Abandoned basement, somewhere in Continental Europe

Abandoned basement, somewhere in Continental Europe

The Duke was sitting calmly in a soft high-backed chair, upholstered in a thick red fabric embossed with demoniacal faces. It was not only comfortable but also a perfect match to the Duke's style. The Duke's chair was placed in one of the angles of a thirty-two wide, five-pointed red star. A similar chair was positioned at each of the points of the star. A soft mist hid the chair's wooden legs, and a caldron filled with a thick, bubbling and bloody liquid was placed in the center of the star.

The center point of the room was an impressive stained glass window that depicted a bizarre image of Jesus, the Son of God for Catholics. Nonetheless, it differed from those normally seen in churches in three major aspects: a pair of enormous black wings stood out from his white robe, an evil smile dominated his face, and his skin was black and shiny. Right behind this Jesus, winged knights flew over, wearing bright black armors and luminescent medieval weapons: swords, shields, spears, bows and spiked balls. The weirdest thing, however, were the eyes of this contorted version of Jesus: they were gentle and schizophrenic. Scholars would surely find this image to be worthy of analysis, just as the Vatican would find it sacrilegious.

On the opposite side of the mahogany door that guarded the entrance to this eerie place, there was a bookshelf full of ancient books, dusty and clearly affected by time and humidity. It started to sink steadily into the wall that surrounded it, leaving behind a dark opening from where Mr. Smith came into view. A weak and flickering light wrapped him, coming from the old diesel oil lantern that he was holding in his left hand.

Mr. Smith approached the Duke, who was engrossed in the light play of the stained window that made the odd Jesus seemed alive.

"Your most distinguished Highness, the Lemurian hunters have arrived," said Mr. Smith, bowing before the Duke.

"What are you waiting for? Make them come in!"

Mr. Smith went back to the passage behind the bookshelf and came back in a couple of minutes, this time, accompanied. "His Highness welcomes you, Lemurian hunters."

Four incredibly tall men dressed in expensive black robes entered the room. They stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the Duke, who scrutinized them from head to toe. The Duke rose to his feet and stopped in front of the first man.

"How many children souls did you capture during your hunt?" "Fifty-five, my lord."

"Hmm, you must to do better, hunter."

"Yes, sir!"

The Duke went to the second man in the line. "What about you?"

"I tortured a hundred and fifty kids, your Highness, and killed another ninety-seven."

"Good work, hunter!" said the Duke softly. "And my third hunter?" The Duke strolled to his red chair.

"Seventy-nine and they all died painfully. I enjoyed it deeply, master!" "Fourth hunter, your numbers."

"Thirty-nine, my lord. But two ran away, Salazar saved them." The fourth man explained, stumbling over Salazar's name.

The Duke closed his eyes and was in front of the fourth hunter, moving incredibly fast. It was almost like he had levitated in front of him.

"Sir, I couldn't do anything. His damn dog was with him, too. He killed all my eguns, your Highness."

The duke of Von Wolves opened his blood-shot eyes and, with his face twisted by anger, hollered. "What have you done, you bastard?" he slapped the man, splitting his lip.

The hunter kneeled and begged him, his voice full of remorse. "It won't happen again, your Highness."

The Duke closed his eyes, his face a picture of fake happiness, and caressed the man's head.

"Yes, my dear hunter. Rest assured, it won't happen again."

The somber Duke sat down in his plush chair and signaled the hunters to take their seats. He put his walking stick in a hole next to his seat. A light, flowery scent filled the room, which was now almost completely dark.

"Mr. Smith!"

"Yes, your Highness?"

"Leave." Mr. Smith obeyed hurriedly his command.

A bloody fluid started to flow from the feet of the black Jesus. Each drop crackled, illuminating the hoods of the men that watched calmly the steamy caldron. A sinister voice came from the chair where the Duke sat.

"Lemurian hunters and my beautiful tormented souls, the time has arrived to bring the real divine justice to this planet. I've been waiting for this moment for more than fifteen years... I welcome you to the path of our only and true master, the lord of darkness and master of karma. It is time to go back to our origins. I welcome you to the beginning of the end of the world as we know it."

The Duke let his hood fall and watched the cold faces of the men that chanted in unison.

"Long live the lord of darkness! Long live the prince of eternities! Long live prince Luzbel!"

***

The duke of Von Wolves woke up in a sizzling, floorless cavern. He was standing on top of a thin stone column, wearing a shiny black armor and a gargoyle-shaped helmet, and holding a sharp sickle the same color of his armor. From his back protruded two giant dark wings, and on the polished plate that covered his right pectoral gleamed an inverted red star with three tridents in the middle surrounded by a circle. Two of the tridents formed an 'X', and the third one was set upside down in the middle of them.

The Duke had his eyes closed and his arms crossed. "It is time to free our master, the fallen prince, the lord of a thousand names, our guide, and eternal light."

"Long live prince Luzbel!" shouted the Duke, opening a pair of eyes shot with a black and thick fluid and extending his wings.

"Long live the prince of darkness!" answered the four men that accompanied the Duke, spreading their wings at the same time they stretched out their arms.

The Duke flew in the middle of his companions with a smile on his face.