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The Warlock's Wrath

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adventure
dark
witch/wizard
twisted
mystery
scary
deity
supernatural
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Blurb

When Heaven and Hell are faced with a common enemy that threatens the very fabric of creation. An alliance must be formed between the forces of light and darkness in collaboration with the sons of men to overcome the greatest threat to creation as we know it

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Prologue
…for there is one God; and there is none other but He – Mark 12:32 The small village was called Pont-Pierre, like the village in France which was rather an odd name for an English village. The oldest residents would tell the few tourists who ventured that far from the comforts of London and other tourist havens in England, how the village's name was changed from its original name - Philipshire, after a French solider, who had washed up on the shores during World War II had helped the villagers withstand and stop several attempts by the Germans to invade England through the village before British troops and battleships arrived to squash the incursions. The small coastal English village with the French name had fallen asleep that dark August night. The residents, predominantly fishermen, had all turned in oblivious of what the night held in store for the village and how the events of this night would in time to come threaten creation itself. A thick fog had drifted in from the sea making visibility difficult and announcing the approaching storm, and this had made everybody seek the shelter of their homes, though there had never really been a nightlife in the village except on special occasions of which there were very few. The old church stood in its ruins surrounded by long and thick bushes which almost hid the ancient structure from sight. The oldest locals believed it was built centuries ago for the Knights Templar, but no one could actually trace the history of the church as there were no real records kept about it. At the far end of what used to be the church yard, also overgrown with bushes was a long abandoned cemetery where many of the villagers could still find names of their forefathers marked on the few tombstones that had survived the neglect and age. The interior of the church on this particular night was not empty as it usually was on other nights, but was lighted up with red candles stuck to the walls and on the few surviving lamp stands abandoned by looters who had carted away all the valuables in the church years ago. In what used to be the vestry, a small group of dark-gowned and hooded people gathered and slowly chanted strange words as a fire burned at the centre of a drawing in red paint on the floor. The symbol on the ground looked like a traditional Solomonic magic circle but it had some strange adjustments made on it's sides. The dark-gowned people stood around the magic circle. A tall man stood at the centre of the magic circle. He was dressed differently from the others. He wore a bright red gown with strange markings all over it. The hood of his gown was pulled back to reveal the face of a handsome blond haired man in his early thirties. His head was raised up as he stared through the roofless church into the dark sky above. He muttered some words of enchantment which were quite different from the Wiccen chants the others were reciting. In his right hand, he held a long, heavily ornamented staff which seemed to represent the symbol of his authority while in the left, he held a big book which looked worn with age. A long gold chain hung from his neck attached to a very large pendant with rather strange markings on it. He stopped talking and slowly lowered his head. He opened his eyes and looked around at the people standing before him. His eyes seemed to glow in his excitement of what was about to happen. Today was a great day for him and the men and women standing before him. For years he had searched the length and breadth of the earth and finally the promise was within his reach. In a few moments, men will become gods and a new order will commence. “The appointed time is upon us,” he said as the others chanted. “The time when man becomes god and takes his rightful place in the order of creation.” The others let out a loud cry in unison at his words and continued with their chanting. He beamed with satisfaction. “With the secret of Eden in our hands,” he continued. “We will have power over creation and over life and death. We will have the power of gods and become the master instead of servants for we will have power to challenge and defeat God and Lucifer and have them serve us instead of us serving them. In my hand is the power that created the universe. The powers that created God himself and with it we shall overcome them all.” The others shouted again in unison and continued their chanting more vigorously than before. The tall man slowly turned around to the wall behind him where markings had been made in blood and raised his hands. Lightning criss-crossed the sky, and instantly, rain started to fall. He started chanting some strange words and as he did, the lightning and thunder grew more intense. The small group around him were still chanting, but had quietly started