread on Philip’s thin lips, “Of course Adonis, you are able to deny the fact that everything that I have spoken does truly exist and is open to the ones whom Satan chooses,” he paused for effect, “But that isn’t tolerated.” 

  The husky man stopped in his tracks, Adonis swung around, glaring at Philip, “Don’t admonish me, Monsieur. This is nothing other than plain nonsense. What? You’re going to wave a magic wand at me and turn me into stone? What kind of fool do you take me for?”

   Philip chuckled, “Would you care for a demonstration?”

   Adonis didn’t answer. Philip took a few steps nearer to him, still wearing a mischievous grin on his lips. His sapphire eyes glinted with malice.  Without warning, Philip swung his arm and Adonis flew backwards by a hundred feet. His body slammed against the stone wall, his rib cage, and humorous bones shattering. Philip then snapped his fingers, and the man clutched his throat with his good arm, gasping for air. Everyone stared at Philip, in awe, gawking, lost for words. Even Moses.

   Philip watched him suffocate insensitively for moment. Then went back over to the altar and set the goblet down onto its surface.  Philip held his sliced hand up in the torch light.  Instantly the wound on his hand from the blade healed, even the blood dried up. Every one gasped.

  “Of course,” he crossed his arms, “I have already embraced the metaphysical power in the lower crypts of this labyrinth.” He then walked over to Adonis, and sat on his haunches. Glaring into Adonis’ tortured face. Adonis, still laying on the floor, now stared in terror at Philip’s unblinking stare.  Philip’s blue eyes were no longer friendly, yet not entirely hostile either. More like a lion’s impassive gaze, intently watching his doomed prey.    

     “Do you wish for more examples of this,” he paused for effect, and then snarled, “Nonsense?”

      Adonis managed to screech out a hoarse no.

      Philip stood up abruptly, “Good.” He inhaled sharply through his nose. A faint, iniquitous smile touched the corners of his cruel lips. Closing his eyes slowly, he spoke, it was as if two voices emitted from his vocal cords, “I have a vision!” He cried maniacally.

“A vision that’ll make all that exists come to what it was meant to be!  A future where death is unknown! A world of paradise, that which,” his voice grew soft and filled with remorse. Choked with emotion, “Of which was stolen from us by powers beyond our comprehension.” His eyes flew open, glinting black with malice, “It’s time we avenge Golgothae. Time to take back the power El-Milah stripped from the sons of Adam since the origins of life.”  Philip turned and walked to the edge of the chamber to a massive, sealed gateway. The Lost Portal of Babel.  This is where conquest began, eons ago.  And this is where it would begin again. “I am the voice crying out in the wilderness,” he whispered softly, half to himself, “‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’”  In his hand, Philip held an amyst amulet tightly in his quivering fingers.  With his free hand, Philip lightly touched the engravings above the serpentine seal engrossed in the portal.  Mesmerized.

MANY MOONS HENCE

TILL A HORSE THAT IS WHITE

IS BIRTHED AT NIGHT

MIDNIGHT— FIVE OF ONE, ONE OF FIVE COMETH

THE HORSE OF WHITE, THE SON OF LIGHT

IS GIVEN.

IN THE WEST— HE RIDES TO CONQUER . . .