drawing closer towards him. Four of them drew out identical looking daggers, shaped like snakes with ornaments on the hilts and strange inscriptions on the blades. The unarmed members of the group suddenly sprang into action grabbing their leader's arms, snatching the book and the staff from him, while the other four advanced on him sinking the blades of their daggers into the man's unprotected body before he could realize what was happening. The man fought with surprisingly supernatural strength, shaking off those who held his arms and staggered to the wall in pain. He turned to the four others holding the daggers and spat venomously at them. He looked at the wounds on his torso and at the daggers and recognition crossed his face as he saw the inscriptions on them ‘The Daggers of the Riders', the only weapons effective against a Warlock. “Why?” he asked. There was a look of surprise and betrayal on his face as he looked at them. "Why?" “You wouldn't listen, Karl,” one of them said, removing his hood. “You'll never listen. We're already doomed to Hell with our master, Lucifer, and now your path will only make things worse for us. We have to stop you before you condemn us all to a fate worse than Hell itself.” “Fools!” the man called Karl spat. Blood had started running down from the sides of his mouth. “I offer you a chance to stand above Hell and Heaven and you betray me! You worthless...” The man who was standing closest to Karl sprang forward again sinking his blade into Karl's stomach, and as if on cue, the other three pounced on their leader and started stabbing him vigorously with their daggers. Karl fought them off again and started dragging himself away from them. A trail of blood followed him as he dragged his wounded body along the wall. His breathing was now laboured as he struggled to stay on his feet using the wall for support. Blood gushed from the holes in his gown where the daggers had found their marks. His handsome face was twisted into a mask of hatred and fury. He tried to edge away from his attackers, but they fanned around blocking all exits. He was cornered. “I curse you all, you vermin of the earth!” he screamed. “I curse you all! You think you can stop this? I will return and condemn you to fates far worse than Hell and damnation itself! You will beg for mercy but you'll not find it. I will bring down my wrath on you and everything that bears your names. I curse you all!” With that, he lunged at them but his assailants caught him in mid-air and threw him hard to the floor. They fell on him holding him down and stabbing away with vigour at any part of his body their daggers could find. He cried out as he fought to break free, but they held him firmly to the ground and kept on stabbing him until his cries gradually died down to silence, and the only sounds in the large church were heavy breaths as his attackers kept on attacking his body even after he had stopped moving. The four attackers finally stopped their murderous task and stood up to stare at their handiwork. They were all covered in blood and were breathing heavily partly out of the physical exertion, and partly out of fear as they half-expected Karl to come back to life and rain his wrath on them. Karl Finch simply lay there on the floor, in a pool of his own blood, showing no signs of honouring their expectations. All the others removed their hoods to reveal some of the most important faces in the world in the area of business and entertainment. They were the members of the Blood Brotherhood, a group of men and women who worship Lucifer in exchange for wealth, popularity and power. The brotherhood was founded by a former member of the Illuminati and meant for a select few who sought a closer relationship with the King of Darkness. Five years ago, Robert Devore, the founder of the brotherhood, disappeared without a trace, believed to have been called home by his master, Karl, his most faithful and most dedicated disciple, was nominated in his place. Karl had, over the years, become very powerful in the dark arts even more than his predecessor had been. He had understood and mastered the art of possession, even going further to master the dark arts of possessing demons and using them for his own ends against the rules laid down by the King of Darkness. He had grown too powerful, and acquired more powers from sources nobody seemed to know about, making him a Warlock far more powerful than any sorcerer any of the other members of the brotherhood had ever known. Two years ago, he had started researching on what he called the ultimate power. A power, he said, belonged to the universe unrivalled by any other. He carried out his research covertly, not bringing the other members of the brotherhood into his plans or his progress. He had started to disobey the orders of the King of Darkness, and had on occasions, challenged Lucifer openly, angering the Lord of Hell and Hades, but Lucifer had seemed incapable of striking at him as Karl had developed a means to repel Lucifer and control the demons sent to destroy him. It seemed he was becoming equals with Satan himself. Lucifer had begun communicating with the other members of the brotherhood, warning them of the dangers of the path their leader was taking. A path even he, who was once a child of God and an angel, would not dare to take. A path that ended in eternal suffering worse than even hell can offer and eventual destruction for everyone involved. The plan to destroy Karl was set in motion after Lucifer acquired and presented to the members of the brotherhood, the Daggers of Riders of Tribulations, borrowed with permission from Gabriel, the archangel and leader of the Heavenly army. They were the only weapons capable of destroying a Warlock as powerful as Karl had become. Lucifer had clouded the thoughts of his recruits, manufacturing thoughts to shield their real thoughts from being heard by Karl who had developed the ability to hear the thoughts of others. The daggers had powers which prevented them from being perceived by any magical power and though the members of the brotherhood were scared of their leader, they were more scared of falling out with the King of Darkness, and had no choice but to carry out his bidding, one which had the blessings of Heaven. Karl had called the meeting after having isolated himself from the other members of the brotherhood for almost a year, and they had come with instructions from Lucifer on what to do. “He's dead,” one of the men said kicking the mangled heap of flesh and blood that lay on the floor with his boot. “The daggers have done him in. There's no coming back for him now.” “All the same,” a woman said. She seemed to have more authority than all the others. “Cut off his head. His body will be burned and what remains will be buried in the grave we've already prepared for him in the consecrated section of the old cemetery.” The men hesitated, but only briefly, then advanced on the body of their leader with the daggers and started cutting his throat, trying to severe the head. A loud, inhuman scream rolled and filled the old church as the head was dismembered from the body. The scream echoed and re-echoed, filling the people standing around the corpse with dread as they looked around to find its source but saw nothing. One of the men picked up the necklace that once adorned Karl's neck which now dripped with blood and also removed the ring on Karl's right hand and handed them to the woman. One of the men picked up a can of gasoline and poured it all over the headless corpse, and the woman struck a match and threw the lighted stick on the body. Flames leaped high reaching the height of the church as it started eating up the fabric of the red gown and getting to the flesh. Another scream emanated from all around the church and lightning struck the ground outside the entrance of the church. The ground seemed to shake with the impact of the lightning strike. One of the women in the group started crying in fear, but the other woman who was now in charge, barked harshly at the Hollywood super actress who, before joining the brotherhood, could barely hold down a waitress job at the local diner. “One more sound from you...,” the new leader growled, trailing off leaving the actress to imagine what the consequence would be. The scream slowly died down as the flames consumed the body of their leader. After it had died down, the men gathered the remains into a big bag and carried it off along with the severed head through the bushes towards the cemetery where they had already prepared a grave for him the day before. They returned some minutes later to confirm to their new leader that the deed had been done. Karl Finch, Warlock and leader of the Blood Brotherhood was dead, burned and buried in an unmarked grave in the consecrated section of an ancient abandoned cemetery in an unknown English village. The woman raised her hands and chanted an incantation, summoning the King of Darkness. He would be very pleased. Lightning shot across the sky and dropped down striking the ground and the foundation of the old church trembled as a strong wind blew heralding the arrival of the Lord of Hell. A dark figure stood at the entrance of the church as the lightning subsided. The men and women in the church went down on their knees immediately and bowed their faces to the floor. “You have done well,” a shrill, yet booming voice came from the figure. It did not move from where it stood. “I have received his soul and he'll undergo a fate worse than Hell, a fate designed especially for him by the hosts of Heaven and Hell. Heaven and Hell are very pleased with you my faithful disciples, and you will be greatly rewarded.” There was silence as the members of the brotherhood considered an answer to the dark lord's speech. “We have the book,” the woman who had now assumed leadership said, raising the book towards the figure without daring to look up. “And the daggers you gave us.” “Guard the book with your souls,” the figure said. “Guard it. Keep the daggers as well; they may come in handy sooner than you know. They will be returned before Armageddon, but until then, you'll keep them safe as you must keep the book.” A loud clap of lightning struck, and the figure vanished from sight leaving a small cloud of smoke behind. The men and women rose to their feet slowly after the exit of the King of Darkness, and the new leader started issuing instructions to the others. The daggers were left with the men who had killed Karl Finch, each to guard his dagger with his soul as instructed by their master. Abubakar, the Nigerian business mogul who was well vast in the dark arts, was entrusted with the book of Eden but he turned it down handing it back to the leader. They quickly removed all evidence of their presence from the church and withdrew to the clearing where they had parked their rented vehicles. Karl had come in a small Renault hatchback rented days earlier when he arrived on the English soil. Abubakar went to the Honda sedan he had come in, along with another member, and opened the trunk. The corpse of a man about the same size and with similar features with Karl Finch lay there covered with a blanket. They had acquired the victim earlier that day, kept him alive and heavily sedated and now, Abubakar broke the man's neck with his powerful hands. He and his partner transferred the corpse to Karl's rental and the other man got in behind the wheel. “It must look like an accident,” the new leader warned as she tossed Karl's wallet into the car. "And his face and hands must be destroyed." The cars came to life and in a long convoy, drove out of the clearing, each turning towards a different direction as they hit the coal tar road. As they left the old church, none of them noticed the tall, athletically built man that rose from where he had been hiding, having camouflaged himself with leaves and grasses which had helped him to blend into the background without difficulty. The man removed his leafy camouflage and looked around to make sure he was absolutely alone. He was dressed in black commando-styled overalls with several pockets, and wore a pair of black gloves on his hands. He walked quickly into the church where he could see the remains of the fire with the aid of a flashlight he carried with him. The members of the brotherhood had been effective in their attempt to conceal what had happened in the church, but a trained eye like that of the man now standing in the place once occupied by members of the Satanic brotherhood and a b****y body, could still tell what had happened. Tiny specks of blood were still visible to a very observant eye that was looking for it. The man produced a small stain remover in a plastic can he carried in his pocket along with a piece of cloth and quickly wiped away any trace of blood he could find. There was nothing he could do to totally remove the smudge of the fire, but then, that could be attributed to campers who probably made a fire there, should anyone come to investigate, which he doubted. People seldom came this far and even the villagers rarely came to the church. He left the church and made his way through the bushes with the help of the flashlight to the newest grave in the old cemetery. He produced another plastic can from his pocket and poured the liquid contents all over the new grave. Smoke started rising from the grave as the contents sank into the earth. An unearthly cry rang out from the ground as the ground vibrated slightly then gently died down and there was silence once again. Satisfied with himself, the man made his way out from the bushes to the road. He walked for half a mile on the lonely road to where he had concealed his car, a rented small Fiat he had acquired under an assumed name. He opened the door of the Fiat and got in, closing the door behind him and locking it. He pulled out a small LG mobile phone, and with the aid of the glow, punched a number into the keypad. “Hello?” a very firm and alert voice came from the other end. There was a hint of surprise and apprehension in the voice as the number he had dialled was known to a very few people, and never rang unless it was an emergency. “Who is this?” “I serve only one God…” the man said. “…and Jehovah is his name.” the man at the other end completed. “It is over,” the man said. "The Warlock is no more." “Praise be to God,” the voice at the other end replied with a gasp of relief. “Where are you now?” “I am at the site.” “Very well,” the voice said. “Come back and be debriefed immediately.” “Yes.” The man pushed the end button and put the phone back into his pocket. He dug the key into the ignition switch and brought the small engine to life. He slowly turned the car out from the bushes and was soon on his way to London from where he would board a small private aircraft bound for Rome. His work in the small English village was over. After everybody had left the church site, a brilliant light will shine over a newly covered grave as a very loud cry will ring out from it into the night. The ground around the grave will quiver and tremble again as forces under the ground struggled to get out but were prevented by other much stronger forces. The struggle continued for a moment then there was silence and the bright light died down slowly. Nobody in the small village would ever know what happened that night. They would never know that the fate of all mankind was almost forever altered under their nose, nor would they know about the new addition to the abandoned cemetery. The rain pelted down relentlessly throughout the night. Several days later, newspapers around the world will bear the news of the death of an American billionaire on vacation to England who had an accident, plunging his car into the sea. The details were sketchy, but nothing in the report showed the authorities suspected any foul play, nor was the identity of the body washed up from the sea identified as any other than that of Karl Finch.

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